Took My Father
Mum, Ive just moved in! Can you believe it, finally!
Rebecca squeezed her phone between her ear and shoulder as she struggled with a stubborn lock. The key turned stiffly, as if testing her worthiness as its new owner.
My darling, thank goodness! And the flat, is everything alright? Her mother sounded both anxious and delighted.
Perfect! Light, spacious, just what I wanted. The balcony faces east, like I hoped. Is Dad there?
Im here, Im here! came Thomass deep voice. Shes put me on speaker. Well, then, little birds flown the nest?
Dad, Im twenty-five, hardly a chick.
Youll always be my chick. Have you checked the locks? Any draughts at the windows? The radiators
Tom, let the child settle in! Mum cut in reproachfully. Rebecca, you be careful. Its a new build after all; you never know whos around.
Rebecca laughed, finally mastering the lock and pushing open the door.
Mum, its not a seventies bedsit! Nice building, decent people. Itll be just fine.
The weeks ahead blurred into an endless marathon trips between DIY shops, furniture showrooms, and the flat. Rebecca fell asleep with wallpaper catalogues beside her, waking up pondering which shade of grout would suit the bathroom tiles.
One Saturday, she stood in the lounge scrutinising curtain samples when her phone buzzed again.
Hows it going? Dad asked.
Slow but steady. Todays curtains. Cant pick between ivory silk and warm cream. What do you think?
I think theyre the same colour, just different sales pitches.
Oh Dad, you simply dont get shades!
But I get electrics. You sure the sockets are all sorted?
The renovation devoured her time, savings and patience, yet each fresh improvement transformed the bare walls into a real home. Rebecca chose her creamy-beige bedroom wallpaper, found her own handyman for fitting the laminate flooring, figured out a clever way to arrange the furniture so even her tiny kitchen felt roomy.
When the last worker lugged away the debris, Rebecca sat cross-legged on the spotless lounge floor. Warm light filtered through the new curtains, smelling of freshness and faint paint. Her first true home…
She met her neighbour three days after settling in. Fiddling with her keys at the door, she heard a lock click opposite.
Ah, the new girl! A woman in her early thirties poked her head out, bobbed hair, bold lipstick, curious eyes. Im Emma, lived here ages. Since were neighbours, welcome.
Rebecca. Lovely to meet you.
If you need salt, sugar, or just a chinwag, pop round. First months in these flats can be odd, I remember.
Emma was great company. They had tea in Rebeccas kitchen, chatting about dodgy letting agents and features of their floors design. Emma shared all sorts: best internet provider, reliable plumber who wouldnt overcharge, even which local shop had the freshest fruit.
Ive got a cracking apple cake recipe, Emma flicked through her phone. Takes half an hour but tastes as if youve slaved all day.
Oh, send it over! I havent even tested the oven yet.
Weeks rolled by, and Rebecca was glad of such a friendly neighbour. Theyd bump into each other on the stairwell, sometimes drop by for coffee, swap books.
One Saturday, Thomas came by to help with a shelf that wouldnt stay on the wall.
You bought the wrong fixings, Dad announced, examining the screws. These are for plaster, but youve got concrete. Never mind, Ive proper ones in the car.
Within the hour, the shelf was up, solid as ever. Thomas packed his tools, inspected his work, and nodded in satisfaction.
There you go, should last twenty years now.
Dad, youre the best! Rebecca hugged him.
They walked downstairs, still chatting about everyday things. Dad asked about work, Rebecca moaned about her new boss always mixing up deadlines and misplacing paperwork.
Outside the entrance, they bumped into Emma hauling supermarket bags.
Oh, hi! Rebecca waved. Dad, this is Emma, my neighbour I was telling you about.
Pleasure, Thomas greeted her with his usual easy smile.
Emma seemed to freeze for a moment, glancing swiftly between Thomas and Rebecca. Her smile had a strange, artificial quality.
Likewise, she said curtly and hurried indoors.
From that day, everything changed. The next morning, Rebecca greeted Emma as usual on the landing, but all she got was a frosty nod. A couple of days later, she invited her round for tea Emma claimed she was busy, cutting off the conversation.
