My mother was a proper disaster. She was sour, angry at the world, and she took out all that misery on me. Every single day she shrieked over the tiniest thing a stain on my shirt, three grains of salt that fell during dinner. If my trousers ripped on the street, shed pelt me with her fists, not with a belt but with hands and feet wherever she could reach. I knew she was bitter and miserable, so I kept my head down and endured. I was only five to eight years old then, and there was no way I could answer her. Besides, you dont exactly give your own mother a good wallop.
Mom, wheres my dad? Id ask sometimes.
What for? I feed you, clothe you. Im barely keeping the bills paid, and youre? shed snap. Im scraping by, and youre spilling salt and tearing things up. I never got an answer. Who was my father? My mothers love life was as hopeless as everything else, probably thanks to her dreadful temperament. She was constantly getting the sack who could stand a woman with such a terrifying streak at work?
Then George showed up. What he saw in my mother, Ill never know. He seemed to be as unlucky as us, without a flat of his own in Manchester. Mary had a modest council flat that had come down from her own mother. She was barely holding onto a kitchen job in the factory canteen, and George worked on an assembly line. A week after they met, he was already moving in.
Hello, lad! he boomed, shaking my hand with a grip that could crush a tin can. Whats your name?
SSam, I muttered.
Well, Sam, dont be shy. Im George. What year are you in?
Second year.
Doing alright at school?
Fine, fine. Could you help Mum a bit? Mother interjected.
Study, kiddo, George said softly. Itll help you later. He glanced around our shabby twobedroom flat. That was why I tried to learn to read I didnt want to live like this forever.
One afternoon, while scooping sunflower seeds from a packet into my bowl, I knocked a generous handful onto the floor.
Useless! Mary roared. I just mopped the floor and youre making a mess! She gave me such a wallop I almost bonked my head on the cupboard. George, who was sipping tea at the table, jumped up as the room went silent, his fist thudding the table.
Geez!
What? Mary whispered, trying not to shout.
Nothing. Just could I have a biscuit, please?
The house fell quiet until I shuffled out of the kitchen. I didnt leave straight away I first gathered the seeds in a solemn, funerallike silence. Back in my room, I heard George muttering something loudly. Curiosity got the better of me, and I tiptoed in to eavesdrop.
so I never see that again! How could you? For what?
Im exhausted, Mary sighed. Work, the house. And he never appreciates what I do.
First off, hes a child! And second, you ever teach him to respect my work? Do you actually spend any time with him? George pressed.
Mary fell silent.
How often does this happen?
Come off it, George. How often? I gave him a quick smack when he was out of line who hasnt?
It never happens to me. I dont hit those who cant answer back. Thats low.
I wanted to sprint into the kitchen and shout that she was lying, that she beat me all the time, that everything she blamed on me was just her own failures. But Georges gentle defence stopped me; my throat filled with unshed tears.
Mary, if this happens again, Im leaving. I wont live with someone who.
George swore hed never do it again and, astonishingly, he kept his word. From then on he actually spent time with me, asking about school, cheering at good marks, taking me fishing his favourite pastime. One day, while planning a repair, he asked, Sam, you wanna help, or are you too busy with your studies? I gladly agreed and tried my best. George praised me endlessly, probably more than I deserved.
When we finished the kitchen and admired our handiwork, I suddenly loud asked, Are you staying with us for good?
How long? Ill see what I can do, George shrugged.
Right, I sighed, bitterness hanging in my voice.
George crouched, looked me straight in the eye and said, Ill try, honestly.
Can I call you dad? I blurted.
If you want to, he smiled. Of course, son.
At first I called him Dad shyly, then louder, then all the time. I loved George with my whole heart and prayed each night that hed stick around. Somehow the heavens heard, because Mary got pregnant and they married. I was terrified would a new sibling mean George loved me less? One day they came back from the clinic, Marys belly round and proud, and George announced, Were having a girl! Im over the moon. The familys complete now.
Mary gently ran her fingers through my hair. She softened, having found her own happiness, and realised that joy could be lasting. George not only became a good stepdad, he gave my mother back to herself.
Our daughter, Mabel, was born. George adored his little girl but still treated me the first way he always had. Mabel was a bundle of giggles, a toothless grin and clumsy little steps. I protected her, wondering how bleak life would have been without Georges arrival. The thought was almost scary.
Mabel was nine when I left for university in London. I graduated with a gold medal, while she, lazy about school, often heard George say, Take a leaf out of Sams book! He knows what he wants and works at it. Youre glued to that phone. Shed stick out her tongue at George, then hug his neck, melting him.
At the train station, Mary clutched me as if sending me off to war.
Come on, love, youll be back! she wailed.
Sorry, Mum, Im sorry for everything! she sobbed.
George embraced us all, and Mabel flopped onto the platform, already snapping selfies with the train behind her. I whispered in Mums ear that she was the best mum in the world and boarded the train to the capital.
In London I got a degree and a parttime job. Money was tight, but I saved up for gifts especially for George. After the winter exams, I drove home for a holiday. I gave Mabel a fancy phone case, Mum a pair of silver earrings, and George a topnotch set of fishing tackle. He got tearyeyed.
Cheers, lad! Thanks a ton.
That evening, Mum prepared a massive roast to celebrate my return. George called me into the kitchen, lowered his voice and said, Sam, theres something. Your biological dad has turned up. He left a number, but Mum was against it. I thought you might want to know
I stared, stunned. Flashbacks of old arguments rushed in.
Mum, wheres my dad? I asked.
Her hysterical scream filled the room. George waited, eyes flickering with worry, a crumpled piece of paper with a number in his hand. I tore it up and tossed it into the bin.
Dad, are you mad? Ive got you. I dont need any other dad.
George sobbed again, and we hugged tightly. The old man in me grew sentimental, but the family wed built felt enough.
