A terrible discovery came about purely by chance. My four-year-old sister, Lucy, had developed an umbilical hernia. The doctors said not to delaythe sooner the operation, the better. Lucy refused point-blank to go to the hospital without Dad. We waited for him to return from his lorry route, and he walked her all the way to the operating theatre.
“Daddy, will you wait for me here?” sobbed my little sister.
“Where would I go, love? Of course Ill wait. Why are you crying? Youre my brave girl, arent you?”
“Im not crying! Im just breathing loudly!”
And with that, they wheeled her away. A simple routine procedure, but the hospital insisted Mum and Dad donate blood beforehandmandatory, no exceptions.
“Only one of us will match, surely,” Dad said. “Couldnt you test first? So we dont give more than needed?”
“Theres no such thing as too much blood!” the doctor replied firmly.
Mum and Dad both donated. Mum looked pale, as if she might faint any second. Afterward, she couldnt sit still, pacing between the waiting area and the nurses station. When Lucy was finally wheeled out, Dad went to meet her, just as hed promised. He stayed with her the whole weekend. Mum seemed to relax a little after visiting, then drove me home despite my protests.
“I could stay with her too,” I argued stubbornly.
I was already eleven by then. Lucy, my little blonde sister, was the person I loved most in the worldmaybe even more than Mum and Dad. And how could anyone not love her? She was an angel. A golden-haired angel in the flesh.
Picture a small town with its own modest hospitalnew, well-equipped, even with its own blood bank. But still, a small town is a small town. Three days after Lucy came home, Dad was preparing for another route. He went out to buy cigarettes for the journey but came back looking like a thundercloud.
“Daddy!” Lucy wailed from her room (she was still on bed rest). “Did you bring my favourite marshmallows?”
Dad left the shopping bag in the hall, told me sharply to go to Lucys room, then took Mum by the elbow and steered her into the kitchen.
“John John, whats wrong?”
What followed was a conversation I wouldnt understand for yearsback then, neither Lucy nor I had a clue. She was too young, and I obeyed Dad without question. Off to her room I went while Lucy sniffled and demanded marshmallows and Daddy. I offered to read to her instead. Thank God, she agreed.
In the kitchen, John, wild-eyed, backed Mum against the wall. Nowhere left to retreat.
“Is it true? Lucy isnt mine?”
“WhathowJohn, are you mad? What are you saying?”
“Ill tell you what Im saying. My blood type is A-positive. Yours is O-positive. And hers” He jerked his head toward Lucys room. “AB-negative. If theres a mistake, we can re-test.”
Mum shoved him aside, stumbled to the table, and dropped her head into her hands with a groan.
“Bastards. I told them! What did they want? Theyre jealous, John, jealous of our life. We had everythingsuch beautiful children.”
“You told them right. Got it.”
He walked out, leaving Mum weeping in the kitchen. One mistake. One stupid mistake, out of boredom, with an engineer passing through town. Dad was always away on routes. In films, lorry drivers were romantic figures. In reality, it was lonely and miserable. Mum had convinced herself he probably wasnt faithful eitherhow could he be, away so much? She leapt up, ran after himbut he was already gone. Only a box of marshmallows remained on the table.
After his next route, Dad sat me down for a serious talk. He asked me to come live with him.
“Dad, what about Lucy? Mum? Cant you stay?”
It felt like a boulder had been dropped on me. Id watched documentariesboulders were made of layers. This weight crushing me was no different. Fear of losing Dad. Fear of choosing. No matter what, someone would be left behind. In my head, the math was simple: Lucy + Mum outweighed Dad. Though honestly, just Lucy mightve been enough.
Dad met with me often after that. With Lucy, though, it was like hed forgotten she existed. I didnt understand, but I figured if he could explain, he would. At first, she cried for him, breaking my heart. Then she stopped asking. She withdrew, lost in her toys. I didnt know why this punishment had fallen on her, but I could guess. As for Mum
Mum lost it. She started dragging junk home from the bins. First, harmless thingsmaybe even useful. Then just anything. She stopped caring about us entirely, hunched over her trash treasures, muttering. How a young, pretty woman could turn into that in a year and a halfI couldnt fathom. But I never told Dad. Our neighbour, Mrs. Harris, helped with Lucy and me. Dads child support kept us fed. The smell, though the stench soaked into our flat. Kids at school laughed, but I avoided fights.
“Mrs. Harris, can you teach me to iron?” I knocked on her door one day.
“Tommy, love, you ought to wash them first,” she said, wrinkling her nose.
“Wont help. I did. But Im seeing Dad tomorrow, and I need to look”
“So he doesnt” She gasped. “He doesnt know about Linda?”
“I wont tell him. He leftits not his problem now.”
She let me in, then hesitated. “Bring Lucy too. Ill get you both sorted. And bring your clotheschange here from now on. Ill help however I can.”
So we did. At least I didnt reek like a tramp at school anymore. But kind Mrs. Harris didnt stop there. She hunted Dad down and shamed him. He met me after school.
“Why didnt you tell me?”
“And then what? Would you have come back?”
“No. But you couldve lived with me.”
“What about Lucy?”
Silence. I shook my head and turned toward home.
“Wait! Lucy could stay with your nan.”
“Nans got a new husband. Shes not bothered with us.”
“Right. Takes after” Dad cut himself off.
He still tried talking to Nan.
“John, are you daft? Why would I want little kids? Ive got a new lease on life.”
“But Lucys your granddaughter!”
“Shame, that.”
“What?!” Dad stared.
“Shame motherhoods obvious, but fatherhood isnt. If Id had a son, who knows if his kids were really mine? Clean hands. But Lucys mine, alright. Still got my own life.”
“Yeah. Shouldve looked closer at you before marrying Linda.”
One morning, I woke to find Mum gone. Her hoard remainedshed at least kept mine and Lucys room cleanbut shed vanished. I cracked the window; icy air diluted the stench. Fed Lucy, nibbled something myself, then took her to Mrs. Harris.
“Mums gone. Ive got school.”
“Gone? In this freeze? Whered she go?”
My reckless, broken mother ended her days on a rubbish heap. Why she froze instead of coming homeno one knew. Mrs. Harris said social services would take us now. And they came. The woman glanced at our flat, then turned to Mrs. Harris.
“Could we do the paperwork at yours?”
“Come in,” Mrs. Harris sighed.
“Hold on.” Dads voice cut in as he climbed the stairs. “Just back from a route. These are my kids.”
“And the flats yours?” The social worker smirked.
Dad didnt even look inside. “Pack your things, Tom. Were leaving. Well sort this out later.”
“And Lucy?” I whispered, terrified.
“Course. Lucy, love, you too.”
Lucy peeled herself from the wall and shuffled toward him.
“Daddy?”
“What, sweetheart?”
“Is it really you?”
He scooped her up, holding tight, exhaling hard.
“Its me. Im here. Its alright.”
“Dont leave again, Daddy!” Lucy wailed.
I froze. Now shed give us away, and stern Miss Social Worker would take us despite having a living father. But the woman had lost interest, gossiping with Mrs. Harris. And DadDad held Lucy, tears streaming. Hed tried so hard to resent her, to stay away. But love won. Love for us, his children.
“I wont. Im never leaving you again.” His voice cracked.
