“You’re nothing to him,” said the ex-girlfriend, pulling her son onto her lap.
Daniel stood in the hallway with a bouquet of chrysanthemums hed bought at an underground station stall, staring at the woman hed spent five years with. At little Alfie, who had only just learned to say “Daddy” but now hid his face in his mothers shoulder.
“How am I nothing?” Daniels voice cracked. “I raised him since he was one!”
“Raised him?” Emily adjusted Alfies jumper. “You popped by on weekends to play with toys. Who stayed up nights when he was teething? Who took him to the doctors? Who worked two jobs just to afford nappies?”
Daniel wanted to arguethat theyd been together then, that hed helped as best he could, that university had been its own kind of work. But the words stuck in his throat. Alfie peeked over his mothers shoulder, studying him like a stranger.
“James and I are serious now,” Emily continued. “Were moving in together. He doesnt like you coming around.”
“And what about Alfie?” Daniel set the flowers on the side table. “Hes used to me.”
“Alfie will get used to James. James wants to adopt him, give him his last name. Can you imagine the opportunities? Hes an MP.”
Daniel sank onto a stool hed once assembled himself. His hands shook, so he shoved them into his jacket pockets.
“What about me? Do I just never see him again?”
“Why traumatise him?” Emily bounced Alfie on her knee. “James says its better to cut all ties now. So Alfie doesnt get confused about who his real dad is.”
“But Im not abandoning him! I send money, I buy him gifts”
“Twenty quid a month?” She scoffed. “James makes that in an hour.”
Alfie suddenly slid off her lap and toddled over to Daniel. He held out a pudgy hand.
“Give,” the boy demanded.
“Give what?” Daniel blinked.
“Sweets.” Alfie stared up at him.
Daniel fished in his pocket, pulling out a mint humbug. Alfie took it, unwrapped it with solemn focus, and popped it in his mouth. Then he clambered onto Daniels lap.
“Dont encourage him,” Emily snapped. “Alfie, come here.”
“Dont wanna,” the boy mumbled, looping his arms around Daniels neck.
Emily stood, reaching for him, but Alfie clung tighter.
“Look what youre doing!” she hissed. “Youre upsetting him!”
“Not me,” Daniel said quietly. “Alfie, want to see the lorry I got you yesterday?”
“What lorry?” Emilys eyes narrowed. “I told you not to buy him things!”
“The red one?” Alfie asked.
“The red one,” Daniel confirmed, pulling a toy lorry from his bag.
The boy slid down, snatched it up, and began rolling it along the floor, muttering to himself.
“Emily, think about it,” Daniel stood. “He remembers me. Look how happy he is. Why take his father away?”
“Youre not his father!” She flared. “A father is someone who takes responsibility! What are you? A twenty-four-year-old dropout with no job, no prospects”
“Ive got my degree”
“And? Wheres your job? Security for three hundred a week?” She marched into the kitchen, Daniel trailing behind. “James is renting us a three-bed in Kensington. Alfiell go to a proper school.”
The kitchen smelled of beef stew and fresh biscuits. Daniel remembered cooking in this cramped space, Emily teaching him to fry sausages. Alfie crawling underfoot, grabbing their legs.
“We said wed raise him together,” Daniel murmured. “Remember when we found out you were pregnant?”
“I was stupid then!” She yanked open the fridge. “Eighteen and full of daft romantic notions. Now Ive grown up. I know how life works.”
She slammed a milk carton on the counter.
“James is a proper man. Takes Alfie to the countryside, the theatre. Buys him quality clothes, not market junk.”
“Im not rich,” Daniel admitted. “But I love him.”
“Love isnt enough,” she poured milk into a mug. “A child needs stability. Security.”
Alfie barrelled in, lorry in hand, steering it across the table.
“Uncle James says hes got loads of cars at his house,” he told Daniel. “And a bicycle!”
“See?” Emily said triumphantly. “Hes adjusting already.”
