Without the “Must”
It seems so vivid now, thinking back to those evenings in the old terraced house in Liverpool. I remember opening the front door after work, the air chill with the coming night, and the familiar sight of the kitchen: three plates of congealed pasta abandoned on the table, an upturned yoghurt pot, and one of Toms school notebooks lying open, pages smudged with graphite. Toms backpack was in the middle of the hallway, somehow always exactly where it would trip you, and Alice sat curled on the sofa, nose buried in her phone, legs tucked beneath her.
I placed my briefcase in the hall, eased off my shoes, and thought to mention the plates, but the words caught somewhere in my tired throat. Instead, I quietly tidied one into the sink.
“Dad, Ill do those in a minute,” Alice mumbled, fingers still flicking through her messages.
“Alright, love,” I replied, running the tap so the dried pasta loosened and spun down the drain. The steam fogged up my glasses, and for a moment I just stood there, palms spread on the countertop, breathing.
“Alice, wheres Tom?”
“In his room. Maths homework.”
“And you?”
“All done,” she replied, not looking up.
I wiped my hands, padded along the creaky floorboards and opened Toms door. He was sprawled on the rug, chin in his fist, staring at a notebook where hed written barely two sums.
“Hello, mate.”
“Evening, Dad.”
“Hows it going?”
“Alright.”
“Homework?”
“Getting through it.”
I sat on the edge of his bed and Tom glanced at me, a little uneasy, then turned back to his maths.
“Dad, is something wrong?”
“Dont know,” I admitted, honestly. “Probably just tired.”
Truth be told, my thoughts were all tangled. Mum had rung early, wanting me to come over and help sort out her wardrobe, then work had stretched long past six with meetings that never seemed to end, and the Tube home was sardine-tight. Now, with my family around me, all I wanted was not to mention empty plates or homework, not to lecture or police. I wanted to be someone real, not the switch flicked on with the porch light.
“Listen,” I said. “Lets all gather in the kitchenjust for a bit.”
“What for?” Tom frowned.
“Just to chat. Thats all.”
Tom looked wary. “Is this about my English grade again?”
“No, mate. Not at all. Just five minutes. Well do homework after, I promise.”
I called Alice too. She sighed, rolled her eyes, and flopped her phone onto the sofa like it offended her.
“Seriously, Dad?”
“Seriously.”
Soon the three of us clustered around the kitchen table. I brushed aside notebooks, and Tom hovered on the edge of a chair like he might bolt.
“What’s happened?” Alice said flatly.
“Nothings happened,” I replied.
“Then why are we here?”
I watched both their faces; Toms searching mine as though bracing himself for bad news, Alices arms folded in that shielded way.
“I just I wanted to talk. Not about chores or school or any of thatyou know, without the you must. Just proper, honest conversation.”
“So we dont have to wash up?” Tom ventured, cautiously.
“Well do it later. Its not about that.”
Alice raised an eyebrow. “Youre a bit odd tonight, Dad.”
“Odd, yes,” I agreed, “because Im tired of acting like its all fine when it isnt always. Because I sometimes pretendlike were all pretending.”
They said nothing. I groped for words in the silence, trying to fill the air with something honest.
“I dont even know how to say this. It feels like we all put on a showI come home, you play at being okay, and I play at believing it. We talk about homework and dinner, but not much elsenot really.”
Tom kept his eyes on the table, Alice scowled.
“Dad,” she muttered, “this is heavy. Why?”
“I suppose because Im not managing as well as it seems. Im scared you might not be either, and I havent even noticed because Im so tangled up with my own muddle.”
“Im alright,” Tom protested quickly.
“Truly?” I looked him in the eye. “Then tell me why youre up half the night lately, fidgeting and wide awake?”
He didnt answer, staring at the wood grain in front of him.
“I hear you, love. You toss and turn until gone midnight. In the morning, you look like sleep never touched you.”
“I just I dont want to sleep. Thats all.”
“Tom.”
He shrugged, turning his face away.
“Schools fine. Homeworks fine. What else is there?”
Alice cut in, bristling. “Dad, you dont have to interrogate him.”
“Im not interrogating. Just want to understand.”
“Maybe he doesnt want to share, and thats allowed.”
I nodded to her, then tried, gently, again.
“Then you tell mehow are you, Alice?”
