Arthur finally hit the big sevenzero, having raised three children. His wife, Margaret, had passed away thirty years earlier and he never ventured down the aisle again. No second love, no lucky break there were plenty of excuses to list, but whos counting?
His two boys, Jack and Harry, were notorious troublemakers, always ready for a scrap. He shuffled them from one school to another until a brilliant physics teacher spotted a genuine knack for them. Suddenly the fighting stopped, the drama vanished, and peace settled over the household.
The girl, Poppy, was a different kind of challenge. She struggled to click with her peers, and the school psychologist was already nudging Arthur toward a psychiatrists appointment. Then a new English literature teacher arrived, launching a writers club for beginners. Poppy went from scribbling in the margins to filling the school paper, then getting her stories published in local literary circles.
Long story short the boys earned scholarships to a prestigious universitys mathsphysics faculty, and Poppy secured a place at a renowned creative writing program.
Left alone, Arthur finally noticed the quiet that had settled around him. Not a howl of a wolf, just the gentle hush of the countryside. He took up fishing, gardening, and even started rearing a few pigs on the sprawling plot by the River Avon. The land paid off surprisingly well, especially when he discovered the local factory engineer earned far less than he did.
With a touch more cash, Arthur could finally buy his children modest cars, help with pocket money, and top up their wardrobes. That extra responsibility meant his days grew even shorter everything now revolved around the farm and a little sidebusiness trading produce. Still, he liked it. Ten more years whizzed by, and his seventieth birthday loomed. He intended to mark the occasion solo.
Jack and Harry, deep into a topsecret defence project, couldnt break away for a weekend. Poppy was constantly jetsetting to writers symposiums and media gatherings. So Arthur decided not to bother anyone with an invitation.
Just me and a bottle of whisky, he mused. Ill reminisce about Margaret and brag about how they turned out.
The day arrived. He rose at dawn to tend the pigs a special feeding schedule, you know and trudged out to the field. In the early light, a curious, elongated bundle wrapped in a canvas lay in the middle of the meadow.
What on earth is that? he muttered, just as spotlights flickered on, bathing the scene. Emerging from behind the garden wall were his sons, their wives, grandchildren, and a host of relatives. Poppy swaggered in, arminarm with a lanky, bespectacled fellow named Nigel, whose lenses were thick enough to double as magnifying glasses. Everyone clutched balloons, squeaked through party horns, and blasted noisy airhorns, shouting, waving, and scrambling to hug him.
Happy Birthday, Dad! they chorused.
Arthur momentarily forgot the mysterious bundle, wondering what mischief the kids might have brought. His daughtersinlaw hurried to set the table, and Poppy seized his wrist.
Hold on, Dad, let me tie your eyes, she said.
Alright then, he chuckled, letting her pull a thick cloth over his eyes and spin him round.
Whats the surprise? he asked, halfamused, halfnervous.
A little gift, Jack replied.
Hopefully not expensive? Arthur quipped. Ive got enough on my plate.
Dont worry, Father, Harry added. Just a modest token of appreciation.
They guided him to the canvas. Poppy peeled it away as blaring music thundered from speakers, drums beating like a marching band. The three grandchildren tore off the cover in unison, revealingunder a blaze of lighta gleaming Jaguar XK120, its polished chrome reflecting their shocked faces.
Arthur nearly swooned; he clutched the back of a chair for balance.
Good heavens! he gasped.
Calm down, Poppy splashed water on his face, giggling. Youve always wanted this car.
Its absurdly pricey, he sighed.
Its not more than a few quid, Jack grinned.
Come on, sit inside, well take a few photos, Poppy urged. He opened the door, only to find a cardboard box waiting.
Whats this? he asked.
Open it, Poppy prompted.
Inside lay two bright eyes staring up at him. He pulled out a tiny, fluffy bundlea little Thai kitten, just like the one theyd had with Margaret years ago, whom the family had nicknamed Biscuit.
The real deal! he exclaimed, hugging the furball. Just like the one Mum had. Remember, Biscuit?
Of course, Dad, the kids chorused.
He never actually got into the Jaguar. Instead, he shuffled upstairs to his bedroom, placed the kitten on a photo of Margaret, and let tears roll down his cheeks.
You see, Margaret? he whispered to the picture. We did it. Nothings been forgotten.
But the family wouldnt let him wallow. The dining table was soon laden with food, and toasts began. Poppy leaned in and whispered that she was four months pregnant, and her fiancé, Simon, was on his way to stay. Shed be moving in, especially since her next novel could be written anywhere, and Simon planned a trip to visit his parents in New England before their wedding at the village church.
Does that sound alright, Dad? she asked.
This feels like a dream, Arthur murmured, kissing her forehead.
The evening unfolded with laughter, snacks, drinks, and stories. Later, Arthur lingered at Margarets graveside, speaking to her as the night grew quiet. Life suddenly seemed to have a fresh purpose, especially with that vintage car waiting in the garden. He imagined taking a spin to the nearby city, perhaps buying a proper suit for the occasion.
On the couch, the tiny Thai kitten, now christened Tommy, purred contentedly.
Tommy, Arthur said, repeating the name affectionately.
Tommy stretched, his little body nearly filling the cushion. Arthur settled back, stroking the warm fur, and drifted off.
Morning came early: feeding the pigs, tending the garden, and a fishing trip still on the agenda. Downstairs, Poppy and Simon slept soundly. When the boys and their families left for work, silence fell over the homestead. Tommy followed Arthur around, tripped into the pig trough, tangled in a boat net, and even tried nibbling at fish bait. Arthur laughed, patting the mischievous kitten.
Feels like Im twenty again, he chuckled, scratching the kittens head.
Tommy mewed and clamped tiny teeth onto Arthurs finger.
Little scamp! Arthur laughed out loud.
And so the tale spins ona reminder to anyone still able to visit their parents: dont wait for tomorrow. Pack the car, hop in, and head home now.
