Do you even know what youre doing? Mums voice snapped, turning into a hiss. You brought her sweets. Once every six months. How thoughtful, Daddy! Wheres the love? Is that all you can manage? Show up, toss a bag of candy, and stroll off like youve done your duty? Do you know how we get by? Have you ever asked? Brought any money? Never! All you do is pop in now and then so I dont forget dad. A good, kind father who brings a kid who spends days alone because I cant quit my job, a handful of sweets!
Itd never happened before that Mum got into a spat with him in front of Emma. And now Claire was trying her best to keep the little girl out of earshot, but the walls were thin
***
Twelve square metres. In the corner sits a desk, littered with pencils, a crooked paper cutout and a stack of textbooks opened at random pages.
This cramped room, shared with a handful of toys, was where Emma spent most of her evenings alone. She was seven, already used to being on her own, especially at night. School was full of mates, a deskpartner, but at home it was just her.
Emma was hunched over a maths workbook. Numbers swam before her eyes; she was exhausted and had no clue how to solve the problems, yet she had to finish she couldnt hand in a blank sheet, and there was no one to help. She didnt know when Mum would be back or whether shed have any time at all.
Emma did everything herself school, the walk two streets away past the creaking swing set, reheating yesterdays soup on the stove, and now the maths.
Five plus three eight. Write down eight, she muttered, whispering the answer aloud.
It was as if Mum were standing right behind her: Youre getting big, Em. You can handle it.
And Emma managed, because Claire was at work, from dawn till late. A mum who was always on the clock, who loved, who tried, who rarely got to just be a mum.
Suddenly, through the thin walls, Emma heard voices down the hallway a low argument, perhaps. She froze, pencil hovering. Someone moved toward the apartment door. Mum and someone else.
Cautiously, Emma crept to her bedroom door, eased it open, and peered into the dim corridor.
In walked a familiar yet foreign scene. Claire, hair in a messy morning bun, stood by the flats entrance. Beside her was David, Emmas father, who hadnt lived with them for a couple of years. Hed occasionally shown up in his sleek black car, making Claires nerves tangle with a strange sort of anticipation. In the six months since his last visit, Emma had almost forgotten she even had a dad.
Davids hand clutched a bright red parcel, stark against the grey concrete of the stairwell.
Claire hung her coat on a hook. David slammed the door behind him.
Emma! Claire called, her tone sweet at first, then a bit brusque as she glanced at her exhusband. Weve got a guest.
Emma slipped out, eyes glued to the red bag. David, spotting his daughter, flashed a grin and cooed, Hey there, princess! He held out the parcel. Here you go treats I saved up just for you.
She took the bag gingerly. It was hefty; through a translucent wrapper the glint of foilwrapped sweets could be seen. Candy was a rare treat at home, usually saved for grandmas visits or school fairs. Yet here was a whole bag, and Emma, forgetting everything else, tore open a piece her favourite Bear chocolate.
Thanks, Dad! she gulped, mouth full, and dived back into the bag.
Claire watched, her expression a mix of resignation and something harder to read not approval, not joy, certainly not a desire to welcome David back.
David, lets go to the living room, she said, taking his arm and marching on, barely noticing Emma still busy munching.
Feeling invisible, Emma retreated to her room but kept listening. The argument resumed.
Do you even realise what youre doing? Mums voice hissed again. You bring sweets once every six months. What a caring dad! Is that all? Show up, dump a bag of candy and skip your responsibilities? Do you know how we survive? Ever thought about bringing money? Never! All you do is pop in now and then so I dont forget dad.
Claire never let a spat spill over Emmas ears, but the thin walls made it impossible.
Claire, well David started, his words garbled, Emma pressed her ear to the plaster and heard nothing.
No, well! Emma snapped. Im still paying off your loan! Your busted business! Remember who the loan was in? In my name! And youre out there, living it up, not paying what you owe!
A rustle sounded.
I pay what I can, Davids voice faded. Money doesnt just appear. I help where I can. I could shower you all in gold if I wanted.
Help? Claire shouted. You bring a kid candy and call that help? Fine, suppose you have no cash. Sell the car. Pay off the loan.
Claire, how can I sell the car if I cant survive without it? Thats my only income, he pleaded.
Then just spend time with the child, she retorted. If you had time youd be here more.
Emma pressed against the wall, a shiver running down her spine. She was only seven, but she grasped the whole picture dad had walked away, debts were a monster, the boasting business was now a burden, all because of him. The sweets felt suddenly bitter. How unfair! she thought, though unfairness seemed a foreign concept.
