Victor Peterson ushered his new wife into the house and froze at the sheer force of her demands they scattered in all directions. Twentythousand pounds for a consultation? Are you out of your mind?
The renovation consultant, a young lady in a sharp business suit, calmly gathered her papers.
This is the standard rate. If you dont like it, youre free to look elsewhere, she said.
Screw you! Ill find somewhere else! shouted Sophie, snatching her handbag and bolting for the door. What a ripoff!
She burst out of the office, the door slamming behind her. Outside, an unpleasant October drizzle beat down. Sophie fished her phone out and dialled her father.
Dad, it went nowhere. The consultant asked for astronomical sums. Looks like youll have to sort the repairs yourself.
Victors voice was oddly upbeat. Dont worry, love. Ive met someone who can help. Shell sort it.
Soon? Who is she?
Come over this evening. Ill introduce you.
Dad
Victor hung up. Sophie stood in the rain, feeling a chill creep inside her. She. It had been a year and a half since Mum died. Could Father already have met someone new?
That evening Sophie headed to Victors flat. She rode the lift to the fifth floor and rang the bell. Victor, sporting a crisp tie and an ironed shirt, opened the door. He was sixtytwo but still looked about fiftyfive.
Sophie, come in! Ive got someone for you to meet, he announced, clearly excited.
A woman emerged from the kitchen tall, slender, dressed in a fitted dress, hair just above the shoulders, makeup bold enough to be seen from the hallway. She could not have been more than thirtyfive.
Hello, Sophie! she chirped, extending a hand. Im Alison. Lovely to meet you.
Sophie took the hand automatically. It was cool, nails painted a glossy black.
Nice to meet you, she managed.
Victor hustled them both. Alison, have a seat, love. Sophie, you sit too! Ill get the tea.
Alison settled on the sofa, crossing her legs. Sophie perched opposite, eyeing the newcomer.
Your fathers spoken highly of you, Alison began. He says youre a real smart cookie. Working at the bank, I presume?
Yes, Sophie replied briefly.
Splendid! I used to work in banking myself, many years ago. Then I switched gears.
What to what? Sophie asked.
Oh, this and that, Alison waved a hand. You know how it is.
Sophie nodded. At forty shed spent her whole career in one place, building a steady trajectory. The variety Alison hinted at was foreign to her.
Victor returned with tea, biscuits, and a jar of jam, fussing around like a groom before a wedding.
Help yourselves! Sophie, try the jam! Alison made it herself! he urged.
Sophie snapped a biscuit dry and tasteless. Alison sipped her tea, smiling.
Victor, love, wheres the sugar? I cant have tea without sugar! she called.
Im on it! Victor darted to the kitchen.
Sophie watched her father, a man shed always known as restrained and stern, now bustling about, eyes glued to Alison.
Dad, can we talk? she asked when he returned with the sugar bowl.
Of course, dear. Whats on your mind?
Just us, alone.
Victor hesitated, glanced at Alison, who rose gracefully.
Nothing to worry about, Victor. Ill pop into the bathroom and freshen up, she said, swaying her hips as she left.
Sophie watched her go, then turned to her father.
Dad, who is that woman? Where did she come from?
Victor swallowed. Sophie, I should have told you Alison and I have been seeing each other for three months now.
Three months? And you never mentioned a word!
I didnt want to upset you. I thought Id wait until it felt serious.
So serious that?
Victor cleared his throat, readjusted his tie. Were getting married.
Sophie felt the breath catch in her throat.
Married? Youve only known her three months!
I know, but Im not a boy any more. Im sixtytwo and I know what I want.
What do you want? A young bride?
Dont say that, Sophie! Alison is a good person, Victor snapped.
Good, huh? How old is she?
Thirtyeight.
So shes twentyfour years younger! Doesnt that seem odd? Sophie muttered.
Love doesnt count the years, Victor replied, chuckling strangely.
Sophie closed her eyes, picturing her mother, Helenkind, caring, thirtyfive years old when she married Victor. Helen had passed away a year and a half ago after a quick battle with cancer. Sophie had cared for her until the end, watching Victor sit beside the bed, hand trembling.
Dad, youve only had a year and a half since Mum died. Thats not much time to move on.
Its been lonely. Then I met Alison in the park. We talked, we clicked, and the rest is well, youre seeing it now.
Alison returned from the bathroom, fragrant with perfume.
Hows the chat? she asked, settling beside Victor and laying a hand on his shoulder.
We talked, Sophie said, standing. I need to go. Early morning tomorrow.
Victor rose, eyes bright. Hold on, Sophie! One more thing Alison is moving in next week.
