Sunday Dad. A Story. “Where’s my daughter?” repeated Olga, her teeth chattering with a mixture of fear and cold. She had left Zoe at the birthday party, in the children’s playroom of the shopping centre. She barely knew the birthday girl’s parents, but she’d left her daughter there before—it was routine for these kinds of kids’ parties, nothing unusual. Only this time, Olga was late—the bus hadn’t come for ages. The shopping centre was in an awkward spot, everyone drove but Olga didn’t have a car. So she took Zoe by bus, then went home for work—teaching lessons she couldn’t miss—then came back for her. Only a quarter of an hour late—she’d raced across the icy car park, breathless. And now, the birthday girl’s mum, a short woman with big blue eyes, was watching Olga with surprise and repeating: “But her dad picked her up.” But Zoe had no dad. Well—there was one, technically. He’d never even met his daughter. Olga met Andrew by chance—walking the Embankment with a friend who’d twisted her ankle, the lads stopped to help. Like in a film, they bragged they were at Oxford, one’s dad a general, the other’s a professor. Why lie? Youth and stupidity. And when Olga got pregnant, and Andrew found out she was at teacher college, her dad a bus driver, he shoved money at her for an abortion and vanished. Olga didn’t have the abortion—and never regretted it. Zoe was her little partner, wise beyond her years and endlessly reliable. They always had fun together; while Olga taught, Zoe played quietly, and afterwards they cooked up milk soup or poached eggs, tea with biscuits and butter. Money was tight, everything went on rent, but they didn’t complain. “How could you give my daughter to a stranger?” Olga’s voice shook, tears stinging her eyes. “Don’t be silly—he’s her father!” the blue-eyed woman snapped. Olga could have told her no father existed, but what for? She had to run to security, demand the CCTV footage and— “When was this?” “About ten minutes ago…” Olga turned and ran. How many times had she warned Zoe—never go off with a stranger! Her feet refused to cooperate, vision blurred, crashing into people as she ran, apologizing to no one. By instinct she screamed: “Zoe! Zoe—!” The food court was packed, her cries mostly ignored, though a few looked up. Gulping air, Olga tried to decide where to go first—maybe he hadn’t taken her yet, maybe— “Mummy!” She couldn’t believe her eyes. Her daughter—with an open coat, ice cream smeared face—raced towards her. Olga clutched Zoe as if letting go would make her collapse (which, maybe, it would), and fixed her gaze on the man. Respectable, short hair, stupid jumper with a snowman, ice cream in hand. He seemed to read Olga’s face and started babbling: “Sorry, this is my fault! Should have waited right here, but—wanted to show up those little monsters! You know, they were teasing her, saying she had no dad and he’d never come, that she’s ugly! So I thought—I’d teach them. Said, ‘Come on, sweetheart, while mum’s not here, let’s go buy ice cream.’ I didn’t mean to scare you…” Olga trembled. She wasn’t about to trust a stranger. But were those kids really teasing Zoe? She caught Zoe’s eye—the girl instantly understood, sniffed, lifted her chin. “So what? I’ve got a dad now too!” The man shrugged awkwardly; Olga couldn’t find her voice. “Come on,” she finally managed. “We’ll miss the bus.” “Wait!” the man jumped forward, hesitated, waved. “Maybe I can drive you home? After all this… I swear I’m not a creep! My name’s Arthur, I’m harmless! There’s my mum—she’ll vouch for me!” He pointed to a woman with purple curls at a table, absorbed in a book. “If you’d like, I’ll introduce you—she’ll give me glowing reviews!” “I’m sure,” Olga muttered, still ready to whack him over the head. “Thanks, but we’ll walk.” “Mum…” Zoe tugged at her coat. “Let them see—my dad’s giving us a lift!” The birthday girl and her mum still stood by the playroom with another girl whose name Olga couldn’t remember. Zoe’s eyes