***
Years later.
The red bag was now a pink one, and the taste was bitter.
Emma, now almost thirty, had a threeyearold daughter, Lucy, who was probably tearing around the flat, playing with a friend in their own secret world.
A familiar knock echoed at the door. Again, David.
This time there was no hallway drama. Claire had long since stopped paying Davids debts. Shed been supporting Emma on her own all these years. David, after cashing in a share of the old family house when Claire finally sold it to move to a modest flat, still turned up every six months, which no longer amused Emma.
Hey, princess, David grinned, the same as before, this time holding a bright pink parcel. Granddads treats for the little one.
Emma forced a smile. Hello, Dad. Come in. She kept the tone neutral, as she always did with him.
Lucy popped out of the playroom, eyes widening at the unfamiliar face. She eyed the pink bag curiously.
Whos that? she asked Emma.
Thats Granddad, love. He was here last year and gave you a Barbie, Emma replied, Granddad David.
David handed Lucy the bag.
Hey, sweetie! Look what Ive got for you!
Lucy tore it open to find cheap, brightly coloured plastic figurines the sort you get in a promotional giveaway. Emma rolled her eyes.
You really havent changed a bit, she said.
Why should I? David chuckled, taking it as a compliment.
Emma knew hed never really helped. No cash for tutors, no support when she worked night shifts to buy a new coat. His help was always a token gift.
So Ive got a son now, David said, sinking into an old armchair that shouldve been replaced ages ago. Gosh, from my second marriage.
Emmas stomach dropped. Gosh a halfbrother shed never met, only seen in photographs.
Congrats, she said coolly. Want me to take out a loan for his wedding?
David looked startled.
Id love to invite you
Im not going, she replied.
Come on, Em, its family. Gosh invited you. He knows youre around. Just pop by for an hour, have a drink, take your mind off things.
She wanted to scream, to lash out, but held her tongue. Why hadnt she ever called him father? Hed always had everything the favourite son, the easy life. And her?
Fine, she said. Ill be there.
***
The wedding was a lavish affair Emma could never afford with her own husband. She sat at a distant table with colleagues, distant relatives, and a few secondcousins. She saw Gosh, his bride Marina in an elegant white dress, and David, who spent the whole evening trying to please the younger crowd.
When it came time for speeches, David stood, not with a bag but with a document in hand.
Dear Gosh and Marina, he began, today I wish you a happy birthday I mean, a happy marriage. May you cherish each other, remember your parents, and build a bright future. And to make sure your happiness is smooth, I have a little something for you
He handed Gosh a set of keys the keys to an apartment.
Emmas heart went cold. Shed never felt such raw hatred. All those years of grinding, paying the mortgage on her modest flat, while her mother had shouldered dads loans, while Gosh seemed to glide through life with everything handed to him, thanks to Davids generosity.
Justice, huh? she whispered.
She left, casting a look of pure loathing at David and his new family. In her head a poisonous thought formed: May this be your last happy day!
***
A month later, gossip spread through the neighbourhood as it always does. Gosh had been mugged in an alley, beaten badly, left with a head injury that left him unable to walk or speak. He survived, but was bedridden.
David had to hire a carer. Marina, pregnant, couldnt lift heavy things and couldnt help her husband. She later suffered a miscarriage in her fifth month. David was torn between his lying son and his weeping daughterinlaw. A glass of whisky became his only solace.
One day he shuffled to Emmas door, barely standing.
He came to unload his soul.
Emma listened, nodding, but inside she felt only a grim sort of schadenfreude. Enjoy your happy life, Dad.
She didnt pry into his later years. She returned the debt if you could even call it that.
Some time after, Emma visited the grave of her paternal grandmother, the one whod always been kinder than dad. At the foot of the stone she noticed a fresh grave beside it Goshs.
Had a rough time, she noted, feeling nothing no sorrow, no anger, just emptiness.
She realised she had no brother left.
Eventually David showed up again, this time pleading.
Emma, he said, looking like a man in his fifties whod turned into an old grandpa, do you have a thousand pounds? Ill pay you back soon.
When? she asked.
Whenever I can
Dont bother returning it, she replied. She felt a strange, quiet satisfaction that hed fallen so low.
She never saw him again. Relatives told her David had sold his remaining flats, poured the cash into some cult, and his wife Goshs mother had returned to her homeland. Emmas own life had finally steadied. She and her husband cleared their mortgage, even bought a second flat to let out. Occasionally, when she let her mind wander back to the past, she wondered whether her own wish for a different life had set all this chaos in motion.