She snorted a little. “Im fine. Schools fine, friends are fine, everythings as its meant to be.”
I waited. She wouldnt meet my gaze.
“So why are you barely leaving the house these days? Your friends invited you out twiceyou said no, both times.”
“Didnt feel like it.”
“Why not?”
She pressed her lips together.
“Because Im tired of them, Dad. Tired of listening to them talk about boys and nonsense. Thats all.”
“Alright. I just you seem down sometimes, thats all.”
She flicked her head impatiently. “Im not down.”
“Alright then.”
We sat in the whir of the fridge. I took a breath, words heavy as iron.
“Look, I dont want to lecture. Im not asking you to fix me, either. Just honesty: Im scared sometimes. Every day. I worry I wont have enough money, I worry your nan will fall ill and keep it secret, I worry about redundancies at work. I worry about you both hurting and me being too distracted to notice. And Im tired of pretending everythings under control.”
Alice blinked, her expression softening a fraction.
“But youre the grown-up,” she murmured. “Youre supposed to handle things, Dad.”
“I know. But sometimes, I dont.”
Tom finally looked up. “What happens if you cant?”
I hesitated. “I suppose Id have to ask for help.”
“From who?”
“From you two, maybe.”
Tom gave me a puzzled frown. “But were children.”
“You are, yes. But youre part of this family. And sometimes helping just means telling the truth. Not, Im fine, but truly how things feel.”
Alice brushed invisible crumbs from the table.
“But why do you need to know?”
“So Im not alone with it all.”
She met my eyes then, a flicker of warmth I hadnt seen in a while.
“I get scared of school,” Tom burst out, all of a sudden. “Theres this ladcalls me thick. Every day. Makes everyone laugh.”
My heart clenched for him.
“Whats his name?”
He shook his head. “If I tell you, youll go in and sort him out, then itll get worse.”
“No,” I promised. “I wont. But I need you to know youre not on your own.”
He nodded, shoulders bunched.
“Ive got Dan. Hes alright. We sit together sometimes.”
“Thats good,” I said.
Alice let out a sigh. “I dont want to go to college,” she whispered. “Everyone keeps asking me where Ill apply. And I dont knowI truly have no idea. I feel like everyone else knows already and I dont have a clue.”
“Youre fourteen, Alice.”
“And? Everyone I knows got it sorted. Not me.”
“Trust me, they havent. I wanted to be a geologist at your age, then changed my minda few timeslook at me now! Jobs nothing like I imagined.”
“Is that alright, though?”
“Some days, yes. Some days, no. Thats lifeits not supposed to be all sewn up in advance.”
Alice nodded, though doubt lingered.
“People say you have to decide, though.”
“They do,” I said, “but those are their words, not yours.”
She almost smiled at that. “Youre different tonight, Dad.”
“Tired of trying to be right all the time.”
Tom gave a small laugh. “Can I ask you something?”
“Of course.”
“Are you really scared?”
“Yes, Tom. I really am.”
“What do you do when youre scared?”
I thought. “I get up, make tea, do somethingeven if Im not sure its the right thing. Just keep moving, I suppose.”
Tom looked thoughtful.
We sat a while in companionable quiet, not filling the space with shoulds or musts. For the first time, I realised I hadnt solved anything, offered no magic answers, didnt erase our worries. But something had shifted: theyd seen me as more than the parent who pays bills and sets rules. Id let them see the bit of me that wobbles, and in turn, theyd done the same.
“Right,” Alice said, standing, “lets get those dishes sorted.”
“Ill help,” Tom said.
“So will I,” I said.
We set to in gentle silenceAlice ran the tap, Tom found the sponge, I dried the plates. It was a softer stillness than before, not empty, but quietly full.
When the last plate was slotted in the rack, Alice dried her hands and looked at me.
“Dad, can we talk like that again? Sometime?”
“Of course, whenever you want, love.”
She nodded, then wandered to her room. Tom lingered, rocking on his heels.
“Thanks for not going after that boy,” he said.
“I wont. But if it gets too much, youll tell me?”
“I will.”
“Now, lets get that maths finished.”
Back in Toms room, we sprawled on the rug and bent over his notepad, working through the sums at our own pace. I realised then that behind everythinggrades, chores, all the routinesthere was a boy who sometimes felt afraid, and a father who did too, but who kept getting up anyway.
It wasnt everything, but it was a start.