pleaded; walking on ice in this state would be tough. Olga relented. “Fine.” “Brilliant! I’ll just tell my mum!” “Mummy’s boy,” Olga thought acidly. At that moment, the woman waved at her, and Olga quickly looked away. What a stupid situation… On the way she dodged Arthur’s gaze, but couldn’t help noting his gentle chatter with Zoe. The girl chattered away—Olga had never seen her so lively. But when they pulled up outside their block, Zoe’s face fell. “Will we see you again?” she whispered, watching her mum. Arthur glanced at Olga—asking permission. She wanted to say no, Zoe, that’s rude, but seeing the girl’s disappointment, couldn’t. She nodded. “Well, if your mum says yes, I can take you to the cinema next weekend—see a cartoon movie. Have you ever been?” “Really? No! Mum, can I go with dad?” Olga felt awkward—now she babbled. “Okay, Zoe, but two conditions. First—you understand calling a stranger ‘dad’ isn’t polite; call him Uncle Arthur, all right? And second—I’m coming too—what did I tell you? Never go anywhere with strangers, even nice ones!” “I told her that too,” Arthur added. “About not going off with strangers.” “So can I go?” “I said yes.” “Hooray!!!” Olga knew she should nip this nonsense in the bud, but couldn’t. She and Zoe—against the world. If only she had someone to talk to! Like her own mum… Olga barely remembered her—her mother died when Olga was five, same age as Zoe now. A boy fell through the ice, nobody dared help, but she did—saved him, but caught pneumonia and died in a week. She’d been diabetic, always frail. Now Zoe had diabetes too—Olga blamed herself for passing it on. By next weekend, Olga had worried over everything, but her fears were unfounded—Arthur showed up at the cinema with his mum. “So you won’t think I’m dodgy, let mum give me a reference,” he joked. “Oh, you are dodgy!” his mother grinned, clearly adoring her son. When Arthur took Zoe for popcorn, his mum “advertised” him. “You see—may I call you Olga? He grew up without a dad too. I was married four times—the last was perfect! Arthur’s just like him, but fate… He died before he could hold his son. Heart attack. I gave birth early, no idea how I survived. The other husbands helped, mind you—why the look? We’re all still friends: the first still loves me, second wasn’t interested in women, third liked women far too much. They tried to be there for Arthur, but a dad’s a dad. So he connects with Zoe—he was teased too, you know. Poor boy, I was forever talking to teachers, no use! He did all sorts of dares to prove himself, nearly got himself killed once…” What a character—short, wiry, violet hair, Chanel suit and a mystery novel in hand. Olga found herself liking her. “Don’t worry, Arthur has no hidden agendas, he just has a golden heart,” she winked. “And I think he’s quite taken with you.” Olga blushed. Just what she needed! She knew she shouldn’t start anything, but felt so bad for Zoe… After the film, she offered Arthur ticket money; he refused. “If I ask a girl out, I pay!” That annoyed Olga too—she was used to paying her own way. As for his interest—nonsense, that doesn’t happen. When Arthur dropped them off, Zoe asked: “Dad, where shall we go next?” “Zoe!” Olga scolded. She clapped her hands over her mouth. “I think we should visit the Natural History Museum,” Arthur replied, ignoring the slip. “What do you think?” “Great! Mum, let’s go?” “You go without me,” Olga snapped. “Take Catherine with you—she loves butterflies.” She was first out of the car, desperate to end this. She heard Arthur whisper: “When mum’s not listening, you can call me dad.” So Zoe gained a Sunday dad. Sometimes Olga joined them; sometimes Zoe went along if Catherine came too—Olga still considered Arthur a stranger, suspicious, though Zoe gushed every time about how fun and kind he was. Olga found herself catching her daughter’s mood, but didn’t let it grow—life isn’t a fairytale; men don’t appear on white horses. And his mum always raved about