I got the barbecue lit at a little after noon, we were expecting my sisters and their daughters, my nieces, around one-thirty. We being my daughter, Mary and me, Dave. You don’t need to know our surname, nor do you need details of where we live, just say it’s somewhere in the north of England, where you can’t always guarantee sunny weather for a barbecue. Today looked like being no exception and that fact is why our patio, as well as housing a nice hand-built barbecue (built by my hand) also had a Perspex roof built onto the house to keep everyone dry.

Mary appeared just as the coals were starting to turn grey, almost ready to start cooking.

“What can I do to help, Dad?” she asked, her voice back to her normal tone when addressing her elderly parent.

“You can get me the beef and pork out of the fridge,” I replied, “and start preparing the veg.”

She went off back into the house and I did a quick inspection of the outdoor eating area before following her into the kitchen.

“Who’s coming dad?” she asked.

“The only ones I know are coming are Mandy, Becky and their four girls, but I did say they could bring along a ‘friend’ if they wanted. I don’t know what their actual status is these days.”

“The girls are single,” she said, “none of them has a boyfriend. I don’t know about my Aunts, I’m not friends with them on Facebook. You have heard of Facebook?”

“Of course, I’ve heard of Facebook, I’m not a neanderthal you know?”

She muttered something; I wasn’t sure exactly what but it sounded like she was comparing last night to the idea of me being a neanderthal.

She started peeling and chopping vegetables while I carried the two joints of meat out to the patio, put them onto the grill of the barbecue and closed the lid.

The first of my sisters, Amanda with her two daughters, nineteen-year-old Karen and Angela who was fifteen, arrived just on one-thirty, exactly as I said. Rebecca and her pair, Hannah and Jennifer, who were closer in age, just a year apart, Hannah being eighteen and Jennifer a year younger, arrived a little before two. None of them brought a friend, from which I surmised that my sisters weren’t involved with anybody and either the girls weren’t or they decided that the young men didn’t need to meet Uncle Dave.

Greetings were exchanged. I got kisses from all six, on the cheek from the four nieces and on the lips from my two sisters.

“Well, you know where the bar is ladies, help yourselves.”

We have what some countries consider strange laws on legal drinking age in England. Under five years old alcohol is absolutely banned unless under the supervision of a doctor and for medical reasons. The minimum age to buy and consume alcohol on licensed premises is eighteen, with an exception for sixteen- and seventeen-year-olds in restaurants who can drink beer, wine or cider, with a substantial meal, so long as it is ordered and bought by a responsible adult who is with them. At home, apart from the under-five rule, there is only one restriction, they must be drinking under the control and with the permission of a parent or guardian. Since only one of the girls fell into the category of under sixteen and so long as their mothers didn’t stop them drinking, I wasn’t going to, I had never stopped Mary before she turned eighteen as a result of which I had a daughter with a very sensible attitude to alcohol.

After about five minutes, my four nieces came back out each carrying a can of Hobgoblin.

“Don’t you want glasses for those?” I asked.

“Nah,” Hannah said, “that only causes washing up and since Mum would probably have us doing it, we thought we’d save ourselves some effort.”

I had to laugh at that.

“Where are your Mums and Mary?”

“Oh,” Angela said, “Mary wanted to talk to them about something so they went into your office.”

I nodded, understanding and happy that my daughter had listened to me.

“What are they talking about?” Jennifer asked.

“I think it’s just some stuff that Mary wants to talk about, that she doesn’t want to discuss with me and well, you know she’s not been very happy with her Mum for a long time.”

“Yes, it’s because her new guy didn’t want her there with them, isn’t it?” Angela asked.

“Something like that,” I said.

“What’s new with you, Uncle Dave?” Karen asked, “no special girl in your life?”

“I’ve got seven special girls in my life,” I replied, “what would I want with any others?”

One of them, I couldn’t tell which muttered, “Sex,” just loud enough to be heard.

“No,” I said, “I don’t think I’ve had sex in years, but I have made love a few times.”

“It’s the same thing isn’t it?” Jennifer asked.

“Not at all,” I said, “Sex is just putting parts of one body inside parts of another and jiggling about until one, or sometimes both of you reaches some sort of pleasant conclusion. While making love is doing the same sort of thing with someone you care about and making sure that you both have a good time doing it.”

“Ah, I think I get it,” Hannah said, “having sex is a sort of selfish, I want my pleasure, sort of thing while making love is something you do together, for each other.”

“An incredibly good way of putting it,” I said, “which is why ladies, apart from a short time while I was still in my teens and thought of girls as just a transport mechanism for a vagina, I have only ever made love, never had sex.”

We’d been talking for half an hour when Becky appeared at the patio door.

“Dave, can we borrow you for a minute?”

I looked over, raised my hand in agreement and stood up.

“Looks like the management committee wants me,” I said, which made the girls giggle.

I was surprised when instead of taking me through to the office, where they’d been talking, she took me to the dining room.

“What is it?” I asked.

“Mary has been telling us about the activities of last night,” she said, “we are both impressed by the way you handled it, but here’s the problem, your daughter is determined that you and only you are going to be the one who, what is it they call it ‘pops her cherry’. We think that if she’s determined, then you should do it, if only to get it over with. Mandy and I also think that if that is the case then she needs to know the full story.”

“How much of it?”

“All of it,” she said, “warts and all. But then there’s another problem.”

“Which is?”

She gestured back towards the patio.

“There’s another four out there, who, judging from little things they’ve said, or even just let slip, we think would want the same deal.”

“So where do we go from here?” I asked.

“We need to have a family meeting and get this whole thing out in the open, so that we all know where we are and what the family history is. Then each of us can come to a decision on how this family gets through this problem and gets stronger.”

“All right, when?”

“I’d say now. Before we go home, otherwise I fear you may be faced with having to charge your own daughter with rape.”

“All right, get the girls together in here, we may as well get this over with.”

She went off to get everybody else, I walked over to the bar, I was going to need a stiff drink.