Puppy
Shane and his mum lived just the two of them. Sure, Shane had a dad, but that bloke wasn’t interested in them. Shane hadn’t asked about him yet—while schoolkids might brag about their parents, nursery kids cared more about toys than who was or wasn’t around.
Emily had decided it was better if Shane never found out how madly she’d fallen for his dad-to-be. When she told him she was pregnant, he dropped the bombshell—married. Problems with his wife? Sure. But leaving wasn’t an option because her dad was his boss. If things blew up, he’d be left skint, and he reckoned Emily wouldn’t want him then. He suggested she “sort things out” before it was too late—no way would he pay child support. And if she tried anything… well, things could get nasty for her.
She didn’t beg. She vanished from his life and raised Shane alone. And Shane turned out lovely—that was enough for her.
Emily taught Year One, and five-year-old Shane went to nursery. They didn’t need anyone else.
After New Year’s, a new P.E. teacher started at the school. Tall, fit, always grinning. Every single woman on staff (and there were plenty) started fluttering around him—except Emily. She didn’t laugh at his jokes or even glance his way. Maybe that’s why he noticed her.
One afternoon, as she left the school gates, a flashy SUV pulled up. Out stepped the P.E. teacher, swinging the passenger door open.
“Hop in,” he said, nodding at the seat.
“I don’t live far,” Emily mumbled, flustered.
“Still quicker than walking, yeah?” he countered.
She hesitated but slid in. He shut the door, started the engine, and asked for her address.
“Dunno the postcode. Just the nursery number.” She fiddled with her bag strap.
“Nursery?” He frowned.
“Where my son goes.”
“You’ve got a kid? How old?” He’d already dropped the “Miss Thompson” act.
“Shane. He’s five.” She grabbed the door handle. “Actually, I’ll walk.”
“Hang on. Let’s go.” The engine purred.
She sighed and shut the door. Fine—he could drop her at nursery. It’s not like anything could happen between them anyway. What bloke would want a woman with a kid when there were plenty who came baggage-free?
“If you’re not in a hurry…” she murmured.
“Nowhere to be. No missus, no kids,” he volunteered before she could ask.
“Why’s that? Rotten personality? Or just afraid to commit after some ex broke your heart?”
He laughed. “Cheeky. Wouldn’t have guessed that from you. Nah, just never worked out. And nobody’s perfect, love—you’re proof enough of that.”
“Regretting offering me a lift? Turn left here.”
The car stopped outside the nursery.
“I’ll wait,” he said as she got out.
She lingered by the bonnet. “Don’t. We’re nearby, and I don’t want Shane asking questions. Get it, James?” Her look was the same one she gave daft seven-year-olds. “Don’t wait.” She shut the door firmly.
He sat there a minute, thinking, then drove off. When Emily came out ten minutes later, hand in Shane’s, she sighed—half relieved, half disappointed. Of course. A woman with a kid wasn’t what he wanted. Fine. They didn’t need him either.
But the next day, there he was again at the school gates.
“Bet you thought I’d bolt when I found out about your boy. Wrong. Get in. Nursery?”
She smiled weakly and nodded. When she brought Shane to the car, the boy studied James with the same sceptical look Emily had given him the day before, then glanced up at her.
“This is Mr. Carter from school. Go on, hop in,” she said, forcing brightness.
Shane didn’t bounce into the car. He climbed stiffly into the back and stared out the window.
“Where to?” James twisted round to face him.
“Not far—no car seat, and I don’t fancy a fine,” Emily cut in.
“How about the arcade? Too nippy for the park. Sound good, Shane?” James’ cheeriness was over-the-top.
Shane kept watching the world outside. James chuckled and pulled away.
At school, the staff room went quiet when Emily walked in. When James entered, teachers suddenly remembered urgent errands, smirking as they left.
He didn’t rush things. A few evenings at hers, he left early. The third time, he stayed till morning. Emily barely slept, checking the clock—terrified Shane would wander in and find them.
“Relax, he’s a bright lad. Let him get used to me,” James murmured at dawn, pulling her close.
She wriggled free. On weekdays, Shane slept like a log—but today, of course, he was up early. When he padded into the kitchen after washing up, Emily was flipping pancakes, and James sat at the table.
“Hello,” Shane said slowly, eyeing his mum for an explanation.
“All clean? Breakfast’s ready.” She smiled—first at James, then Shane—and brought the pan over.
She served James first. Shane noticed.
“Dig in,” she said, pouring tea. “Sugar?”
“Two.” James watched Shane. “Bet I can finish these faster than you.”
Shane frowned. “Why?”
“Just for fun. Proper lads rise to a challenge. Ready… go!” James shoved a forkful in, slurped his tea noisily.
Shane chewed slowly, indifferent to “winning.” Emily was proud he didn’t take the bait—but gutted he clearly disliked James.
“Mum says your birthday’s coming up. What d’you want? Robot? RC car?” James tried another angle.
“A puppy,” Shane said.
“Electronic one? Bit babyish, mate.”
Shane gave him a withering look. “A real one.”
“We’ve talked about this,” Emily cut in. “Puppies need walking, training, attention—we’re out all day. When you’re older—”
“Then I don’t want anything.” Shane’s voice wobbled.
“Finish up. We’ll hit the toy shop, yeah?” James swallowed his last bite.
Late March brought an icy snap. The thaw had nearly cleared the snow—then came howling winds and biting flurries.
At the shopping centre, Emily hunted for cheaper shoes—Shane outgrew everything—while James played tour guide in the toy aisle. Shane barely glanced at robots or cars. Only a fancy transformer sparked his interest—until Emily dragged him off to try coats.
Leaving the shop, laden with bags (one holding that transformer), they were met by another snow squall. A tiny, filthy blur darted at their feet. James swore.
“Saw that? Could’ve crushed it,” he muttered.
Shane spotted the shivering furball cowering by James’ boots.
“Piss off.” James kicked it lightly. The puppy yelped, skidding toward the car wheels.
Shane lunged, scooping it up, glaring at James. “You’re… a prat!”
“Shane! Apologise!” Emily snapped.
He clung to the trembling pup, mute with defiance.
“It’s filthy—probably diseased. Put it down!” she insisted.
His grip tightened. That was answer enough.
“He’ll freeze. We’ll clean him. I’ll clean up after him.” Shane’s chin trembled.
“Your mum’s right,” James said, handing the bags to Emily. “We’ll get a proper, healthy pup next weekend. Give it here.” He reached out.
Shane spun and bolted—straight into a reversing car’s path.
“SHANE!” Emily screamed, frozen.
The bumper grazed him. He sat on the tarmac, still clutching the pup, tears streaking his cheeks.
“Where does it hurt? Let him go—you nearly got run over because of him!” She wiped his face.
The driver stormed over. “Control your kid, love. Not my fault—he came outta nowhere!”
James stepped in. “No harm done. We’re good.”
Back on the pavement, Emily checked Shane over.
“For God’s sake, chuck that mangy thing. He’s playing you, Em. Needs a proper hiding,” James ranted.
“Enough. Let’s go home.”
Shane clung tighter to the pup. “He’s mine. And I’m not going with him.” He glared at James. “You kicked him on purpose.”
“Watch your mouth, you little—”
“James, STOP. He’s my son,” Emily barked. “Fine. Keep him. But we’re driving—it’s freezing.”
Another snow blast hit as James sped off, fumes swirling behind him.
At home, they bathedAt bedtime, as Shane snuggled with Smile curled at his feet, Emily finally felt the warmth of happiness creeping in—not from a man, but from the quiet joy of her son’s laughter and the little heartbeat trusting them with its home.