A sleek car pulled up outside a cosy little florists shopone of those charming new places that had quickly become the talk of the town. People came from neighbouring areas just to get a glimpse of its exquisite arrangements.
«Could you pick out the most beautiful bouquet you have? And make it bigmy sons just been born!» The young man beamed at the florist, a cheerful blonde named Poppy.
On his way to the hospital, George pictured the moment hed finally hold his baby boy, determined to be the father hed never had. His own childhood memories were heavy, save for one fragile momenthis dad, a towering figure, lifting him high in the air, laughter and terror tangled together. But soon after, Nigel Whitmore walked out, leaving George and his mother not just heartbroken but homeless.
It all started when his mums friend, Veronica, started popping round more often. She worked at the hospital and always brought a bottle of gin «for digestion,» brushing off any protests with a wave.
«Oh, dont be such a bore! A little nip never hurt anyone. Youve got such a marvellous husbandyou should cherish him!»
One evening, Veronica invited them to her birthday party. She lived clear across London with her two daughters. All night, she fawned over Nigel, topping up his drink, laughing too loudly at his jokes.
Then, one day, George came home from football practice to hear his parents arguing in the kitchen.
«Im leaving. I love Veronica. Theres nothing left between usno love, no respect. But she appreciates me, unlike you.»
«She doesnt appreciate you, you foolshe appreciates your salary!» his mum shot back.
«Knew youd say that. Always the drama. Oh, and well have to sell the flat and split the money.»
«What? Have you no shame? My parents gave us that flat as a wedding gift!»
«Exactlyour wedding, not yours. Its joint property.»
«And what about George? Wheres he supposed to live? Sleep? Eat?!»
«Have you thought about how Im supposed to live in a one-bed with my new family? Besides, I only want whats fair…»
For two years, George and his mum crashed at his grandparents. Eventually, they scraped together a mortgage for their own place. Years later, after university and marriage, his stepdad signed the flat over to him.
«Ill love my son and never betray himor Emily,» George thought, driving home from the hospital. There was still so much to do: baby clothes, a cot, decorating the nursery. Theyd held off buying anything earlyEmily was terribly superstitious.
As he reached his doorstep, a balding man loitered nearby. Something about him sent a prickle down Georges spine.
«George! Hello, son! Dont you recognise me?»
«Dad?…»
«The very same! Saw you the moment you stepped out of that fancy car. Nice wheels, by the way.»
«Sorry, Im in a hurry.» George clenched his fists, sidestepping him.
«Sorry, in a hurryno need to be so formal! Were family. How about inviting me in? Man to man?»
Normally, George wouldnt waste breath on him. But today, buoyed by joy, he just walked inside. Nigel took silence as permission and followed.
«Lovely place youve got here. Roomy!» Nigel whistled, eyeing the spare bedroom. «Youve done well for yourself. Surely you can spare a little help for your old man?»
«Help with what?»
«Dont play daft. First, youve got extra space. Second, you can clearly afford to solve my problems.»
«Your problems stopped being mine twenty years ago. What do you want?»
«Ive had a spot of trouble. Got into a row with Veronicas son-in-lawcalled me a freeloader! Me! After all I did for them! Worked my fingers to the bone, and now Im pensioned off, theyve kicked me out. Left me with debts in my name, too. Just want whats fair…»
«Fair? Whats that got to do with me?»
«Well, Veronica and I were never married. Her girls arent my blood. But youyoure my son. If your mum hadnt remarried, Idve gone to her first. Were family, after all.»
«So you think youve got rights after taking half the flat money and vanishing? You didnt even pay child support, Dad.»
«That money went on holidays! Everyone deserves a break. My mistake was taking loans for Veronicas daughtersweddings, honeymoons. You understand, dont you? Help your dad.»
«A break? Mum worked seven days a week. I was handing out flyers at thirteen, then washing cars. We barely scraped by.»
«Good lad. Knew youd turn out strong. So about that spare room?»
«My sons using it. Someone shouldve told youIm a father now. And I intend to be a proper one. Now, please leave.»
Outside, Nigel called after him. «Georgethat car of yours. Fancy downgrading? You could give me the difference, clear my debts. Do the decent thing…»
«You were never there when I needed a father. Now? I dont need you at all. And if I see you again, I cant promise Ill be civil.»
George strode to his car without a backward glance. No guilt, no regretjust certainty. His son would never know the pain hed endured.