Sophie froze at the doorway. Into this flat? Our flat?
Yes. What else?
But this was Mums flat yours and hers.
It was, Victor whispered. Now its mine and Alisons.
Sophie slipped out without a goodbye, the rain drenching her thoughts. She called her brother Andrew, who lived in Manchester and visited rarely.
Andy, you hear about Dads new lady? she asked.
Yeah, I got a call. Alison, right?
Are you okay with it?
Honestly? Hes an adult. He deserves a life of his own.
But shes after his money!
What money? Hes on a pension and this flat. No other cash.
That flats a threebedroom in the city centre. Its worth a decent sum!
So what? Shes marrying him, not the property.
Andy, are you serious? You sound naive.
Andrew sighed. Sophie, dont dramatise. Well see what happens.
Sophie hung up, her mind a storm.
She remembered Helens gentle voice, the way Victor had whispered, Dont go, love, I need you, as the hospital lights dimmed. Now Victor seemed to be hunting a replacement.
The next week Victor called.
Sophie, come over Saturday. Alisons moving in; I want you there.
Why?
So you can meet her properly. Become friends, perhaps.
Sophie drove over, not out of friendship but to keep an eye on Alison.
The flat was a maze of boxes and suitcases. Alison barked orders at Victor.
Victor, that goes in the bedroom! No, not there! Handle with care! Thats fragile!
Victor hauled boxes, sweating, while Sophie slipped in unnoticed.
Hello, she said politely.
Alison turned, flashing a bright smile. Oh, Sophie! Sorry, didnt see you. Victor, look, my daughters arrived! You said she wouldnt come!
Victor dabbed sweat from his forehead. Sophie, could you give us a hand? Theres a lot to move!
Sophie opened a box and found fine china with gold trim, another with silk bedding, a third full of perfume bottles.
Is all this yours? she asked.
Of course! Whose else? Alison replied, pulling dresses from her bag and hanging them. Victor, clear out half the wardrobe! No, the whole lot! I have too many things!
Victor nodded obediently. Sophie watched him shuffle his own shirts and trousers into cartons to make space for Alisons gowns, jackets, and shoes.
Dad, where will you put your stuff? she asked.
In another cupboard, in the lounge. Ill manage, he said, oblivious.
Alison, from the hallway, shouted, Victor, I need space for my shoes! Your old boots are taking up room. Toss them!
Theyre my boots! Sophie protested. I left them here!
Alison gasped, Oh, sorry! Take them then. I didnt realise.
Sophie clenched her teeth, watching her fathers onceown flat being turned into a boutique.
Dad, can we talk? she asked quietly.
Victor glanced up, Later, love. Look at all this chaos!
No, now, she insisted.
Victor sighed, stepped onto the landing with his daughter.
What?
You see what shes doing? Tossing your things, taking over everything!
Its just a woman making a home, Victor muttered. She has a right to it now.
Its *your* home, Victor! It was yours with Mum!
It was Mums. Now its Alisons.
Sophie bolted up the stairs, the door slamming behind her. She sat on the pavement, tears finally spilling for the first time in ages. Mother gone, father bewildered, Alison seizing the place shed grown up in.
She called Andrew again.
What are you going to do? she asked.
I dont know. Hes an adult. He can decide.
Shes using him!
Feelings arent proof, Sophie.
Sophie hung up, feeling utterly useless.
A week later Victor phoned again.
Sophie, come over for dinner. Alisons making your favourite.
My favourite?
Chicken and chips!
Sophie grimaced. Shed always preferred fish, but Victor seemed to have forgotten.
She arrived to find Alison in an apron, beaming.
Come sit, love! Everythings ready! she announced.
On the table lay a steaming plate of chicken with chips, a side salad, some bread, and a jug of juice.
Help yourself, Alison said, ladling a huge portion onto Victors plate. Victor, love, dig in! I really tried.
Victor smiled, tucking in. Sophie poked at the potatoes, trying to be polite.
Not to your taste? Alison asked.
Its fine, just not hungry, Sophie replied.
Alison huffed, You should have come hungry! Ive gone to a lot of trouble!
Victor interjected, Alison, dont be harsh. Sophie works hard, shes tired.
Alison waved it off. I understand. By the way, Victor, we need to remodel.
Remodel? Victor raised an eyebrow. Why?
The place is ancient! The wallpaper is peeling, the parquet creaks. We must change everything!
Thatll cost a fortune, Victor warned.
Whats a fortune to a proper home? You dont want your wife living in a dump, Alison retorted.
Victor fell silent. Id love to, but Ive no money.
