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The Fathers' Club
The shrilling of the phone woke Tom Drummond out of a deep blissful sleep. Blearily focusing on the bedside alarm, he registered that it was 2.45 in the morning.

"Yeah - hallo?" he grunted resentfully into the phone.

"Tom, it's Joe - Joe Fraser. Sorry to wake you at this ungodly hour - but it's Cindy..."

His daughter's name jolted Tom awake. Joe, an old friend from his schooldays, was now the police sergeant in their small Northumberland town. "Cindy? But she's here - asleep in her bed!"

"'Fraid not, Tom. She's down here at the station."

"But - but - hang on a moment, Joe." Still woozy, Tom lurched out of bed and into the corridor. He knocked quietly at the door of his daughter's room and opened it. Through the half-closed curtains, pale moonlight shone on an empty bed.

Back in his room, now wide awake, Tom grabbed the phone again. "Joe - is she ok? Is she hurt?"

"Don't worry, Tom, she's fine. A little the worse for drink, that's all. And the same goes for her friends."

"Drink? Joe, I think you'd better tell me everything. No, wait - I'll come down, you can tell me then. Give me twenty minutes."

---oOo---
"Know that sleazy new club that's opened a couple of miles out on the Haslings byroad - the Purple Pussycat? Yeah, that's the one. Well, about two o'clock we had a call from them. Four young women causing quite a rumpus."

Joe's audience listened, their jaws dropping. Besides Tom there was Pat Henderson, Geoff Morris and Wally Drew. All fathers of teenage girls. Each under the impression, until less than an hour ago, that his beloved daughter was safely tucked up in her bed.

"Seems they were dancing on the bar, smashing glasses and bottles, singing and generally carrying on. The bouncers didn't like to touch them, seeing as they were young girls - scared of sexual harassment charges or whatever. So the manager phoned us and we headed out there. And believe me, he wasn't exaggerating. Those girls had really hung one on. It was all we could do to get them into the van. And listen - they still haven't cooled off."

From somewhere downstairs, as the fathers listened, came the sounds of raucous singing, interspersed with giggles and shrieks.

"Normally with rowdy drunks, I'd just leave 'em in the cells overnight to sober up. But since we're all friends, and I've known those girls since they were babes in arms..."

"Thanks, Joe," said Tom. "We appreciate it." He glanced round at his friends. "Well, guess we'd better go down and see what's what?"

Downstairs, two of the four cells were occupied. In one a scruffy down-and-out lay slumped, dead to the world and snoring loudly. Even louder, though, was the off-key rendition of 'Girls Just Want to Have Fun' emanating from the next cell - three voices raised in caterwauling discord.