The Only Man in the Family
At breakfast, the eldest daughter, Emily, stared at her phone and asked,
Dad, have you seen todays date?
No, whats special about it?
Instead of replying, Emily turned her phone towards him: on the screen were the numbers11.11.11, meaning the 11th of November, 2011.
Thats your lucky number, Dad11. And today there are three in a row! Youre in for a smashing day.
If only your words were as sweet as honey, chuckled Alan.
Yes, Daddy, piped up the younger daughter, Molly, her eyes fixed on her own device. Horoscopes say Scorpios can expect a pleasant meeting and a lifelong gift today.
Brilliant. I bet some distant relative has just passed away in Europe or America, and were the only heirsmillionaires!
Billionaires, Dad, Emily played along. Millionaire is small change for you.
Quite right. Being a millionaire does seem rather underwhelming. What shall we do with all that loot? How about we buy a villa in Italy first, or maybe the Maldives? Then a yacht
And a helicopter, Dad, Molly joined in. I want my own helicopter.
No problemone helicopter coming up. Emily, what about you?
I want to star in a Bollywood film, with Salman Khan!
Piece of cake. Ill just give Amitabh Bachchan a ring. Now, my day-dreamers, finish upwe need to leave soon.
Oh, you never let us dream, Dad, sighed Molly.
You must dream, always, said Alan, finishing his tea and standing. But dont let it make you late for school
That breakfast conversation floated back to Alan in Tesco at the end of a long day. As he packed the groceries, he couldnt help but notice how unremarkable the day turned outhed had more work than usual, had to stay late, and was exhausted. Thered been no new acquaintances, much less a life-changing present.
Happiness floats by like a feather in the wind, Alan thought as he left the shop.
As he walked to his old, steadfast Ford Escorta car that had served his family for nearly twenty-five yearshe noticed a boy loitering by the door. The child was a picture of neglect: hair uncombed, clothes little more than rags, mismatched shoesone battered trainer and one boot with a blue electrical wire for a lace. Perched on his head was a faded, torn beanie.
Sir, I Im hungry. Could you spare some bread? The plea was hesitant; the words stumbled out, almost like a borrowed line from a Dickensian novel.
Alan was less moved by the boys wild appearance and more by the hesitation in his voice. Years ago, at the local theatre group, Alan had learned to listen for thatwhether a pause meant truth or a lie. His gut said: the boy was acting.
A performance, hmm? Alan mused. Lets see where your play leads, lad. My girls would love a detective case.
Bread wont fill you up. How about a bowl of stew, some potatoes and sausages, and warm apple crumble with custard? Sound alright?
The boys eyes widened in surprise, but he quickly tensed and glanced suspiciously at Alan.
Nothing to say? Yes or no?
Alright, the boy whispered, barely audible.
Good. Here, hold this for me. Alan handed him a bag of groceries, a quiet test. Genuine street kids usually bolted the moment they had food in hand. Alan, despite age and weariness, could always catch them, then give a gentle telling-off:
Youre not a wild thingyoure a child.
Alan rummaged in his pockets for ages, feigned a long phone call to Emily at home, and made sure not to watch the boy. But the boy didnt bolt; he just stood there, staring at his shoes, clutching the bag.
Finally, Alan found his keys and opened the passenger door. Hop in, sir. Your carriage awaits. Stew is warming; potatoes are on the boil.
The boy glanced at Alan, then slid gingerly into the car.
They drove in silence through the countryside. Alan and his girls lived in a village, seven miles from the nearest town, where hed been a repairman for more than a decade. A former orphan himself, Alan doted on his daughters and felt deeply for all children without families. Hed sometimes bring stray children home, finding them new families, never able to adopt them himself because single fathers, especially with little money and children of their own, were politely refused by the system.
Alan knew all too well that what a child truly needs is lovesomething in short supply in childrens homes. His own family might not be typical or complete, but they would have showered any child with love. Yet, social workers preferred boxes to be ticked, and Alans box was unsuitable.
All the bureaucracy, Alan though angrily, did little to help those who needed help most.
Meanwhile, the boy kept his head down, gripping the bag as if it might float away. Alan guessed he hadnt been homeless longhe was silent and shy, nothing like the hardened survivors of the street. Probably a runaway, not used yet to his new existence.
I was too quick to think he lied, Alan reflected. Maybe the poor lad was just in shockhis act was an attempt to cope.
Alright, home soon, lad. Well feed you, get you clean, let you sleep, and when youre readyyoull talk.
Emily and Molly were waiting on the porch; they dashed to Alan as he parked, and only then did they spot the boy in the passenger seat.
Whos this, Dad?
This, Alan grinned, is that pleasant meeting and lifelong gift you predicted this morning. Quite the surprise, eh?
Fantastic, Dad, Molly leaned in for a closer look. The best find ever. Are you sure hes not someone elses?
I tried, but he clung to my leg shouting, Im your gift!
So whats this gift called? Emily asked, unloading groceries.
No name.
No tag or price sticker?
Nothing.
Molly sighed, Poor you, Dadthey pawned off a faulty model. Never mind, you can throw it away!
The boy went stiff, on the verge of fleeing, but Molly grabbed him by the shoulder and patted his hat.
Hello? Anyone in there?
He shrank deeper into his coat, turtle-like.
No signal here, snorted Emily. Maybe itll improve inside. Come on!
