Dad walked out because he found out about Mum’s affair with a colleague. The house erupted into a terrible row.
“What did you expect? I’m alone all the time! You’re at that job day and night. I’m a woman—I need attention!”
“Oh, really? And how’d you feel if I locked up that attentive Richard of yours? Plant something on him, get him banged up, eh?” Dad asked with cold fury. He was a copper, worked in CID.
“You wouldn’t dare! You wouldn’t! You ruined everything yourself!”
Mum slumped onto the sofa, crying. Dad had already packed his few belongings and was heading for the door. I stood in the hallway doorway, ready to block his path like some daft kid. Why? We’d always been a tight-knit family. Mum and Dad never argued, shared the same jokes, laughed together. Sure, Dad was always at work, came home dead tired, just wanted sleep. But when we were together, it was good. How could Mum wreck it all like this? And how could Dad not forgive her?
“Greg, don’t go,” Mum pleaded, lifting her face from her hands. “Forgive me! Stay. Victor, stop eavesdropping!”
But I didn’t move. Blocked the hallway. Twelve years old, convinced I could stop them from destroying what I thought was a happy home.
“Vic, move,” Dad ordered, firm.
That tone—I’d only heard it when he was on duty. Not at home. Never with us.
“Don’t go,” I begged.
“Let me pass!”
Same clipped tone.
“Dad… what about me?”
He shoved me aside like furniture and left the flat. Looking back, I reckon he rushed out before he did something stupid—not just hitting Mum in the heat of it, but worse. He carried a service weapon. His eyes burned with rage. He was right to leave. I get that now. But that day, he became the man who pushed me aside like a chair. And Mum became the one who’d caused the whole mess.
Richard, of course, turned out to be a right git and dumped Mum right after Dad left. She was in a state—husband gone, lover vanished, son blaming her. And then there was me.
Started staying out late, fell in with a rough crowd. Petty theft at first, then we got bolder. Got nicked trying to rob some rich kid—not all of us. He had security, they grabbed two: me and Danny.
Dad, who by then was a DI in CID, showed up at the station. Our surname—Magpie—was uncommon, and with “Gregson” as my middle name, someone recognised it and rang him.
“Get out here,” Dad barked.
“Piss off,” I muttered through gritted teeth.
He dragged me out of the cell.
“What about Danny?” I yelled, struggling.
He hauled me into an interview room and smacked me twice, hard. Wiping blood and tears, I hated him more than ever.
“How old are you now?”
“What?”
“Fifteen?”
I almost laughed.
“Congrats! You don’t even know your own son’s age!”
“Because you’re not mine!” he roared. “I married Gail knowing she was pregnant. Thought she’d be a decent wife. But she stayed a—” he spat a foul word.
“Who’s my dad, then?” I asked dumbly.
He tossed me a handkerchief and a water bottle. Once I’d cleaned up, Greg sat opposite and said, “Sorry I hit you. You really let me down. Think I don’t have enough on my plate?”
“Then go deal with it,” I grumbled.
“Vic… on paper, you’re mine. I’ve paid your mum’s maintenance like clockwork. But if this carries on, I’ll wash my hands of you. Let ’em lock you up—see if I care.”
“And now?”
“What now?”
“Won’t they lock me up now?”
He shook his head.
“What about Danny?”
“Listen, Danny’s got his own old man. They’re well-off. They’ll sort it. You worry about yourself. What’s the appeal, eh? Think prison’s a laugh? It’s hell. Juvenile wing—hell squared.”
I didn’t want prison. I was just miserable, couldn’t stand looking at Mum. So I… distracted myself. Told Greg as much.
“Point is, no one’s choosing for you. Either clean up your act—school, future—or keep on this path. It ends badly. Don’t fancy jail? Change.” He dismissed me.
At the door, his voice stopped me:
“Don’t blame your mum. Divorce is always on both. What I said about her earlier—heat of the moment. Forget it.”
“Greg… Dad, you love each other! Can’t you make up?” I asked hopelessly.
“Forget that too, son.”
The lads from our crew didn’t let me go easy. Had to scrap my way out, wore a few bruises. But I got clear. Danny got off with probation and went back to his old ways. I made my choice.
Forgave Mum. Tried hard. Thought about asking who my real dad was but never did. Too busy catching up on school—had so much to make up, it took all my time.
Got my grades up, applied to a few police colleges.
“You’re mad!” Mum fumed. “That’s no life! Remember your dad! It’s no life.”
I did remember Dad. But we never saw each other. No hard feelings, just… unspoken. Graduated as a lieutenant, turned up at his station unannounced. Didn’t want anything—just to show him I’d chosen right. Stayed straight.
Dad was still a DI. Never climbed higher. Guess he was happy. Knocked on his office door.
“Good afternoon, sir.” Saluted. “Lieutenant Magpie. Permission to enter?”
“Vic?” He gaped.
So Mum had kept her word. Never told him.
“Blimey, son. At ease. Come in, talk.”
He made me tea. Offered brandy, I declined. Talked for an hour. He took work calls now and then. His temples were greyer, face lined. This stranger—yet family—watched me with wet eyes. Wiped them away. Bloke was choked. Why?
Shared my plans. Talked football and politics. Time to leave.
“Right, Dad, best be off.” Stood up.
“Wait. Hang on—where you going? Don’t go.” Greg stood. “Join my team, eh?”
Pondered it. Did I want to work under him? Probably. Probably spent ten years missing him. Bloody decade. Sat back down.
“Not leaving?” He studied me.
“Not yet. Plenty of time to walk out later.”