him—why? What was wrong with him? Would someone like her really want her son with a nobody? But gradually Olga’s heart thawed. Arthur was so respectful—he’d leave a chocolate on her shelf, always check with her before inviting Zoe, and sought her gaze in the car. Mostly, she cherished Catherine—such good company! If Arthur wasn’t her son, Olga could have confided in her. One day he called to ask about a film. Zoe piped up—whispered: “Is that Arthur?” And plopped herself down beside her mum. “Of course, Zoe will love it,” Olga answered absently. “Wait…I’m inviting you, too. I mean, just us two. Together.” Catherine’s voice piped up in the background. “At last!” “Mum, stop listening in! Oh, Olga, sorry… She’s always eavesdropping.” Zoe whispered: “Is he asking you out?” Olga laughed. “I’ve got big ears too. Listen, Arthur…I…” “Just—please don’t say no! Just one date, I promise I’ll be a proper gentleman!” “Mum, tell her what you told me—about her mum’s eyes!” Like being doused with ice water. Olga was stunned—her mum? Arthur argued with Catherine, then said: “Olga, I’ll come over and explain. May I?” She could do with some explanations. Olga paced until he arrived, Zoe quietly drawing. “I should’ve confessed straight away,” Arthur began. “Meant to, but I liked you so much… Didn’t want you to think it was because of your mum. I was scared you’d hate me. She died because of me…” He rambled, jumping from point to point, begging with his eyes. Olga shook, just like when she thought Zoe was gone. “Will you forgive me?” Olga managed just one sentence: “I need to think.” “Mum, come on, forgive dad…” Arthur gave Zoe a warning look, reminded her of their deal. Then looked at Olga. She repeated: “I need time, do you understand?” She wanted to ask a million questions—but no words came. When Catherine called, it was different—she shared everything. “He had no idea she died—I protected him, he was just a boy. I let it slip; Arthur wanted to find you. That night, he wanted to offer help, but then everything got jumbled—then you…He fell for you at first sight! He was afraid you’d misunderstand. He was just trying to prove himself to those boys—that he was a real man, even with no dad. Nobody else would cross the ice, but he did…” Catherine never pushed, just defended her son. Zoe pushed, hard! “Mum, he’s good! And he LOVES you, he told me! He can be my real dad, understand?” Olga understood. But…it didn’t feel right? Almost a month passed. She couldn’t bring herself to talk to him. Didn’t answer calls, ignored his messages. The longer she waited, the more she wanted to call—but it got harder. Zoe woke her in the night—crying, stomach pain. She’d complained last night, blame it on sour milk. Now she was burning up—no thermometer needed. Shaking, Olga called emergency services, then—no idea why—Arthur. He arrived with the ambulance—sleepy, in pyjama bottoms, hair sticking up. He came to hospital, calming Olga, voice shaking as he promised all would be fine. “Peritonitis isn’t so bad—she’ll be fine, really!” Olga took his hand—maybe comforting him, maybe herself. The waiting room was freezing; they sat as close together as possible, sharing warmth. Arthur pounced on the doctor first, demanding updates. Olga sat, terrified to breathe. If anything happened to Zoe, she’d never survive. But everything was fine. Doctors did well, Zoe was a fighter—the situation, they said, critical. “It’s like she’s watched over by a guardian angel,” the doctor said. Olga whispered, Thank you, mum! Arthur thanked the doctors, who told them both to go home—no visitors yet, get some rest. He drove Olga home, and she waited for him to ask up—but he just sat. So she said: “It’s nearly sunrise. Come in—let me make you coffee.” And realised she meant it, wanted him to stay. For good. Zoe recovered surprisingly fast—nurses remarked on it. “Because I have a mum and a dad,” she bragged. And no-one, except Olga and Arthur, understood why that made a little girl so happy…

