The kitchen was quiet as James and Margaret finished their Sunday roast when the front door creaked open. A dishevelled woman strode in, tossing a grubby rucksack into the corner before spreading her arms wide.
«Alright, Dad?» she grinned, stinking of stale smoke and cheap perfume.
James choked on his Yorkshire pudding, coughing violently into his napkin. Margaret’s knuckles whitened around her fork.
«Who the bloody hell are you?» she snapped.
The stranger smirked, tilting her head. «Pipe down, love. I ain’t here for youjust me dad.» She turned to James, her voice dripping with false sweetness. «Dont recognise your own daughter, eh? Its me, your little Becky. Twenty years, and I still couldnt sleep thinkinows me old man? Still kickin, I ope?» She fake-sniffed, rubbing her nose.
James finally wheezed out a single word: «Why?»
Becky dropped into a chair, kicking her boots onto the table. «Came for me present, innit? That doll you promised when I were eight. Remember now?»
Margarets lips thinned. She remembered. After Beckys mum died of cancer, James lasted six months before bringing home Margaretand her two lads from a previous marriage. First thing Margaret did? Booted Becky out of her bedroom. «Boys need space,» James had mumbled, avoiding his daughters tears. The boys tormented herripped her schoolbooks, hid her shoes. Shed rewrite homework by moonlight after Margaret forbade «wasting electric.»
Then, on Beckys eighth birthday, James drove her to a childrens home. «Just till I get back on me feet, love. Weekends, Ill visitbring that doll from Hamleys, the big one you wanted.» He never came.
Now Becky slurped Margarets soup straight from the bowl. «Still stingy, eh? Pour proper, woman.» She winked at James. «Cmon, Dadcrack open that whisky stash. Lets toast family reunion!»
Margaret hissed through her teeth: «We dont drink.»
Becky barked a laugh. «Figures. But I aint empty-handed.» She jerked her chin at Margaret. «Fetch us that rucksack.»
«Get it yourself!»
Beckys grin turned venomous. «See, youre missin the point. Im movin in. Paybacks a bitchyou tossed me out, now its your turn. Pack your bags or beg nice, maybe Ill let you stay.»
Margaret slammed her palms on the table. «James, say something!»
He fidgeted. «Becky, love dont be rude. Margarets mistress here.»
Becky rolled her eyes. «Christ, shes got you whipped. Dont worry, Dadwell deal with her.»
Margaret screeched, reaching for her phone. «Im callin our Jason! Hell drag you out by your hair!»
«Jason?» Becky snorted. «That pisshead? Hed sell you for a pint. And your youngest? Same path, mark my words.»
Margaret crumpled into sobs. Becky leaned in. «You had it cushy, didnt you? Widowers house, his kid gone. But guess what? Im back. And me blokes comin toothree stretches in Pentonville, proper hardman. Well fill this house with grandkids. Cosy, eh?»
James nodded weakly.
That night, Becky pretended to sleep as Margaret whispered furiously: «Shell rob us blind! That convictll knife us in our beds!»
James mumbled, «Shes me blood. After what we did»
Becky smirked in the dark. Thenrustling. She cracked an eyelid. Margaret loomed over her, clutching a pillow.
«Attempted murders life, love,» Becky drawled.
Margaret jerked back. «II brought you an extra pillow!»
Becky laughed. «Cheers. Bath ready?»
For a week, Becky worked Margaret like a skivvy. Finally, the older woman knelt, weeping. «Have mercyIm an old woman now!»
Becky grabbed her chin. «Where was your mercy when you dumped me? Youll pay for every tear.»
Margaret begged forgiveness, babbling about Gods punishment.
«Fine,» Becky sighed. «Stay. Im off.»
James leapt up. «Waittake money! Buy whatever»
She shook her head. «I didnt come for cash. Just wanted to hear you say you loved me. Silly me.» She shouldered her rucksack. No one followed her out.
A beat-up Transit waited past the village. Becky collapsed into the passenger seat, sobbing. Her husband, Mick, pulled her close. «Told you, didnt I? Waste of time.»
She wiped her nose. «Thought hed changed. They forgot I existed.»
Mick kissed her forehead. «Kids miss you. Lets go home.»
Becky managed a smile. «Yeah. But firstmums grave. Brought flowers.» She stared at the fading house. «No dad. Just you and the kids now.»
As the van sputtered away, she whispered: «Shouldve listened to you. But I had to try.»
Mick squeezed her hand. «Pasts past, love.»
The road swallowed them, leaving the past behind.