The girls caught their fathers eyea silent exchange theyd perfected. Emilys look said, Hes secretive. Time for a little shock therapy? Alan replied with a five-fingered wave: Five minutes, no more.
Well manage in three, Emily silently promised.
Molly steered the boy into the house, announcing, Lets discover exactly what Unknown Walking Object weve got here.
A few minutes later, as Alan was shutting up the garage, Molly came running up:
Dad, hes lying!
And how do you know?
Elementary, Watson, Molly grinned. He doesnt smell of the streethes as homey as they come.
You sniffed him?
I did! Know what he smells of?
Jam tarts? Bubble bath? Toasted milk?
Wrong, wrong, wrong. Here. She held out her hand, dark smudges on her palm.
Soot?
No, she shoved it under Alans nose.
He sniffed, scraped a spot with his nail
Makeup?
Spot on, Dad! He painted himself to look grubby. Poor lost waif!
He said his names Bull. I checked onlinethats slang for a bull You know, a big male.
Well fatten him up, maybe sell him for beef
Dad, enough jokes. Heres the serious bit: Im convinced he came deliberately to you, did himself up with dirt for a reason. But why? Hes pure home, clever, not a troublemaker. He must want something good.
Emily ran out onto the porch and shouted for effect, Do we still have any sulphuric acid left?
Molly dashed to the garage, grabbing a random canister. Half a can leftcoming!
Monsters!
Monsterettes! she corrected, laughing.
Wash up, Dad, dinners ready! called Emily as Alan entered.
Were starving wolveswe might bite our bull.
I could gnaw on him myself, Molly chimed in.
Alan smiled at their play-actinghe knew theyd never hurt the boy.
Inside, the boy, freshly washed, sat on a stool. Under the grime, he was a real carrot-top, copper hair wild and shining. Now, Alan guessed he was around ten, dressed in a red-and-black striped vest and worn jeans. Feet tucked under the stool, he dried his hair vigorously.
Grab a seat, Bull, said Molly. Or would you prefer some hay?
Or a bit of silage? Emily grinned.
Girls, Alan warned sternly, enough. Eyes on your plates.
Under Alans gaze, the boy transformed. Shoulders straight, head high; suddenly he blended in as if this had always been his family. The girls exchanged puzzled glances.
What are you after, lad? Alan wondered. You worked so hard to be here. But youre not out to steal, I can tell. So why?
Dadhello? Emily tugged his sleeve.
Sorry, I was miles away. Im fullcheers, chefs!
Youve been out for ages, Molly teased. Me and Emily got marriedmeet your granddaughters!
And is this your beau? Alan nodded at the boy.
No, this is our house-bull, Molly patted the boys head, then, as a test, caught a lock of his hair and twisted it.
Thats enough! cried the boy, leaping up. He coughed, then, quieter, Emily, Molly, please I give up. Mr. Smith, Im sorry I went about it all so strangely
Alan nodded. Sit down, lad, dont worrystart from the beginning.
Yesbut tell the truth, Molly warned. Or Ill know!
I willI hate lying
The truth stunned the Smiths. His real name was George Bullman, and he was a day older than Mollyeleven, same as her. His father, a soldier, died in Afghanistan while his mum was expecting his younger sister, Molly (yes, another Molly). Their small family had nearly been split upauthorities wanted the children in care. But with help from friends, his oldest sister, Sophie, kept them all together, raising George and his little sisters, Molly and Lucy.
Recently, George had noticed Sophie was unwell, almost lovesick. One day she confessed: shed fallen deeply for a man named Alan Smith, a local handyman, widowed, raising two daughters on his own. George also learned Alan sometimes helped homeless children. Remembering that Alan had once been in care himself, George hatched a plan: disguise himself as a stray, try to get into Alans home, and see what the Smiths were like firsthand before letting Sophie get her heart broken. He never imagined the girls would see right through him so quickly.
Youre all so wonderful, George admitted. Emily, Mollyyoure brilliant. Mr. Smith, pleasewill you marry my sister? Youd be so happy togethershes lovely and wise, shed be such a mother to your girls. She was just too scared to tell you herself.
Scared? Of what? Emily asked gently.
She thought youd never want someone with so many children in tow
Rubbish! Molly cried. Wed love more siblings. Its you who needs better raising!
Well take care of that, Emily added staunchly. Dadwhy so quiet? Are you shocked? Should we propose to Sophie, or are you not keen?
Alan laughed, moved despite himself. Its funny, I did notice Sophie before. I wondered My first wife just wasnt up for being a mum. She left so quickly. And now well, Sophies young
Shes twenty-threejust ten years your junior! George said.
Thats nothing, Molly agreed. Youd look after her, inspire herand well help, right, George?
We will.
So, will you, Dad? cried the girls, crowding him, beaming.
Yes but well let Sophie decide
Shell say yes, George grinned, stepping forward to shake Alans hand. As the only man in my family, I entrust my sister to you.
Alan shook his hand firmly, pulled him into a warm hug, and found himself wiping away a tear. Emily sniffed too, overcome.
See, Dad, said Molly, clever mischief sparkling in her eyes. This morning you didnt believe, but it all came trueyour pleasant meeting and a gift for life. Now well be one big happy family, just as you always wanted.
And so, Alan realised, happiness comes dressed in the most unlikely moments and people. Its not about luck or fortune falling into your lapbut about opening your door to connection, kindness, and new beginnings. In the end, the greatest gifts are the ones you make space for in your heart.