Wheres my daughter? I asked again, teeth chattering from cold or maybe nerves.

Id left Emily at the birthday party in the childrens playroom of the shopping centre. I only vaguely knew the birthday girls parents, but it was hardly the first time Id left Emily at a kids party like thisstandard stuff, nothing to worry about. Id simply been running late todaythe bus hadnt shown up for ages. The shopping centre was a nuisance to get to, everyone else arrived by car, but I didnt own one. So Id brought Emily on the bus, headed home to teach my scheduled lessons (couldnt cancel) and then came to collect her. I was just fifteen minutes lateran breathless across the icy car park just to get there. Yet now, standing before me, the birthday girls mum, a petite woman with big, round blue eyes, looked at me perplexed and repeated:

Her dad picked her up.

Emilys father wasnt in the picture. Well, technically he existed, but hed never so much as laid eyes on his daughter.

Id met Andrew by chance, just wandering by the Thames with my mate. She twisted her ankle, some lads offered help, andjust like in every coming-of-age filmclaimed they went to Oxford, their fathers were a general and professor. Why lie? Youth and stupidity, I suppose. Anyway, when I found myself pregnant and Andrew discovered I was a student teacher with a bus-driving dad, he handed me cash for an abortion and disappeared.

I never had the abortion and never regretted it for a secondEmily quickly became my closest companion, wise beyond her years, reliable. We always had a laugh together. While I taught, Emily would play quietly, then wed cook up some egg and soldiers or milk soup, having our tea with buttered shortbread. We got bymoney mostly went on the rent, but neither of us ever complained.

How could you hand my daughter over to a stranger? I shouted, voice trembling and tears threatening to spill.

But hes not a strangerhes her father! the blue-eyed woman huffed impatiently.

I couldve told her there was no father, but what would be the point? I needed to get to security, demand to see CCTV footage, and

When did this happen?

About ten minutes ago

I spun around and ran. How many times had I warned Emilynever leave with strangers! My legs barely obeyed as I stumbled, panic blurring my vision. Twice I crashed into people, barely muttering apologies as I raced on. Relying entirely on instinct, I yelled:

Emily! Emily!

The food court was buzzing, most people ignoring my shouts, though a few glanced over. Gasping for breath, I tried to figure out where to start looking. Maybe whoever took her hadnt left yet

Mummy!

For a moment, I couldnt believe it. There was my girl, coat flying, face sticky with ice cream, running to me. I grabbed her, holding on as if shed fall away if I let goperhaps she might have, at that.

Thats when I saw the man: short hair, a daft Christmas jumper with a snowman, a tub of ice cream. He took one look and clearly read what I was about to let rip.

Im so sorryits my fault! I shouldve waited, but I wanted to show up those little terrors. You see, they were teasing her, saying she doesnt have a dad and hed never come for her because shes ugly. So I wanted to give them a piece of my mindasked her to get ice cream with me until her mum arrived. I didnt realise youd be so worried

I was shakingtrusting this stranger wasnt on my agenda. But had Emily really been teased? I searched my daughters eyes, and she instantly understood. She sniffed, lifting her chin defiantly.

I dont care! Now I have a dad too!

The man spread his hands awkwardly. I was still mute.

Lets go, I finally said, exhaling. Well miss the bus if were late.

Wait! He stepped forward, hesitating as he waved. Maybe I can give you a lift? Since things turned out this waypromise, Im not a creep! My names Ben. Im a decent bloke, really! My mums right over thereshe can vouch for me.

He nodded towards a woman by a table, purple curls buried in a novel.

If you want, well ask herIll get the best references!

Im sure you would, I muttered, still itching to smack him for the scare. Thanks, but well manage.

Mum Emily tugged at my coat. Let them see that my dad gives us a lift!

There was still the birthday girl, her mum, and another child I didnt know. Emilys pleading gaze was hard to ignore, and trudging over ice in this state would be miserable. Reluctantly, I agreed.

Fine, I said brusquely.

Great! One moment, Ill just let my mum know.

Mummys boy, I thought, rolling my eyes. The purple-haired woman waved cheerfully as I turned away. How absurd could this situation get?

On the drive home, I worked hard not to meet Bens eyes, but couldnt help noticing how gently he bantered with Emily. She was chirping away, happier than Id ever seen. Yet, when we stopped outside our block, she wilted.

Will we see you again? she asked Ben softly, glancing at me.

At that, Ben looked at me, as if waiting for permission. I was ready to say no, Emily, its not polite, but her hopeful face stopped me. I met Bens eyes and nodded.

Well, if your mum agrees, I could take you to the pictures at the weekend. Ever been?

Really? No, I havent! Mummy, can I go to the movies with Dad?

I squirmed, suddenly flustered, so I ended up rattling on.

