A dreadful surprise came to light by sheer chance. My little four-year-old sister, Lucy, had developed an umbilical hernia. The doctors said not to delaythe sooner the operation, the better. Lucy outright refused to go to the hospital without Dad. We waited for him to return from his lorry run, and he walked her all the way to the operating room.
“Daddy, will you wait for me here?” sobbed my sister.
“Where would I go, love? Of course I’ll wait. Why are you crying? You’re my brave girl, aren’t you?”
“I’m not crying! I’m just sighing hard!”
And off she went. A simple, routine procedure. But the parents were asked to donate blood to the blood bankit was mandatory.
“Her blood type should only match one of us,” Dad said. “Maybe you should test first? So we dont give you extra.”
“Theres no such thing as extra blood!” the doctor replied firmly.
Mum and Dad donated. Mum turned pale, swaying like she might faint any second. Afterward, she couldnt sit stillkept running to the nurses station, whispering to the staff. Eventually, Lucy was wheeled out, and Dad went to meet her as promised. He stayed by her side all weekend. Mum seemed calmer, checked on her, then drove me home, though I resisted.
“I can stay with her too,” I insisted stubbornly.
I was eleven by then. Lucy, my little blonde sister, was the person I loved most in the world. Maybe even more than Mum and Dad. How could you not love her? An angel. A fair-haired angel in the flesh.
Imagine a small market town with its little hospital. New, fully equippedeven had a blood bank, would you believe it. But a small town is still a small town. Three days laterLucy was home, Dad packing for another haul. He went to buy cigarettes for the road. But when he returned he looked like a storm cloud.
“Daddy!” Lucy wailed from the nursery (she was still on bed rest). “Did you bring my marshmallows?”
Dad left the shopping bag in the hall. Told me to go to the nursery straight away. He took Mum by the elbow and steered her into the kitchen.
“John John, whats wrong?”
What followed was a conversation I wouldnt understand for yearsLucy was too young, and I obeyed Dad. Stay in the nursery? Fine. Lucy sniffled, demanding Daddy and sweets, so I offered to read to her. Thank God, she agreed.
In the kitchen, John, eyes wild, backed Mum against the wall. Nowhere left to retreat.
“Is it true? Lucy isnt mine?”
“WhathowJohn, have you lost your mind? How can you say that?”
“Ill tell you what Im saying. Im O positive. Youre A positive. And her” he jerked his head toward the door”is B negative. If theres a mistake, we can retest.”
Mum shoved him aside, slumped at the table, and groaned into her hands:
“Bastards. I begged them! What do they all want? Jealous, John, of our life. We had everything. Such beautiful children.”
“You begged, did you? Right. Got it.”
He left Mum weeping in the kitchen. Just one slipout of boredomwith some engineer on a work trip. Dad always away, always driving. In films, lorry drivers are romantic. In real life? Cold and lonely. Mum thought, ‘Ill do something about it! Hes probably unfaithful too, out on the road all those days.’ She jumped up to chase himbut he was already gone. A box of marshmallows sat alone on the table.
After his next run, Dad talked to me seriously. Asked me to leave with him.
“Dad, but what aboutLucy? Mum? Cant you stay?”
It was like a boulder had been dropped on me. Boulders are made of rockId seen videos. This one was uneven too. Fear of losing Dad. Fear of choosing. Either way, Id lose someone. Doing the maths, I stayed. Lucy + Mum outnumbered Dad. Though just Lucy mightve tipped the scales.
Dad met me often. Lucy? As if forgotten. I didnt understand, but knewif he could explain, he would. At first, Lucy moped, criedpainful to watch. Then she asked about Dad less and less. She retreated into herself, playing with toys. I couldnt grasp why this punishment fell on her, but I could guess.
As for Mum
Mum lost it. Started dragging junk from the skip. First harmless, useful things. Then anything. She stopped caring about us entirely. Sat among her treasures, muttering, sorting. How a young, pretty woman could turn into this in a year and a halfI didnt know. But I told Dad nothing.
Our neighbour, Mrs. Hughes, looked after us sometimes. Food came from Dads child support. But the stench soaking our flat? Schoolmates laughed. I avoided fights.
“Mrs. Hughes, can you teach me to iron?” I knocked.
“Oliver, you need to wash first” she wrinkled her nose.
“Pointless. I did. But Im seeing Dad tomorrow, need to look decent.”
“So he doesnt” she gasped. “Know about Jane?”
“I wont tell him. He left, so its not his business!”
She let me in, then added:
“Bring Lucy too. Ill get you both sorted. Bring your clothes. Change here. Whatever I can do.”
So we did. At least I didnt stink like a tramp at school. But kind Mrs. Hughes went furthershamed Dad. He met me after school.
“Why didnt you say?”
“Would you have come back?”
“No. But you could live with me.”
“And Lucy.”
Silence. I shook my head, walked away.
“Wait! Lucy could stay with Gran.”
“Grans got a new husband. Shes busy.”
“Right. Like mother, like” Dad cut himself off.
He tried talking to his ex-mother-in-law.
“John, youre mad! Why would I want kids? Ive got a second youth here.”
“But Lucys your granddaughter!”
“Pity.”
“What?!”
“Pity motherhoods obvious, but fatherhood isnt. If I had a son with kidswhos to say theyre mine? But this ones truly mine. And Ive got my own life.”
“Yeah. Shouldve looked closer at you before marrying Jane.”
One morning, Mum was gone. Her hoard remainedonly our room untouchedbut shed vanished. I opened the window; icy air cut the reek. Fed Lucy, nibbled something. Took her to Mrs. Hughes:
“Mums gone. Ive got school.”
“Gone? Its freezing! Where?”
My reckless, broken mother ended her days on a distant rubbish heap. Why she froze instead of coming homeno one knew. Mrs. Hughes said social services would decide now.
They came. A woman eyed our flat, turned to Mrs. Hughes:
“Could we do the paperwork at yours?”
“Of course,” she shrugged.
“Hold on.” Dads voice echoed up the stairs. “Sorry, just off the road. Theyre my kids.”
“And the flats yours?” Social services smirked.
Dad didnt even glance inside. “Pack your things. Were going home. Well sort this later.”
“And Lucy?” I whispered, terrified.
“Obviously. Lucy, you too.”
My sister peeled herself from the wall, shuffled forward.
“Daddy?”
“Yes, love?”
“Is it really you?”
He scooped her up, held her tight, sighing deeply.
“Its me. Im here. Its alright.”
“Dont leave again, Daddy!” Lucy wailed.
I froze. Now shed blab everything, and the stern woman would take us, despite having a living father. But shed lost interest, gossiping with Mrs. Hughes. And Dad, tears streaming, clung to Lucy. Hed tried so hard to resent her, to stay awaybut love won out. Love for us, his children.
“I wont. Im never leaving you again,” he wept.