Lets get a loan! Alison exclaimed. Im sixtytwo, wholl give me credit?
We could rent out a room, she suggested. Turn the lounge into a bedroom, live in the other two.
Sophie burst out, Rent a room? In a threebedroom flat?
Alison turned, eyes bright. Whats wrong with a little extra cash? Moneys never a bad thing.
Its insane! Sophie shouted.
Why? Lots of people do it, Alison replied.
Victor looked down, ashamed. Im not sure I should be discussing this with you, Sophie.
Sophie stood, her jaw set. If it isnt my business, Ill leave.
She walked out, the door slamming behind her.
She called Andrew again, venting. He listened, then said, Victors an adult. If he wants to remodel and rent a room, thats his choice.
Its absurd! Sophie protested.
Absurd is his decision, Andrew said dryly.
Months passed. Sophie rarely visited, only occasional calls. One evening Victor sent a text, Sophie, how are you?
Fine, she replied.
Later that night his voice creaked over the phone. Sophie, can I come over?
Of course, Dad. Come whenever.
Victor arrived, thinner, slower, settling at the kitchen table with a mug of tea.
Whats wrong? Sophie asked.
Just tired, he admitted.
Because of Alison?
Yes. I think Ive made a mistake.
Sophie, tell me.
He sighed. I took a loan, twentythousand pounds for a new sofa. Then Alison said we needed another twentythousand for furniture. I told her there wasnt any money. She suggested selling the flat, buying a smaller one, and using the difference for a car.
Selling the flat?! Sophie leapt up. Dad, are you out of your mind? Shes draining you!
I see it now, Victor whispered. Its too late.
What? Get a divorce!
How? Were already married.
Sophie sank into a chair. Were legally married, Victor said. She pushed it through a week ago. Said we should formalise everything because we live together.
Dad
Im a fool, Sophie. An old fool who thought hed found love, but only found trouble.
Sophie took his hand. We can fix this. Divorce, get the flat back.
Its hers now, legally. We married.
It isnt, if the flat was mine before we tied the knot! Victor argued.
It was but I dont know how to prove it.
Theres paperwork! The title deed! he said, relief flickering.
Sophie promised to help. She found a solicitor, who explained that if Victor could prove the property was his before the marriage, it would stay his. The deed was still on file.
Armed with that, Victor confronted Alison.
Alison exploded, tears and accusations flying. I gave my life to you! How can you throw me out after a month of marriage?
Its only been a month, but I need my home, Victor said firmly. The flat is mine.
Alison fell silent, wiped her cheeks, and said, Fine. Ill leave. But youll still have to pay the loan.
Victor nodded. I will.
She packed her designer dresses, highheeled shoes, perfume bottles, and left.
The flat fell silent again. Victor sat at the kitchen table, staring at the empty space.
Sophie arrived that evening. Dad, you sitting here like a statue?
Im thinking, he replied.
About what?
How I was such a fool. I missed Helen so much I grabbed at anything that looked like a fix.
Sophie, I missed her terribly. I was so lonely I thought I could fill the gap with anyone.
Its okay. You dont need a replacement. You have me, your brother Andy, the grandchildren someday.
Victor smiled. Thanks, love. For everything.
They shared a pot of tea, then Sophie helped Victor clear out the leftover bits of Alisons belongings the dresses, the shoes, the perfume. Why keep these reminders of a foolish adventure? Victor mused.
The divorce was processed quickly; Alison didnt contest, knowing the flat would stay Victors. She vanished, later marrying another widower in a small town. Sophie once spotted her in a shopping centre, still flamboyant, clutching a bag for a silverhaired gentleman with a cane. Sophie walked past without a word no need to reopen old wounds.
Instead, Sophie thought of Helens quiet wisdom, the warmth of a modest home, not flashiness or drama. Thats real love a gentle, steady presence, not gaudy dresses and endless demands.
Victor learned that lesson a little late, but he finally understood. He lived alone for the rest of his days, with occasional visits from his children and grandchildren. The flat remained his sanctuary, modestly refurbished after the rushed renovations.
One day, Victor looked around the newly painted living room, the fresh parquet, the cosy armchair, and said, Now its beautiful, and not nearly as pricey as Alison wanted.
Sophie laughed. Mum would have approved.
Victor nodded. She loved a tidy, comfortable home, not a showpiece.
Sophie gave him a hug. You wont look for another replacement for Mum, will you?
No, Victor said firmly. Ive learned my lesson. Better to be alone in peace than with anyone who brings stress.
They sipped tea, the kettle whistling merrily. The house, once a battlefield of egos, settled into a calm, familiar rhythm the kind Helen would have cherished.