Alright, Emily, you can. But two conditions: first, calling a stranger Dad is rudehes Uncle Ben for now, agreed? Second, I come with youremember what I said? Never go anywhere with strangers, even nice ones!

I told her the same, Ben chimed in. About not going off with strangers.

So, can I go?

Yes, I said you can.

Yippee!

Rationally, part of me knew I should nip this in the budbut I couldnt. There was just Emily and me in the world. If only I had someone to ask for advicelike my own mum. I barely remembered her; she died when I was fivethe same age as Emily now. A boy fell into a freezing pond and everyone was too afraid, except for my mum. She saved the lad, but caught pneumonia. She had diabetes, already fragile. And so did Emily, which haunted meshe got those genes from me.

By the next weekend, Id thought it over endlessly, but as it happened, my worries were misplacedBen brought his mum to the cinema.

So you wont think Im dodgymy mum can give references! he laughed.

You are dodgy! his mum teased, grinning in a way that made it clear she adored him.

While Ben took Emily for popcorn, his mum did, in fact, advertise her son.

Call me Helen, she said. He grew up without a dad too, you see. Ive been married four timeslast husband was perfect. Bens just like him. Fate took him before he could even hold Benheart attack. I had Ben early, no clue how I managed. First husbands were alright Whats with that look? Were all good mates nowthe first still loves me, second wasnt into women, third loved all women too much! They tried to be Bens dad, but it isnt the same. Thats why he got attached to Emilyhe knows what its like. He got bullied too. I complained to teachers, but nothing helped! He did all sorts of silly dares to prove himself, nearly got himself killed once

Helen was quite a charactersmall, lean, purple-haired, Chanel suit and a crime novel in hand. I rather liked her.

Dont worry, Ben means wellhes got a kind heart, she winked. And I think hes taken a shine to you.

I blushed. Just what I needed! I knew this was a bad idea, but Emily

After the film, I tried to pay Ben for our tickets, but he shook his head.

If I invite ladies to the cinema, I pay!

That irked meIm used to paying my own way, relying only on myself. And as for Ben fancying meridiculous!

When Ben dropped us home, Emily piped up:

Dad, where will we go next time?

Emily! I scolded.

She covered her mouth, giggling.

Maybe the Natural History Museum, Ben suggested, ignoring her slip. How does that sound?

Lovely! Mum, come with us?

You go ahead, I replied coolly. Take Helenshe mentioned she likes butterflies.

I was out of the car first, wanting to get away. As I left I overheard Ben whisper to Emily:

When mums not listening, you can call me Dad.

So Emily had herself a Sunday Dad. Sometimes I went with them, sometimes let Emily join if Helen tagged along. I still thought Ben a stranger, suspicious even, despite Emilys endless tales of how funny and wonderful he was. I started catching her excitement myself, though I tried not to show it. Life isnt a fairytaleno knight on a white horse just turns up. Helen always sang Bens praises, making me wonderwhats the catch? Would a woman like her really want her son with someone like me?

But my resolve began to soften. Ben was so thoughtfulhed leave a little chocolate for me on the shelf, always asked before inviting Emily out, tried snatching my gaze in the car, and Helen was a brilliant conversationalist! If Ben wasnt her son, shed be who Id turn to for advice.

One day, Ben rang about some film. Emilys ears pricked upshe whispered, Is that Ben? and gleefully plopped down beside me.

Yes, Emily will love it, I said out of habit.

Wait Im asking you, too. I mean, so you come with us. Just the two of us.

Helens voice piped up in the background.

At last!

Mum, get off the phone! Ugh, sorry, Olivia. Shes always eavesdropping.

Emily whispered, He asked you to the cinema?

I just laughed.

Ive got ears too. Listen, Ben I

Please dont say no, just give me one chance! Ill be a proper gentleman!

Tell her about the eyes, Ben! Helen insisted. Say what you told me, about her mums eyes

It was as if cold water splashed in my face. I didnt understandwhat did my mum have to do with anything?

Ben shouted something to his mother, then said,

Olivia, Ill come explain in person. Is that alright?

I reckoned I could do with an explanation I paced about until he arrived, with Emily wisely drawing at her desk.

