**The Price of Happiness**
I lay on the sofa, eyes half-closed, listening to the sounds inside the flat and beyond the window. Through the double-glazing, muffled car horns blared, police sirens wailed, and an ambulance sped past. Next door, a couple argued, somewhere a phone rang, and a door slammed shut.
I used to love lying like this, guessing which flat had the telly on, which couple were rowing, which floor the lift would stop on.
“Daydreaming again? Have you done your homework?”
I could’ve sworn I wasn’t imagining things. The voice—distant but alive—was Mum’s. I flinched, eyes snapping open. The room was empty, the hallway door ajar. If she had stepped out of the dark right then, I wouldn’t have been surprised—just overjoyed. But she wouldn’t. Not ever again. She’d died a week ago. That voice? Just phantom pain.
I sat up, feet sinking into the soft carpet. “I’ll go mad if I stay here. Should’ve booked the return ticket for the day after the funeral. At the very least, the second day.” Elbows on knees, head in hands, I rocked back and forth.
The sudden ringtone jerked me upright. My elbow slipped, and my head dropped forward. I grabbed my phone without checking the screen. My gaze landed on a note on the table: *”Son, my dear…”*
“Daniel? It’s Aunt Maggie. How are you? It must be brutal there alone. Maybe come stay with me?”
“No, I’m fine.” I set the phone down, folded the letter, and tucked it into the sideboard.
I couldn’t stay alone anymore. Already hearing things. Scrolling through contacts, I stopped at one. “Mickey. My old uni mate. Just the bloke I need.”
“Mickey! Hey!” I said when he answered.
“Hey! Who’s—”
“Don’t recognise me? Didn’t expect you to forget an old friend so quick. Bit disappointed.”
“Wait—Daniel?! You’re back?!” Mickey’s voice crackled with excitement.
“Back, and clearly not missed,” I muttered.
“Don’t be daft! Just didn’t expect you. Where are you now?”
“Home.” My tone shifted.
Mickey caught it instantly. “Your mum?”
“Gone. Buried her a week ago. Nine days now.”
“I’m sorry. Saw her six months back—she looked rough, lost weight. Barely recognised her. How long you staying?”
“Three days.”
“Want me to come over? Nah, better yet—come to ours. You’ll lose it alone in that place.”
“Ours?” I echoed.
“Yeah, got hitched. To Alice. Can you believe it? She’s here—says hi and insists you come. Now. You’ll make lunch. Oh, new address—got a mortgage with the wife.”
“Go on.”
*Alice. Crushed on Mick since first year, while he juggled Wendy and Jules until I set him straight.* I grabbed my coat and called a cab.
On the way, I stopped at a shop—brandy for Mick, wine for Alice, chocolates, and sliced ham.
Skipped the lift, took the stairs to the sixth floor. Needed the stretch—hadn’t left the flat in days. Passing the third floor, a whimper stopped me. A kid? A puppy?
“Hey, you alright?” I pressed my ear to the door.
Silence. Then a small voice: “I’m not crying. I’m singing.”
“Singing by the door?”
“Waiting for Mum.”
“Where is she? You alone?”
“She went to Gran’s in hospital. Locked me in. I’m poorly.”
“Locked you in? How old are you?”
“Five. Who’re you?”
“Daniel. Heard your song. What’s your name?”
“Theo. Wanna hear my Father Christmas poem?”
“Go on.”
I grinned. Knew that one as a kid—forgotten it since.
“Presents for poems, yeah? How do I get it to you, though? You’re locked in. Tell you what—I’ll pop upstairs, then come back. Deal?”
“What present? Are you Father Christmas?”
“Nope. Just wait.”
Mickey answered the door, crushing me in a bear hug.
“Blimey, mate! Years, no word!”
“Let the man breathe,” came Alice’s voice.
She stood in the doorway—different, prettier.
“Come in. Place is still a mess—just moved.” Mick’s pride was obvious. *Look what I’ve got.*
I whistled. “Bloody hell. ‘Mess’ my arse. This is nice.”
“Mortgaged to the hilt, but worth it—no more living with parents. Planning a sprog.” Mick beamed.
“Let’s eat,” Alice ordered.
We drank, ate, caught up.
“Married? Kids?” Alice asked.
Then I remembered Theo.
“Listen, gonna sound rude, but can I pinch some sweets and satsumas? Kid downstairs did me a poem. Promised him a treat.”
“Course.” Alice packed a bag.
I rang the third-floor bell. No crying this time. The lock clicked, and a woman opened the door. Familiar—name escaped me.
“You?” She recognised me too.
Small footsteps, and Theo appeared—bright-eyed, just as I pictured.
“Promised you a present. Sorry, no toys—but here.” I handed him the bag.
He stared up, solemn.
“Can I come in?” I asked the woman.
“Why?”
“Just… talk. Been years. Yours?” I nodded at Theo.
She shrugged. “Come in.”
Names flicked through my head—Emily, Sophie, Claire… *Chloe!*
“Wasn’t looking for you,” I said, explaining about Theo. “My mate Mick lives upstairs—Alice, his wife. Know them?”
Chloe shrugged. “Theo’s dad?”
“Your friends waiting?” she deflected.
“Right. Well—good seeing you.”
Climbing the stairs, I marvelled. *Mick buys a flat in Chloe’s building. Her kid cries just as I pass. Might never have met. But she’s changed…*
Final year, New Year’s Eve party. Chloe was there—tagged along with some girl. Noticed her glances at uni. Drank, danced. She asked me to walk her home. Don’t remember talking much—if at all. Ended up in her flat. Cosy. Her, soft and warm… She woke me: *”Mum’s due back—you should go.”*
At uni, I’d wave, pretending nothing happened. Twice she tried to talk—I bolted, claiming deadlines.
*Stop.* My skin burned. I froze outside Mick’s door. *Theo said he’s five. Five years ago—New Year’s. Six months later, I left for Scotland. Means Theo… No. Can’t be. She invited me that night…*
I rang the bell.
“Finally! We were about to search,” Mick said.
“Sorry. I—I’ve got to go.” I grabbed my jacket.
“What’s wrong? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
“Something like that. Sorry. I’ll come by tomorrow.”
“Want me to call a cab?”
“Nah. Need air.”
Walking, numb. The booze wore off fast—made it worse. *What if… No. She wouldn’t. Liked me—obvious. So I used her and forgot?*
Home, I collapsed on the sofa, face in a cushion, and howled.
Next day, I returned to Chloe’s with toys for Theo. He beamed, tearing into boxes. We sat in the kitchen.
“Chlo, when’s Theo’s birthday? Said it’s soon.”
“Why? You’ll be gone. September.”
“September. So he’s mine. I was an idiot. Ignored you. Thought I had time—love, family, all later… Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Who says he’s yours?”
“Then whose?”
Chloe flushed. “Tried. You weren’t listening.”
“Christ, how was I to know? I’ll fix this. Think about it. Theo needs a dad. Mine left at eight—‘loved someone else.’ Mum let him go. Tried with others later—one bloke even moved in. I hated him. She sent him packing. Selfish—I waited for Dad. Later, he begged to come back. We both said no. Grew up, left for uni—she stayed alone. My biggest regret. I won’t do that to you and Theo. Not asking for sex—a family. We could have more kids…”
“You’ll leave. Theo already asks about you.”
“That’s what I’m saying. Say the word, and I stay. Well—goHe slipped the ring onto Chloe’s finger, whispering, “I’m not leaving this time,” as Theo squealed and wrapped his tiny arms around both of them.
