Granny never took to little Val. She just couldnt warm to him.
«Not one of ours, not one of ours,» Annie would mutter to the other women in the village shop.
«Come off it, Annie,» Mabel tutted. «Look at himspitting image of your Vincent!»
«I know, I *know*,» Annie sighed. «In my head, I get hes Vincents boy. But my heart wont have it. Now, my daughters kids? Adore em. But this one? Cant manage it. Barely grew up round here, didnt he? Oh, he runs about, chatters away, Gran, Gran this and that but no. One look at him andugh, pure Sutton blood. Not mine. Not proper family.»
«Fairs fair,» piped up Doris from the bread aisle. «My late mum were the same. My Millie? Kissed the ground she walked on. But my brothers lot? Meh.» She shrugged. «Just grandkids, innit? Used to rile him up proper. And Mumd just say, Dont take it personal, love. A daughters bairns? You *know* theyre yours. A sons? Well. Best not dwell on it.»
«Same here!»
«And me!»
«Blimey, girls, Im guilty as charged,» Betty admitted. «My daughters lad? Absolute angel. Cheeks like apples, eyes like stars. Me and Grandad cant get enough. But the lad from my sons missus? Nope. Hes *his*, I know, butugh. Looks just like *their* lot. And always snotty or filthy. I tell her, Look after your child! and she just sniffs, When? Your son wants a spotless house and hot meals. When am I meant to scrub this one?»
«I said, What about the rest of us? We managed!» Annie folded her arms. «Used to dash to milking at four in the morning. Knead the bread, leave it to rise, stoke the oventhen run. One time, I left our Tony in charge. Girl were half-asleep. Told Grandad to keep an eye, but he were past it. Knew I shouldnt have trusted em. Had to sprint back.»
«And?»
«Bread dough everywhere. Hanging off the table, tangled in her hair. And my Tony? Fast asleep, head on her arms like a little angel. Grandad? Sat there in his long johns. Whatre you on about? he says. Its bread. It aint going nowhere. Turned and shuffled off. Men!»
The conversation meandered from ungrateful sons to useless husbands, but Annie slipped away quietly. At least she wasnt alone in her feelings.
Meanwhile, Val adored his gran. It made him feel closer to Dad, whod vanished up north years agoback when Val was knee-high. Sent money, never visits. Val wrote him letters, took them to Gran.
Mum called her a «miserable old bat» who probably knew where his «good-for-nothing father» was hiding. But Val knew Mum loved Dad. She was just cross hed gone off «exploring» without her. (Where would they have put Val? Honestly.)
Sometimes shed yell that Val and his dad ruined her life. «Shouldve married Johnny Spires,» shed wail. «Given him a dozen kids. Lived like a queen.»
Once, Val rolled actual cheese in butter with his toy lorry (a birthday gift from Gran). Mum screechedtried to bin it. But Val clung on. *Dad* sent money for that lorry. Mum hated it.
Val didnt get it. What was so great about cheese and butter?
One day, he visited Granonly to find his cousin Lucy there. Spoiled rotten.
«Gran got me a dolly,» Lucy sneered, sticking out her tongue.
Val couldnt care less.
«Shes making me pancakes with cream!» Lucy crowed.
«*All* of us,» Gran snapped.
Val sipped tea, nibbled a pancake, asked if she needed help. Then left.
«Ugh, finally!» Lucys voice carried.
Grans hissed, «Shut your trap!» warmed Vals heart. She *did* love him.
(What he didnt hear: Gran scolding Lucy»Hes barely out the door! Keep yapping and Ill tan your backside!»before caving to her giggles and cuddles.)
***
Dad never came back.
Mum married Uncle NickJohnny Spires cousin. Decent bloke. Never favoured Val over his own two, but never mistreated him either. Even Gran (Nicks mum) doted on Val.
Life was fine. Still visited Gran. Stopped writing letters.
Before joining the army, Val learned the truth: Dad had a new family up north. Never visitedbut Gran did. Regularly.
It stung.
«You *knew*?» Val choked. «I *waited*I *wrote*»
Gran waved him off. «Sent good money, didnt he? Your mum raised you on it.»
Val got drunk that nightfirst and last time. Screamed at Mum, Gran, Dad.
Mum called him a «drunken layabout,» but Uncle Nick steered him to the garage. There, Val sobbedabout kids at school calling him «fatherless,» about forcing himself on Gran, about the letters shed stuffed in a drawer.
Nick gripped his neck. «Listen. Youre my son. *Mine*. Ten years Ive been here. That makes you *mine*.»
They cried like babies.
Mum peeked insaw the open vodkathen quietly shut the door. «Your dad and brother are talking,» she told the younger kids.
***
Army life flew by. Val came back broad-shouldered and proud. Nick beamed. Called him «son.» Everyone accepted it.
Gran Tassy (Nicks mum) bragged about her handy grandson. Fixed her fence straight away.
Lucynow living with Granbarred him. «Dads got a new family. Who knows if youre even his?»
Gran stayed silent. Val never returned.
He married, worked hard. Parents helped buy a house. Had two kids. Life was sweet.
Then his back gave out.
At the hospital, he overheard a row:
«Not *my* problem! Youre the doctors*you* fix her!»
«Miss, with proper home care, shed recover»
«Oh, sure! Me, changing bedpans? No chance!»
A nurse cut in: «Shame on you, Lucy! She raised you!»
«Just put her in a home,» Lucy snapped.
Val stepped in. «No need. Ill take her.»
Lucy sneered. «Ooh, hero! After her money? Too lateshe left *everything* to me.»
Val took Gran home. Mum rolled her eyes»After how she treated you?»but Gran thrived. Apologised. Adored his kids.
When she died, Lucy didnt show.
Back at the shop, the gossips clucked:
«Fancy that. The unloved grandson took her in.»
Betty chewed her lip. «Makes you think, eh?»
«Oi, Kathextra sweets. For my grandkids.»
And thats how it goes. Doted on Lucyher daughters girl. Shunned Valher sons boy. Yet in the end?
It was him. Always him.
