I was sat watching rubbish on the TV, just passing time until I was ready for bed, when the doorbell rang. I glanced quickly at my watch, who would be calling at just after 11pm on a Friday night?
I got up and walked to the door, opening it to find my daughter being held up by two of her friends.
"What's happened?" I snapped at them as I stepped forward and scooped my daughter up into my arms. They both tried to reply at the same time, making no sense whatsoever. I nodded for them to follow me into the house as I walked back to the living room.
I laid my daughter on the sofa and quickly checked her for injuries. Finding none I turned back to her friends.
"What happened?" I repeated myself. Again they both started talking together. I held up my hands to silence them, and then nodded to the girl on the right.
"You, Helen is it? You tell me what happened," Helen quickly explained that they had been in a local pub having a drink before they went on to a night club, and had all gone to the toilets together. When they returned they had picked up their bottles and carried on drinking. Shortly after my daughter had appeared completely drunk and was incapable of standing up on her own so they had got a taxi and brought her home.
The obvious conclusion was that her drink had been spiked while she was at the toilet. I thanked the girls and asked them what they were going to do now. The other girl, Susan, said they had asked the taxi to wait, and were going back into town, as long as Amanda was ok.
I assured the girls that she would be alright now, then took some money from my wallet and gave it to the girls.
"That should be enough to cover the taxi fare, use the rest to get your selves a drink as a thank you from me." I brushed aside their thanks and walked them to the front door, waited until they had got in the taxi, then went back to check on my daughter.
I looked at her lying asleep on the sofa. She was the spitting image of her mother at that age. Masses of blond hair surrounded a heart-shaped face. Her 34DD breasts were pushing up at the fabric that barely enclosed them. Her narrow waist was bare, above an ultra short denim skirt. Her legs must have moved since I laid her down, and now I could see her lace panties quite clearly. I turned my eyes away; this was my 21 year old daughter for god's sake, not her mother who had died three years ago.