Summer was just around the corner, and Emma didnt look forward to it. It wasnt the heat that bothered her; it was the fact that during the warm months Tom barely turned up at home.
Emma and Tom had been married for seven years. Their life was fairly sensible, with hardly a row to speak of. Emma was grateful to Tom for taking her on, even when she was pregnant with a tiny lad. Little Oliver was barely a year old then. When Toms brother Alan heard about Emmas pregnancy, he vanished from sight, ignored calls and wouldnt even open his front door. One day Emma dropped by his workplace just to look him in the eye. Alan, startled, shook so badly that Emma laughed, Dont worry, Alan, Im not after your baby
Right, I know! Alan shouted with relief, puffing his chest for the colleagues watching. You cant expect me to raise a child that isnt mine!
Emma replied calmly, It isnt yours, its mine. Folks like you never have a real child; all children look foreign to you. Alan could only gasp for air, unsure how to retort, while the onlookers turned away in disgust. Emma left, vowing never to see that oncebeloved brother again.
When Oliver was six months old, Emma asked her retired mother to look after him while she returned to work. She had been employed at a furniture shop before her maternity break, and they welcomed her back with open armsgood, reliable staff are hard to find. There she met Tom Wilson, a driver who delivered furniture from the factory.
Emma told Tom straight away about Oliver. He didnt blink, only said seriously, Then lets get married, youll have another boy and perhaps a girl later. I love kids. Emma was taken aback by his swift proposal; she hadnt been ready to settle down. Yet Tom was goodlooking, steady, and earned well driving his lorry, so she thought, why not? Her mothers health was fragile and she couldnt always look after Oliver, so after three months Emma was Mrs. Wilson.
Surprisingly, married life suited her. Tom was diligent, never caused drama and, best of all, wasnt jealous. Emma made sure never to give him a cause for jealousy either. She remained a loyal wife, hoping hed keep his eyes elsewhere. When she once asked if he was seeing anyone, he chuckled, If you ever turn into a flabby old woman in a ragged dressinggown, Ill have a word. Emma sighed; shed never be caught in a torn robe at home.
Seven years slipped by. Tom upgraded his lorry and now crisscrossed the country, hauling all sorts of loads. He earned nicely, though he was seldom home. Emma opened her own furniture shop and kept busy to avoid boredom. Oliver, now eight, had grown into a kind, sporty boy with a few medals to his name. He adored Tom, even if he knew the man wasnt his biological dad, and did his best to make him proud.
Emma and Tom never managed to have another child together. Five years earlier doctors had told them they were, frankly, incompatible. Emma took the news with a shrugshe already had Oliverbut felt a pang of guilt toward Tom, who had promised another baby. When the reality sank in, Tom went through a brief slump, then perked up again, becoming even more doting. He asked about the shop, Olivers progress, and Emma gladly indulged his curiosity. She was happy to see him accept their childfree fate.
Toms parents lived about a hundred miles away in a modest Warwickshire village. Tom often stayed the night with them, sometimes for several nights in a row. Emma sometimes felt a twinge of jealousy, thinking he visited his folks more than her, yet she comforted herself with the fact that both Mr. and Mrs. Whitaker were in their sixties and needed occasional help with the old house. She never argued about it; she remembered the two dark years of Toms gloom and didnt want to reopen old wounds. After so many years together, Emma loved Tom deeply and couldnt imagine parting ways. The thought of a permanent separation weighed heavily, but for Tom shed do anything.
One May evening Emma felt an odd nervousness, perhaps from the summers relentless heat and Toms usual absence. She dialled his mobile, Tom, love, where are you? At your parents? Why does your voice sound so bleak? Did I upset you? Sorry if I did. Bye. She stared at the dead screen, almost in tears. Tom had never spoken to her so sharply. Not knowing what to do, she rushed around the house, then, in a burst of impulse, drove Oliver to his grandmother and set off for the Whitakers cottage.
She arrived late, the lorry already gone. Disappointed at the wasted trek, she knocked. Mrs. Whitaker, a spry lady named Nancy, opened the door, a little startled but warmly. She ushered Emma inside, poured tea, and they settled quietly; Mr. Whitaker, Henry, was asleep upstairs. Emma began to explain her unease when a sleepy little girl, about three, shuffled out of a bedroom, rubbing her eyes and calling for Mum. Nancy swooped in, cradling the child, humming a simple lullaby.
Where did this little thing come from? Emma asked, bewildered.
This is Kat, Nancy replied hurriedly, the daughter of our cousin Lily, who passed away a few days ago. She had no one else, so we took Kat in.
Will you keep her? Emma asked sympathetically. Shes so tiny. And wheres her father?
Before Nancy could answer, Henry emerged, looking bleary-eyed. He stared at Emma, then at the child, and gave a small nod. Emma, trying to be gentle, said, Ill stay the night, if thats all right. May I watch Kat? Nancy hesitated, then agreed.
The night stretched long; Emma watched Kat sleep, gently smoothing her golden curls. By dawn she was halfasleep herself when Tom appeared in the doorway, eyes darting between Emma and the little girl. Emma, he whispered, pleading, lets take her home, please. He turned and left the room in a huff. Emma leapt up, chased after him, and found him on the garden bench under an ancient oak, tears glistening.
Im sorry, he said, voice trembling. I didnt want to take her. I thought I thought I was being fair to you.
Fair? Emma asked. You dont want her because she looks a bit like you? She could be our daughter.
Tom closed his eyes, grinding his teeth. She looks like me because shes my halfsister. Lily and I had a fling years ago; she got pregnant, I promised to help, but I never married her. She later disappeared with the baby, but a few days ago she left Kat with a note, handing her over to me. I didnt know what to do, especially with my elderly parents. I was scared of upsetting you.
Emma sat beside the sleeping Kat, feeling a storm of anger, pity, and an odd tenderness. The little girls blue eyes blinked open, smiling up at her. Dont worry, Im not a bother, she chirped. Can I have a braid?
Emma chuckled, the tension loosening. She brushed the child’s hair, promising to learn how to braid properly.
Soon the courts approved the adoption. Oliver was overjoyed, declaring himself the protective big brother. Tom gave up longhaul routes, and together Emma and Tom expanded their furniture business, opening a second shop in the neighbouring town.
Emma never forgot Toms betrayal, but she forgave him, seeing the genuine remorse in his eyes. By December they returned home from the schools Christmas concert, Kat clutching a massive box of sweets from Father Christmas. She ran to Tom, wrapped him in a hug, and whispered, Dad, can I ask Santa for a brother or sister?
Tom, eyes wide, replied, Love, Santa cant grant that, but well think of something.
Emma grinned, Why not? A good girl cant be denied.
Later, Oliver, fresh from a football practice, walked in to find Tom spinning Emma around the living room, both laughing, while Kat, chocolatesmudged, perched on the sofa, giggling. Oliver plucked a sweet from Kats hand and said, Weve got the best parents, havent we, sis?