I shouldve admitted straight away, Ben began. I wanted tobut I liked you so much. I didnt want you to think it was all about your mumand I was scared youd hate me. She died because of me

Ben was rambling, jumping topics, desperate. I just shook, like when I thought Emily had vanished.

Will you forgive me?

I couldnt utter a word through his monologue, finally forcing out:

I need to think.

Mum, please forgive him

Ben shot Emily a pleading look, as if forming a secret pact. He gazed at me once more. I repeated,

I need time. I hope you understand?

I had a million questions but managed nothing. When Helen rang, though, it was a different storyshe spilled everything.

He never knew she diedI tried to protect him, keep him happy. When he found out, Ben wanted to find you. He meant to say hello and help, but things got tangled with Emily, and then you He fell for you at first sight! He was worried what youd think. Dont blame himBen tried to prove he was brave, like the other boys with dads. All the other kids were scared to cross the ice, and he went for it

Helen didnt push, just defended him. But Emily pushedhard!

Mum, hes a good man! He loves you, he told me! He can be my real daddont you see?

I understood. Butit felt strange? Wrong?

Nearly a month passed, and still I hadnt spoken to Ben. Ignored his calls, skipped his texts. But the longer I waited, the more I longed to ring him. Yet it seemed less and less possible.

Emily woke me crying late one night, clutching her tummy. Shed complained the night beforeId blamed off milk. Now she was burning upI didnt even need the thermometer.

Hands shaking, I dialled for an ambulance, thenout of habitBen.

He showed up with the paramedics, bleary-eyed in pyjamas. He rode to hospital with us, murmuring reassurances despite a trembling voice.

Appendicitis isnt so bad, he kept saying. Shell be fine!

I found myself holding his handto comfort him, or myself, Im not sure. The waiting room was cold, but neither of us brought warm clothes, so we huddled close together for warmth.

He was first to pounce on the doctor, asking about the operation. Meanwhile, I sat, afraid to move. If anything happened to Emily, I wouldnt survive.

But she came through. The doctors were brilliant, and Emily was so braveshe fought for her life. The doctor even said,

Its as if a guardian angel was watching over her, and I whispered, Thank you, Mum.

Ben thanked the doctor endlessly, urged both of us homeEmily was in intensive care and we needed rest.

Ben drove me home, and I half expected him to ask to come in. When he didnt, I said,

Its nearly dawn. Come in for a coffee?

I realisedI truly wanted him there. And wanted him to stay. Always.

Emily recovered astonishingly fasteveryone said so.

Its because Ive got a mum and dad now, she explained.

And no one but Ben and I understood why that made her so happyBen grinned, tousling Emilys hair, then looked at me. For once, I let the moment hangno clever words, no barrier, just the hush of early morning through the kitchen window, the warmth of Emilys laughter, the smell of weak coffee and hope.

Days turned to weeks. Ben and Helen became fixtures in our lives, gentle presences that soothed the old, aching corners inside me. We took Emily for walks beneath the cherry blossoms, wandered museums, taught her old songs, and sometimes just sat together at the bus stop, watching the world hurry past.

One evening, Emily called us both into her room. Her desk was scattered with drawingsone of them showed our little flat, the three of us sharing tea, smiling, a rainbow arched above, with Helen waving from the window below.

I made this for you, she said, handing me and Ben a drawing eachstick figure versions of ourselves, holding hands.

I want us to be a real family, she whispered, shy but so fiercely certain.

Ben knelt down, meeting Emilys eyes, and then mine. If your mum agrees, Id like that too. All of itbroken bits and all.

I hesitated, old wounds rising, then felt Emily slip her hand in mine. Ben reached for the other.

And for the first time, it didnt feel like fate or luck or a fairy taleit felt like choice. Like forgiveness. Like the beginning, not the end.

Outside, the evening sky was turning purple, bruised but beautiful. We stood together, tangled and imperfect, hearts open wide.

This was familyunexpected, stitched together by courage and a childs stubborn hope. And as I held their hands, I knew the three of us would never be alone again.