**Bad Blood**
Anna steps into the flat, drops the heavy shopping bags on the floor with a thud, and exhales loudly.
“Anyone home?” she calls toward the living room. “Two grown men in the house, and I’m the one hauling the shopping,” she mutters. “Everyone’s happy to eat, but when it comes to helping—silence!” she adds, louder now, making sure they hear.
She makes a show of taking off her coat, sighing and groaning dramatically. Finally, her son appears in the doorway.
“Take these bags to the kitchen. Is your dad in?”
Dave picks up the bags from the floor.
“Watching telly,” he tosses over his shoulder.
He didn’t need to mention the telly. She hadn’t asked. But why should he be the only one to bear her sour mood? Let his dad catch some of it too.
“What’s all the shouting for?” Her husband stands in the doorway now.
“Nothing. Just knackered,” Anna snaps. “Give me five minutes, and I’ll make dinner. All by myself. Couldn’t even boil some pasta, could you?” She shoves her feet into slippers and flicks off the hallway light.
“You never asked. We’d have done it, wouldn’t we, Dave?” Her husband, sensing the brewing argument, quickly ropes Dave into his defence.
Only the rustling of bags and the fridge door closing answers from the kitchen. Dave stays neutral—it’s safer that way.
“So, no pasta then,” Anna sighs. “If I had a daughter, she’d have known what to do. But you two? Useless.” She shuffles past her husband into the kitchen.
“Anna, love, I get you’re tired, but why take it out on us? I’m not a mind-reader. If you’d just say, we’d have cooked. Or gone to the shop. I just got home from work too, you know. I’m shattered—” He chops the air with his hand and disappears into the living room.
“That’s exactly my point. You lot need everything spelled out. Much easier to lounge on the sofa,” she grumbles, though the edge has left her voice. She didn’t want a row—she barely had the energy for one. Just couldn’t shake the frustration.
“Thanks, love. Go on, do your homework. I’ll handle the rest.”
Dave bolts straight to his computer. Anna opens the fridge and shakes her head, rearranging items. Once the steam’s blown off, she calms down. She adores her boys—today’s just one of those days.
After dinner, she scrapes the leftover pasta into a container, adds a leftover burger. Hesitates before adding a second.
“Taking it to the Millers again? Don’t spoil them—you’ll only regret it when they start expecting it,” her husband chides, getting back at her for earlier.
“Not the Millers—Sophie. Probably got nothing at home. Her mum drinks it all away. Poor kid. Saw her dragging her mum home drunk the other day. Woman could barely stand. Bright girl, good heart—just drew the short straw with parents.”
Her husband stays silent.
Anna descends to the third floor and rings the bell at the scuffed door that looks like a shoulder shove would open it. Not that anyone would bother—nothing worth taking inside, not even the roaches stick around.
“Who is it?” A small voice calls from behind the door.
“Sophie, it’s Auntie Anna. Open up, I’ve brought you some food.”
The lock clicks, the door cracks open, and Anna sees the wary eye of nine-year-old Sophie peering out.
“Here, eat up. Your mum asleep?”
The girl opens the door wider, takes the container, and nods.
“Right, I’ll be off. You get that down you. Skin and bones, you are,” says Anna, pity in her voice. “Don’t leave any for your mum.”
Another nod, and the door closes.
*Wish I had a daughter like her,* Anna thinks, climbing back to her flat.
She steps into Dave’s room. He snaps his laptop shut, but not before she catches him gaming.
“Don’t hide it. Homework done?” she asks, walking to his desk.
“Ages ago.”
“Tomorrow after school, invite Sophie up and give her some soup. Her mum drinks away anything edible. Girl’s always starving, thin as a rake.”
“Alright, Mum,” agrees fourteen-year-old Dave, no questions asked.
“Don’t stay up late,” she says on her way out.
“Got it.” He reopens his game, eyes glued to the screen.
The next day, passing the Millers’ door, Dave presses the buzzer.
