David Harper was fiftytwo, a man in the full bloom of his life. He worked long hours for a respectable firm in Birmingham and held a solid position. He had a circle of mates, one of whom hed known since school, but a family of his own never materialised.
In his youth he drifted from one relationship to the next, taking pride in his looks and his popularity. By the time he reached forty he felt the weight of the years pressing in. He met a remarkable woman and they spent two full years together, even planning a wedding. Then, without warning, she left him for another man.
David told himself it was karma catching up. He had left a trail of broken hearts, and now the past was repaying him. After that, only fleeting encounters and shortlived flings crossed his path. By fifty hed resigned himself to a solitary future, praying that old age might bring an unwed lady willing to share quiet evenings. If not, he would face the silence alone.
His relatives were few. His parents were dead, he had no siblings, only a thirdcousin and a nephew his cousins son with whom he kept occasional contact. All his friends were now tied down with wives, children, and grandchildren, so they rarely gathered in male company. They still invited David out, but he felt a growing loneliness that the advancing years amplified.
He dreaded becoming that grumpy old bloke who talks to the telly, walks his dog in the park and mutters about the younger generation. Yet the vision kept haunting him. He accepted it, though, and kept meeting women, hoping one day the right one would appear. He still saw his friends, treated their families as his own, visited his cousin now and then, and felt that nothing would ever change dramatically.
One weekend, as he was packing for a countryside outing with the lads, his phone rang. Assuming it was one of the guys, he snatched the handset without glancing at the screen, wedging it between shoulder and ear while shoving gear into his bag.
Hello? he said, trying to juggle the bag.
A voice, flat as a coldwater tap, answered, Good afternoon, David?
He thought it was another sales call and was ready to hang up. He was perpetually late, always blaming himself for helping his mates wives get ready while he stayed single. The call persisted, and finally he looked at the screen, baffled by the unfamiliar number.
Im not interested in any loans or whatever youre selling! he barked.
A quiet, feminine voice slipped through the static. David, Im not calling about an advertisement.
He sank onto the sofa, confused. What do you want?
My names Poppy. Im twentytwo, and I think Im your daughter.
Scam, he thought. But the story sounded oddly specific.
He glanced at his watch; a few minutes still lingered. He decided to play along.
Seriously? How did you?
My mothers name was Margaret. Margaret Harper.
A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth as memories of a carefree youth flashed through his mindhim at thirty, charming and eager, being sent on a work trip to nearby Coventry. After a long day, the night was his.
That night, after work, David drifted into a local pub. Two women sat at the bar, gossiping lively. Though they were younger, he felt no embarrassment; he still saw himself as a lad at heart. He joined them, and after a while one left to see her boyfriend. The other, Margaret, a recent graduate from the city college, stayed.
They wandered the nightlit streets, laughing as if theyd known each other forever. Somewhere along the way, David found himself at Poppys flat, a modest onebedroom she shared with a friend who had just left for her own boyfriend. He spent three days in that town and three nights beside Margaret, the woman who would later be his daughter.
When his assignment ended, Margaret saw him off at the station. He offered his mobile number; she shook her head.
We have no future, she said softly.
David agreed, though he slipped her his surname in case she ever wanted to find him. A month later, another call snapped him back to reality.
David, are you there? the voice asked.
Yes, who is this?
Why did you say you were my dad? the voice pressed.
My mother told me. She died a month ago.
God Im sorry. What happened?
Cancer. We were too late. She told me who my father was, gave me your name, showed me a photo youd taken years ago. I found you on social media, then tracked down your number.
David sat stunned, the words heavy in his ears.
Why didnt she tell me about you? he asked quietly.
She thought you werent ready for a family. She didnt want to tether you, Poppy replied. I have no one now. I know you probably have a life, a family Im not intruding. I just
Poppy, David interrupted, his voice cracking, lets meet. I want to see you.
Alright, she breathed.
He cancelled the countryside trip. The news hit him like a thunderclap; he couldnt quite parse what he felt, but the urge to meet his daughter was undeniable.
They chose a café. Poppy arrived nervous, clutching a photo of her mother and a copy of her birth certificate.
I dont want you to think Im a con artist, she said.
Im no millionaire, so con artists arent after me, David joked, then added, I believe you. I remember your mother.
They talked for hours. Poppy spoke of her childhood, of Margarets short marriage that fell apart, of a stepfather she scarcely saw. Her mother had no other children, leaving Poppy alone, desperate to find the man who might be her father.
Im sorry I never knew about you, David said, shaking his head. Id have liked to watch you grow. My own marriage never worked out. I never married, never had kidsuntil now, apparently.
The conversation stretched three hours before they promised to meet again.
That night David lay awake, mourning the years hed missed, angry that Margaret had never mentioned a child, yet also grateful that Poppy had traced him. He resolved to be part of her life, whatever it took.
When they met again, Poppy showed him the flat shed inherited from her mother, now letting it out while renting a small flat here in Birmingham because living costs had risen. David offered her a room in his own house, suggesting she could sell the inherited property and buy something decent here.
He began to spoil her, buying gifts, arranging small celebrations, introducing her to his old mates. He mentioned a distant cousina fourthcousin, really a footnotebut it was enough to fill the gaps.
Six months later, Poppy called him Dad for the first time. He stepped onto his balcony, pretending to take a call, but tears streamed down his face.
Two years on, Poppy married, and when her child was born David went over the moon, making up for lost time with his granddaughter. He also met a woman he intended to grow old with. At last, David no longer felt the sting of solitude. He had a daughter, a soninlaw, a grandchild, and the faint glow of a family he had almost missed.
