**Bad Blood**
Eleanor trudged into the flat and dropped the heavy bags with a groan.
“Anyone home?” she called toward the living room. “Two grown men in the house, and I’m the one lugging these bags,” she muttered. “Always hungry, but when it comes to help—silence.” She raised her voice, making sure they heard.
She made a racket taking off her coat, sighing and grumbling until her son appeared in the doorway.
“Take these to the kitchen. Is your father in?”
David lifted the bags from the floor.
“Watching telly,” he tossed over his shoulder.
No need to mention the telly—she hadn’t asked. But why should he bear the brunt of her mood alone? Let his father catch some of it too.
“What’s all the shouting?” Her husband stood in the doorway now.
“Nothing. Just tired,” Eleanor snapped. “I’ll rest five minutes, then make supper. All by myself. Could’ve at least boiled some pasta.” She shoved her feet into slippers and flicked off the hall light.
“You never asked. We’d have done it, right, Dave?” Her husband, sensing the brewing storm, quickly enlisted David as an ally.
Only the rustle of bags and the fridge door closing answered from the kitchen. David wisely stayed neutral—safest that way.
“So, you didn’t,” Eleanor sighed. “If I had a daughter, she’d have known what to do. But you two—useless.” She shuffled past her husband into the kitchen.
“Ellie, I know you’re tired, but why take it out on us? I’m not a mind reader—tell us, and we’ll cook. I just got home too, knackered myself.” He sliced the air with his hand and vanished into the living room.
“Exactly. You’d rather lounge about,” she grumbled, but the edge was gone.
She didn’t want a row. No energy left for it. Just couldn’t cool down so fast.
“Cheers, son. Go do your schoolwork. I’ll manage.”
David bolted straight to his computer. Eleanor opened the fridge and shook her head, rearranging groceries. Once she’d vented, she calmed. She adored her boys—just one of those days. Cooking wasn’t men’s work.
After supper, she scraped leftover pasta into a container, adding a meatball. Hesitated before adding another.
“Taking it to the Harrisons again? Spoiling that girl—she’ll ride your back forever,” her husband jabbed, retaliating for earlier.
“Not the Harrisons. Sophie. Poor thing, likely hasn’t eaten. Her mother drinks it all away. Saw her leading her mum home, dead drunk. The girl’s bright, sweet—just rotten luck with parents.”
She slipped on her shoes. Her husband stayed silent.
Eleanor went down to the third floor and knocked at the peeling door. One good shove would break it—not that there was anything worth stealing inside.
“Who’s there?” A thin voice behind the door.
“Sophie, it’s Aunt Ellie. Open up—brought you food.”
The lock clicked, the door cracked open, and Eleanor saw the wary eye of nine-year-old Sophie.
“Here, eat. Your mum asleep?”
The girl opened the door wider, took the container, and nodded.
“Alright, then. You have it. Skin and bones, you are.” Eleanor’s heart ached. “Don’t leave any for your mum.”
Another nod, then the door closed.
*I’d love a daughter like her*, Eleanor thought, climbing back to her flat.
She peeked into David’s room. He hastily shut his laptop, but she’d seen the game.
“No use hiding. Homework done?” She approached his desk.
“Ages ago.”
“Invite Sophie over tomorrow after school. Feed her some soup. Her mum drinks—they live on bread, if that. Girl’s always hungry.”
“Fine, Mum,” David said, no questions asked.
“Don’t stay up late.”
“Right.” He reopened the game.
Next day, passing the Harrisons’ door, David rang the bell.
“Go away, Mum’s not home,” Sophie called.
“Hey, kid. My mum said to bring you up.”
“Why?” A long pause.
“Come on, you’ll see.”
The door creaked open. Sophie eyed him skeptically.
“Well? Suit yourself.” David turned toward the stairs.
“Wait!” She vanished, then returned with the empty container.
“There’s soup in the fridge. Can you heat it?” David mimicked his mother’s tone.
“I’m not a baby,” Sophie huffed, following him.
“Two bowls, then.” He unlocked their flat. “Kitchen’s there. I’ll change.”
When he returned, steaming bowls waited, spoons and bread laid out.
“Good. Race you.” David shoveled soup down.
Sophie ate slowly, watching him. Later, she washed up without being asked.
He showed her computer games, but she said, “Teach me how to earn money online.”
David laughed. “You’re sharp. Got a computer?”
“Course not.”
“How’re you gonna earn, then?”
“You show me.”
He asked a mate who bragged about knowing.
From then on, after school, David fetched Sophie. They ate, and he taught her tech skills. She learned fast, flushed at his praise.
Once, her mother answered the door, Sophie peeking behind.
“Getting cozy with boys already?” Her mother’s voice was hoarse.
“I help her with schoolwork,” David lied.
Sophie’s mother wobbled back inside.
“You didn’t take your key. How’ll you get in later?” David asked on the stairs.
“She’ll be drunk soon.” Sophie pulled a string around her neck—her key hidden under her dress.
“Smart. If you ever bolt, take it.”
His mates teased, “She sweet on you?”
David scoffed. “She’s a kid. Teaching her computers.”
“I’m not little!” Sophie stuck out her tongue.
Summers, David was away at camp or his gran’s. Sophie missed him terribly, asking Eleanor when he’d return.
Years passed. Sophie mastered computers, no longer needing lessons. She came to use his laptop until he left for uni, giving her his old one. She hid it from her mother.
They rarely saw each other now. Sophie had grown, but David still saw her as the kid next door. Only Eleanor noticed the love in Sophie’s eyes when they crossed paths.
“David, Sophie’s not to come round when we’re out,” Eleanor said one day.
“Why?”
“She’s in love with you. Blind not to see it.”
“Mum, she’s a baby.”
“No, she’s grown. And you’re handsome. Her dad froze drunk in the snow. Mum’s a cleaner—still has a job, somehow. I’d love her as a daughter—but bad blood runs deep. I want healthy grandkids. Find a proper girl.”
“I’ve got a girlfriend,” David lied.
He brought home Alice—pretty, aloof. Eleanor dubbed her *Princess Frost*.
Alice visited often, shutting herself in David’s room. Eleanor disapproved.
“Cold as marble. Sophie’d have helped, smiled. But bad blood…”
Meanwhile, Sophie watched David walk Alice home, heart burning. Her mother drank less now—too ill. The doctor said she hadn’t long.
A month later, her mother died.
“Mum, where’s Sophie?” David asked at dinner.
“Home. Her mum died two months back.”
“What? You never said!”
“You weren’t listening—too busy with *Princess Frost*.”
“We broke up. She found someone richer.”
David ran downstairs, breathless at Sophie’s door.
“You?” She stared.
“Aren’t you gonna ask who?”
Silent, she stepped into him, resting her head on his chest. His heart pounded.
“How are you?”
“Mum’s gone.”
“Sorry I wasn’t there.”
Later, he noticed her flat—bare, his old laptop on the table.
“You kept it?”
She nodded.
He started visiting, helping her fix the place.
Eleanor objected. “Pity’s not love!”
“I love her.”
“Over my dead body!”
David stood firm.
His father intervened. “Leave him be. My dad drank—you still married me.”
Sophie enrolled in nursing school. Eleanor grudgingly accepted it.
*The road to hell is paved with good intentions.* Feeding poor Sophie, Eleanor never guessed her son would fall for her.
*Bad blood*, she fretted.
But love covers all.