“Go away, Mum’s not home,” Sophie calls through the door.
“Oi, kid. Mum says to bring you up.”
“Why?” A long pause before her reply.
“Come up and find out,” Dave says.
The door creaks open. Sophie eyes him warily.
“Well? Coming or not?” He feigns indifference, stepping toward the stairs.
“Wait!” She ducks back inside, emerging seconds later with the empty container.
“Pot of soup in the fridge. Can you heat it up?” Dave asks, climbing the stairs, mimicking his mum’s tone.
“I’m not a baby,” Sophie huffs, trailing behind.
“Two bowls, then.” He unlocks the flat. “Kitchen’s that way. I’ll go change.”
When he returns, steaming bowls sit on the table, spoons and bread laid out.
“Nice one. Race you.” Dave digs in, shovelling soup fast.
Sophie eats slowly, watching him. Then she washes up. Dave doesn’t offer to help—she ate, she cleans.
“Come on, I’ll show you a game,” he says as she hangs the towel neatly.
“Show me how to make money online instead,” Sophie counters.
“Blimey, you’re sharp,” Dave laughs. “You got a laptop?”
“Where from?”
“So how’re you gonna earn?”
“Just show me,” she insists.
“Honestly? Dunno. But I’ll ask Vinnie. Reckon he bragged about it once.”
After that, most days after school, Dave collects Sophie. They eat, and he teaches her tech tricks. She picks it up fast, blushing at his praise.
One day, her mum answers the door, Sophie peering from behind her.
“Getting cosy with boys already?” Her mum slurs, eyeing Dave.
“I’m helping with her homework,” Dave lies smoothly.
Sophie’s eyes dart between them, scared.
“Fine. Don’t stay long,” her mum mutters, swaying back inside.
“You forgot your key. She drunk already?” Dave asks on the stairs.
“Will be soon,” Sophie says, pulling a key on a string from under her dress.
“Right. If you ever bolt, take that.”
Sometimes Dave’s mates come over, and Sophie reluctantly leaves.
“What’s her deal? Fancy you?” she hears one say as she goes.
“Shut it. She’s just a kid. Teaching her the laptop,” Dave says.
“I’m not a kid,” Sophie snaps, sticking her tongue out.
Summer breaks send Dave to camp or his nan’s, leaving Sophie lonely. Spotting Auntie Anna, she always asks when he’s back.
“By school time,” Anna promises.
Years pass. Sophie masters tech as well as Dave. Lessons end—now she borrows his laptop. He lets her, indulgent. At uni, his parents buy him a new one; he gives Sophie his old one. She hides it behind the wardrobe or takes it to school—anything to keep her mum from pawning it.
They barely see each other now. Sophie’s grown taller, softer—but Dave still sees her as the neighbour kid. Only the blind wouldn’t notice the ache in her eyes when they pass in the hallway. Anna isn’t blind.
“Dave, we need to talk. Sophie still comes over when we’re out. She shouldn’t.”
“Why?”
“She’s in love with you. Can’t you see?”
“Mum, don’t be daft. She’s still a kid.”
“She’s grown. And you’re a catch,” Anna says proudly. “Her dad froze to death drunk in the snow. Mum’s a mess. Miracle she’s not sacked—who else’d scrub stairwells? Sophie’s sharp, capable—dream daughter material. But one day, that bad blood will show. I won’t have you hurt. I want healthy grandkids. Find a proper girl. Stop encouraging her. She’s hoping for more—I’ve seen how she looks at you.”
“What looks? You’re imagining things. She’s like a sister. Besides, I’ve got a girlfriend.”
“Really? Why haven’t we met her?”
“You will. You’ll love her,” Dave says too quickly.
That weekend, Dave brings home Alice—pretty, polished. Anna dubs her *Princess Pout”And so, despite Anna’s fears, Dave and Sophie built a life together—proving that love, not blood, defines who we truly are.”
