Father left because he found out about Mum’s affair with a colleague. The house erupted into a terrible row.
“What did you expect? I’ve been left alone night and day! You’re always at that bloody job of yours. I’m a woman—I need attention!”
“Right. And what if I lock up your attentive little Romeo, eh? Plant something on him, shut him away—how’d you like that?” Dad snarled with cold fury. He worked as a detective inspector in the Met.
“You wouldn’t dare! You wouldn’t! You ruined everything yourself!”
Mum collapsed onto the sofa, sobbing. Dad had already packed his few belongings and was headed for the door. I stood in the hallway, blocking the way to the living room, ready to throw myself at the threshold to stop him. What madness was this? We’d always been a close, happy family. Mum and Dad never fought, told the same jokes, laughed together. Sure, Dad worked long hours, came home bone-tired, wanting nothing but sleep. But the time we did have together proved we were fine! How could Mum wreck it all like this? And wouldn’t Dad forgive her?
“Greg, don’t go,” Mum begged, peeling her hands from her tear-streaked face. “Forgive me! Don’t leave. Ollie, stop bloody eavesdropping!”
But I didn’t move. Stood right in the doorway. Twelve years old and convinced I could stop them from destroying what I thought was a happy family.
“Ollie, move,” Dad ordered, his voice flat. The same tone he used on work calls. Not at home. Not with us.
“Don’t go,” I pleaded.
“Let me pass!”
Same tone.
“Dad… what about me?”
He pushed me aside like a piece of furniture and left. I thought he rushed out to stop himself doing something terrible. Not just hitting Mum in rage—he had his service pistol. His eyes burned with such anger that leaving was the right choice. I see that now. But that day, he became the man who shoved me aside like a chair. And Mum became the one who’d made this nightmare.
Romeo, of course, turned out to be a right bastard and dumped her too. She was left in a miserable state. Husband gone, lover vanished, son blaming her for it all. It wasn’t easy for her—and then there was me.
I started staying out late, fell in with a bad crowd. Petty theft at first, then we got bold. Got caught robbing some rich brat—not all of us. His security grabbed two: me and Davey. Dad, by then a chief inspector, showed up at the station where they held me. Our surname—Magpie—was uncommon, and my middle name wasn’t Peter but Gregory. Someone who knew him made the call.
“Let’s go,” Dad grunted.
“Sod off,” I muttered through gritted teeth.
He dragged me out of the cell.
“What about Davey?” I yelled, thrashing.
Dad hauled me into an interrogation room and smacked me twice across the face. Wiping blood and tears, I hated him more than ever.
“How old are you now?”
“What?”
“Fifteen? Sixteen?”
I almost laughed.
“Congrats! You don’t even know your own son’s age!”
“Because you’re not mine!” he roared. “I married Lily when she was already knocked up. Thought she’d be a decent wife. But she was always a—” he spat a curse— “and always will be.”
“Then who is?” I asked, numb.
He tossed me a handkerchief and a water bottle. I wiped my face. Greg sat across from me.
“Sorry I hit you. You’ve upset me, son. Think I don’t have enough on my plate?”
“Then go deal with it,” I muttered.
“Ollie… on paper, you’re mine. I pay your mum child support, regular as clockwork. But if this keeps up, I’ll wash my hands of you. Let them lock you up—what’s it to me?”
“And now?”
“What now?”
“Will they lock me up now?”
He shook his head.
“What about Davey?”
“Listen, Davey’s got his own dad. Well-off family. They’ll sort it. Worry about yourself. What’s the appeal, eh? Think prison’s some holiday camp? 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. I told Greg as much.
“Point is, no one chooses for you. Either shape up—school, future—or carry on down the road that usually ends badly. Don’t fancy jail? Change. Piss off.”
I turned to leave. At the door, his voice stopped me.
“And don’t blame your mum. Takes two to wreck a marriage. What I said earlier—heat of the moment. Forget it.”
“Greg… Dad, you love each other! Can’t you fix it?” I asked, hopeless.
“Forget that too, son.”
The lads didn’t want to let me go. Had to fight my way out, walked around with bruises for a bit. But I got free. Dad pulled strings—Davey got probation and went back to his old ways. I made my choice.
Forgave Mum. Tried hard. Thought about asking who my real father was, but never did. Too busy digging myself out of schoolwork—had so much to catch up on.
Fixed my grades, applied to a few police colleges.
“You mad?” Mum raged. “That’s no life! Remember your father! No life at all.”
I did remember him. But we never met. Unspoken, no hard feelings. Graduated as a lieutenant, showed up unannounced. Wanted nothing from him—just to prove I’d chosen right. Stayed straight.
Dad was still chief inspector. Never climbed higher. Guess he was happy. Knocked on his office door.
“Sir,” I saluted. “Lieutenant Magpie. Permission to enter?”
“Ollie?” he gaped.
So Mum kept her word. Never told him.
“Bloody hell, son. At ease. Sit, talk.”
He poured tea. Offered whisky—I declined. Talked for an hour, maybe. Dad took work calls now and then. His temples had gone grey, face lined. This stranger, this father, watched me with wet eyes. Wiped them away. Bloke was choked up. Why?
Told him my plans. Discussed football and politics. Time to go.
“Right, Dad, best be off.” Stood up.
“Wait. Where you off to? Don’t go.” Greg rose. “Join my unit, eh?”
I thought. Did I want to work under him? Suppose so. Suppose I’d missed him ten bloody years. Sat back down.
“Not leaving?” he asked.
“Not yet. Plenty of time for that later.”