Daniel crouched beside Alfie.
“Remember when we went on the swings in the park, mate? Had ice cream?”
“Mm.” Alfie nodded. “But Uncle James says ice creams bad.”
“Right, thats enough!” Emily scooped him up. “Daniel, time to go. Jamesll be here soon.”
“Can I at least say goodbye?”
She hesitated, then nodded.
“Alfie, say bye to Uncle Daniel.”
“Hes not Uncle,” Alfie said suddenly. “Hes Daddy.”
The silence was thick, suffocating. Emily paled.
“No, Alfie. Uncle Daniel isnt Daddy. Daddy will be Uncle James.”
“Wheres my real daddy?” Alfie asked.
Daniels head spun. He knelt, meeting the boys eyes.
“Im your daddy, Alfie. Always will be.”
“No!” Emily cut in sharply. “Stop it! Youre making it worse!”
The intercom buzzed. She jumped.
“Thats James. Daniel, leave through the balcony.”
“Were three floors up!”
“Then hide in the loo!” She fussed with her hair. “Alfie, dont say Uncle Daniel was here!”
“Why not?”
“Because Uncle James will be sad.”
Daniel watched her panic. She was afraid of James. Afraid hed find out.
“Go!” she hissed.
Daniel didnt move. He watched Alfie suck his sweet, push the lorry.
“Alfie,” he said softly.
The boy looked up.
“Yeah?”
“I love you so much.”
“Love you too,” Alfie said gravely.
The intercom buzzed again, insistent.
“Mum, whos that?”
“Uncle James,” she said, then whispered to Daniel, “Please!”
Daniel stood, grabbed his jacket. At the door, he turned. Alfie stood in the middle of the kitchen, lorry in hand, staring at him with wide eyes.
“Daddy, you coming tomorrow?”
Emily froze, intercom in hand.
“Not tomorrow,” Daniel croaked.
“When then?”
“Dunno, mate.”
Alfie ran over, hugged his legs.
“Ill wait.”
Daniel lifted him, held him close. Alfie smelled of baby shampoo and biscuits.
“Ill wait too,” he whispered.
Emily pulled him away.
“Enough. James is coming up.”
Daniel stepped onto the landing. Old Mr. Harris from next door sat smoking on the stairs.
“Got the boot, lad?” he asked sympathetically.
“Something like that.”
“Shame about the boy. Good kid. Saw him yesterday with some bloke in a suit. Kept asking, Whens Uncle Daniel coming? Bloke said, Uncle Daniels not coming back.”
Daniel froze.
“He really said that?”
“Whyd I lie?” Mr. Harris took a drag. “Kid misses you. But her?” He nodded at the flat. “Got her head turned by money. Women, eh?”
Daniel trudged downstairs. Outside, drizzle fell. He flipped his collar up and walked toward the Tube.
At home, his mum greeted him.
“Well? Saw Alfie?”
“Emily wont let me anymore,” Daniel shrugged off his coat. “Says her new blokes adopting him.”
“Good Lord!” She threw up her hands. “Why didnt you speak up? Take her to court! Demand visitation!”
“Mum, Im not on the birth certificate. We never married.”
“But you signed the parental responsibility form! Its legal!”
Daniel pulled out Alfies birth certificate. His name was there, plain as day.
“Then youve got rights!” she said fiercely. “See a solicitor tomorrow!”
“I dont know, Mum,” Daniel sighed. “Maybe shes right. Maybe I am nothing to him.”
“Nothing?” she spluttered. “You saw how he clings to you! Hes your son!”
Daniel lay on the sofa, eyes shut. Alfies face floated behind his lids. His voice: “Ill wait.”
The next day, Daniel went to the solicitor. An older woman listened, examined his paperwork.
“Youve got rights,” she said. “You can file for visitation. Though if the mother opposes, itll be messy.”
“What if she marries and the new husband adopts?”
“Then theyd need your consent