Then the complaints started.
The first time the local constable knocked, it was gone nine in the evening.
Weve had a noise report, the older officer said awkwardly. Loud music, banging.
What music? Rebecca was puzzled. I was reading!
Well, neighbours have complained
Complaints came thick and fast. The building management received letters about unbearable stomping, constant crashing, and music late at night. The constables visits grew regular, apologising each time, shrugging helplessly.
Rebecca knew who was behind it. What she didnt understand was why.
Every morning became a lottery what now? Eggshell smeared on her door? Coffee grounds jammed in the frame? A bag of potato peelings tucked under the doormat?
Rebecca would get up half an hour early to tidy up before work. Her hands stung from bleach, and a lump sat in her throat.
This cant go on, she muttered one evening, searching online for door cameras.
Fitting it took twenty minutes. A tiny camera hid inside the normal peephole, filming everything in the hallway. Rebecca linked it to her phone and waited.
She didnt have to wait long.
At three a.m. her phone chimed with a motion alert. Rebecca, astonished, watched the screen: Emma, in dressing gown and slippers, meticulously smearing something dark on the door, methodical as if on autopilot.
The next night, Rebecca stayed up. She sat in the hallway, listening in the hush. At half two, she heard shuffling outside.
Rebecca flung open the door.
Emma froze, a bag dangling from her hand. Something inside squished unpleasantly.
What have I done to you? Rebecca couldn’t believe the desperate tone in her voice. Why are you doing this to me?
Emma lowered the bag. Her face twisted, sharp features contorted in deep-seated anger.
You? You didnt do a thing. But your Dad
What does my father have to do with it?
Because hes my father too! Emmas voice was almost a shriek, uncaring who heard. He raised you, cherished you, and left me and my mother when I was three! Not a penny in support, never called! My mum and I barely scraped by while he built his precious family with yours! So you you stole my father!
Rebecca staggered back, pressed against the doorframe.
Youre lying
Lying? Ask him yourself! Ask if he remembers Lisa Hall and her daughter Emma, whom he dumped like rubbish!
Rebecca slammed the door and slid to the floor, heart pounding. One thought echoing in her head: Not true, not true, not true. Dad couldnt have. Couldnt have.
In the morning, she drove straight to her parents. All the way, she rehearsed the question, but seeing her father calm as always, with his newspaper the words caught in her throat.
Becca! What a treat! Thomas greeted her. Mums gone shopping, shell be back soon.
Dad, I need to ask Rebecca sat on the sofa, twisting her handbag strap. Do you know a woman called Lisa Hall?
Thomas froze. The newspaper slipped from his fingers to the floor.
How do you
Her daughter my neighbour. Emma, the one I introduced. She says youre her father.
Silence stretched on, unbearably long.
Lets go see her, Thomas said abruptly. Right now. I need to set this straight.
The drive to the flat took forty minutes, all in silence. Rebecca watched houses roll by, trying to piece together her shattered world.
Emma opened up immediately, as if waiting. She cast them both a heavy look, but stepped back, letting them in.
Come to beg forgiveness? she snapped at Thomas. After thirty years?
Ive come to explain. Thomas drew a folded piece of paper from his jacket. Read this.
Emma snatched the document warily. As she read, her expression shifted anger melting into confusion, then into disbelief.
What?
Its the DNA test result, Thomas replied quietly. I did it when your mother tried to sue me for support. The test said Im not your father. Lisa was unfaithful. Youre not my daughter.
Emma dropped the paper.
Rebecca and her father left the neighbours flat. Back in her own, Rebecca stepped towards him and hugged him tightly, her face pressed to the rough fabric of his jacket.
Im sorry, Dad. Sorry I doubted you.
Thomas stroked her hair, just as he always did when she came to him after rows at school.
Youve nothing to be sorry for, darling. The fault lies elsewhere.
Relations with Emma never recovered. Rebecca never tried to reach out again. After all that nastiness, respect for her neighbour was gone for good.
