“Following in His Footsteps”
“Tommy, what on earth is the matter with you? Look at this—English, a D; maths, an F; and you didn’t even show up for literature! Why won’t you study and why do you keep skipping school? What am I supposed to do with you, you absolute nightmare?” Laura sighed, flipping through her son’s Year 8 school diary.
“Dunno,” the teenager muttered, turning his face away.
“Luv, leave the lad alone! Literature, biology—I bunked off too back in the day, and I turned out fine!” slurred Steven’s voice from the living room sofa.
“Oh, clearly! Too busy to have a proper talk with your own son—three days on the drink, is it?” Laura snapped.
“What’s the big deal? I’ve got every right! It’s not your money I’m wasting. Besides, it was Mike’s birthday—his fiftieth, mind you!” Steven dropped his head back onto the cushion and passed out again.
Laura had grown up in a respectable family. Her parents had taught her not just proper manners but given her a solid upbringing. She’d worked hard at school, earned a place at a top university. Yet, by some cruel twist of fate, she’d met Steven.
They’d crossed paths at a student party. Laura was in her final year, while Steven had already finished trade school and started as a mechanic. She’d noticed the handsome young man with striking eyes, who looked older than his years. At the time, she had no idea how he’d upend her orderly life.
They began dating, marrying that summer after Laura had handed in her dissertation. At first, it wasn’t bad. But Laura had already disliked how Steven never missed a chance to celebrate—any excuse for a drink.
Eventually, she realised she’d made a mistake—they weren’t right for each other. She considered divorce. But fate had other plans—she found out she was pregnant.
She couldn’t bring herself to end it, nor did she want the child growing up fatherless. An optimist at heart, Laura hoped motherhood would steady Steven. But when he’d stumbled into the hospital drunk, she knew—nothing would ever change.
It never did. Steven drank heavily and often. He half-heartedly helped around the house, either out with mates or sleeping off the last bender.
Laura never complained. She held everything together—working long hours for a decent wage, keeping the flat tidy, giving Tommy attention. But the older he got, the more he resembled his father. She saw nothing of herself in him: school bored him, clubs held no appeal.
By Year 7, he was completely out of control.
“Mrs. Dawson, you really must speak with your son. He’s rude in class, ignores instructions, and his grades—well, it’s heartbreaking,” the form teacher would say. After every parents’ evening, Laura walked home, silently cursing herself for failing him somehow.
At first, Tommy made excuses, promised to do better. Empty words.
He scraped through Year 11. Sixth form was never an option—trade school it was. Laura dreaded the realisation: her son was walking straight into his father’s footsteps. By now, Steven was drinking himself into the ground. She regularly dragged him out of binges, endured the rows, and—worst of all—begged his boss not to sack him.
Trade school fared no better. Tommy skipped classes, snapped at tutors, fought with peers. At home, he shrugged it off.
“Mum, maybe I should just quit and work with Dad. Start earning properly,” he suggested once.
“Love, don’t talk like that! What do you mean, ‘properly’? You need qualifications—you can always study later. Do you really want to end up like your dad?”
“What’s wrong with that? Dad’s fine,” Tommy objected.
“Exactly! What’s the big deal? Lay off him, will you? Lad wants to work, let him work! There’s a spot for him,” Steven butted in.
Somehow, Laura persuaded Tommy to finish trade school. She begged tutors to overlook his behaviour, give him another chance. Barely passing, he immediately announced he’d work with his father. Laura tried to dissuade him, already foreseeing the outcome. Worse, Tommy was so like Steven—in looks and temper. There was nothing of her left in him.
Still, like any mother, she hoped he’d come to his senses. Fate had other ideas. Her worst fears came true—father and son worked the same shift, drinking together.
One evening, returning from work, Laura stumbled over something in the hallway. Flicking the light on, she saw Tommy sprawled on the floor, barely conscious.
“Tom—Tommy, love, what’s wrong?” She shook him, panicked.
“Piss off, Mum… lemme sleep,” he slurred, rolling over.
The stench of alcohol hit her. He was dead drunk—couldn’t even make it to bed. Just like Steven used to.
She stepped into the kitchen. Steven was slumped over the table. She nearly shook him awake to scream, but stopped herself.
Grabbing her bag, she left. Wandering the streets, she had nowhere to go—no close friends to lean on. She sat on a bench in the park. The autumn evening was mild, people laughing around her. Laura watched their bright faces, wondering what she’d done to deserve this.
A dog suddenly darted up, a red ball in its mouth. Laura startled.
“Blimey, sorry—did he scare you? Max, here, now!” A man called, and the dog trotted over.
“Just took me by surprise,” Laura said, wiping her face.
“Everything alright? Need any help?”
“No—no, it’s fine.”
“I’m Anthony. And you?”
“Laura.”
“Lovely name—don’t hear that often nowadays. This one’s Max, as you gathered. Fancy a coffee?”
“Alright,” she surprised herself by saying.
They talked all evening. For the first time in years, Laura felt the weight lift. They exchanged numbers, kept talking. Eventually, she told him everything. Anthony offered her a place to stay. She agreed.
“Oi, look who’s landed herself a posh bloke! Tommy, your mum’s ditching us! Who’d want you, you daft cow?” Steven jeered as she packed.
“Mum, you serious? What about us?” Tommy asked.
“You’ll manage.”
“Suppose so.”
“Right, son—let’s toast your mum’s departure. Big occasion,” Steven sneered.
Laura left. Anthony waited below, loading her case into the boot. Glancing up at the flat, she pictured them already at the table, cracking open another drink.
“Ready?” Anthony asked.
“God, yes—quickly,” Laura said, sliding into the car.
Anthony was Steven’s opposite. At first, his pristine flat—expensive furniture, clean lines—felt alien. She’d forgotten life could be this quiet, this peaceful.
She filed for divorce, spoke little to Steven. Tommy only rang to borrow money. She lent it, but never let him visit.
“Laurie, what d’you think about moving to London?” Anthony asked one evening.
“Hadn’t really thought about it,” she admitted.
“They’ve offered me a transfer—better pay, promotion. Didn’t say yes yet—wanted your thoughts.”
After a pause, Laura nodded.
“I’m in. I’ll find work there. Nothing’s keeping me here.”
“Brilliant,” Anthony grinned.
Before leaving, Laura met Tommy at a café. He was already half-cut.
“What d’you want?”
“Hello to you too. You’re drunk.”
“Come to lecture me?”
“No. I’m leaving—London, for good.”
“With that bloke?”
“Tommy, look at yourself. It’s not too late—I could ask Anthony, he knows people—maybe find you better work?”
“Piss off! Got a job. You’re leaving? Fine. We’ll sell the flat—too big anyway. Live at the factory digs.”
“Do what you like. I’ll sign whatever.”
Two weeks later, she was on a plane. Anthony held her hand.
“Penny for your thoughts?”
“Just… remembering. Grew up here. Parents are buried here.”
“Regrets?”
“None. Not one,” Laura said, meaning every word.
