To spare myself humiliation, I agreed to live with a hunchbacked man But when he whispered his request in my ear, my knees went weak
Harry, is that you, love?
Yes, Mum, its me! Sorry for coming in so late…
My mothers voice, trembling with worry and exhaustion, reached me from the dark hallway. She stood there in her faded dressing gown, clutching a torch as though shed been waiting for me her whole life.
Harry, my darling boy, where have you been wandering till this hour? The skys pitch black, the stars are twinkling like the eyes of foxes…
Mum, I was with Tom. We were revising, just work and more work… I lost track of time, thats all. Sorry I didnt call ahead. I know you hardly sleep these days…
Or perhaps you went calling on a girl? she said suddenly, her eyes narrowing suspiciously. Youre not in love, are you?
Oh, Mum, dont be daft! I laughed, pulling off my shoes. Im hardly the lad with girls queuing at the garden gate. Whod want me hunched, these long arms like an apes, and a head full of wild curls like a dandelion?
But I saw pain flicker in her eyes. She never said it, but I knew she saw not a misfit, but her son the one shed raised in poverty and cold, all on her own.
Its true I wasnt much to look at. Barely five foot three, hunched, and my arms swung nearly to my knees. My head was big and my hair stuck out in all directions. As a boy, they called me Monkey, Woodlander, Natures Oddity. But as I grew, I became something more than just a man.
Mum her name was Linda and I came to this tiny farming village when I was ten. We ran from the citys shame and poverty my father was jailed, my mother abandoned. Just us then, two against the rest of the world.
Your Harrys not long for this world, muttered old Mrs. Jenkins, watching me, small and sickly. Hell slip away and leave no trace.
But I didnt slip away. I clung to life the way ivy takes hold in a stone wall. I grew, I breathed, I worked. And Linda, my mum, with her steel will and bakery-battered hands, baked bread for the whole village ten hours a day, every day, year after year, until life broke her in the end.
When she could no longer rise from bed, I became everything son, daughter, nurse, cleaner. I scrubbed floors, cooked porridge, read old magazines aloud. And when she died quietly, like a summer breeze leaving the field I stood by her coffin, fists clenched in silence. Id no tears left by then.
Yet people remembered. Neighbours brought food, gave me hand-me-down jumpers. Then, remarkably, people began to visit. At first, boys from the village, drawn by my love of radios and electronics. I worked at the local broadcasting shed fixing sets, tuning signals, soldering wires. My hands were, in their own way, golden, though rough and awkward.
Then the girls started coming. At first for company and cups of tea with jam. Then, theyd linger. Laughing. Talking.
And it dawned on me one evening: one girl, Abigail, always stayed longest.
Arent you in a hurry? I asked her, once everyone else had left.
Nowhere to rush to, she answered quietly, gazing at her feet. My stepmother cant stand me, my three brothers are rough and cruel. Dad drinks, and Im just in the way. I stay with a friend, but not for long… Its peaceful here. I dont feel alone with you.
I looked at her and for the first time in my life, I realised I might mean something to someone.
Stay here, I said simply. The spare room is empty. Make it your home. I wont ask for anything, not a word or a glance. Just be here.
People talked. Whispered behind my back:
Did you ever? The hunchback and the pretty girl? Its a joke, right?
But time went by. Abigail kept house, made soup, smiled. And I worked, quietly, doing my bit.
Then, when she gave birth to a baby boy, my world turned upside down.
Who does the boy look like? the village gossiped. Who?
And the little lad, David, looked at me and said, Dad!
And I whod never imagined being a father felt something warm bloom inside, like a tiny sun.
I taught David how to mend sockets, catch fish, read from old books. Abigail would watch us and say,
You should find yourself a wife, Harry. Youre not alone, you know.
Youre like a sister to me, Id reply. Ill see you married well, to someone kind. Then… Well, well see.
She did meet someone. A young man from the next village. Honest and hard-working.
There was a wedding. Abigail left.
But once, I caught her walking down the lane and said,
I want to ask something Let me keep David.
What? she was startled. Why?
I know, Abi. When you have a child, you change. But David he isnt your blood. Youll move on. I cant.
I wont just give him away!
Im not taking him, I answered softly. You can visit any time. Just let him live here, if he wishes.
She paused, thinking. Then called out,
David! Come here! Tell us, do you want to live with me, or stay with your dad?
The boy ran to us, his eyes bright.
Cant we be like before? Both mum and dad together?
No, Abi sighed.
Then Ill stay with Dad! David shouted. You can come to visit!
So thats how it was.
David stayed. And for the first time, I became a real father.
But one day, Abigail returned.
Were moving to the city. Im taking David.
The boy wailed, clutching at me,
Im not going! Im staying with Dad! With Dad!
Harry… Abi murmured, looking down. You know… Hes not your own.
I know, I said. I always have.
Ill run away, Ill come back to Dad! David cried, sobbing.
And he did. Again and again.
Shed take him and hed return.
In the end, Abigail gave in.
Let it be, she said. Hes made his choice.
And a new chapter began.
My neighbour, Mary, lost her husband a cruel, drunken bully. No children not much love in that house.
Id stop by to fetch milk. Then to mend fences, patch the roof. Then, simply for tea and a chat.
We grew closer. Slowly, gently, with care.
Abigail wrote. She said David had a little sister now Olivia.
Bring her here, I replied. Family should be together.
A year later, they visited.
David stuck to Olivias side, cradled her, sang lullabies, helped her toddle.
Son, Abigail pleaded. Stay in the city. Theres the theatre, good schools, a future…
No, David shook his head. I cant leave Dad. Or stop calling Mary Mum.
Then came school.
When the lads boasted about their fathers lorry drivers, soldiers, engineers David never felt ashamed.
My dad? hed say proudly. He can fix anything. He understands the world. He saved me. Hes my hero.
Time passed.
Mary and I would sit by the fireplace with David on an autumn evening.
Were having a baby, Mary said. Just a little one.
You wont send me away, will you? David whispered.
Dont be silly! Mary cried, hugging him close. Youre as much mine as any child. I always dreamed of a son like you.
Son, I said, eyes on the coals. How could you ever think that? Youre my whole world.
A few months later, little Samuel was born.
David cradled his brother as if Samuel were the rarest of treasures.
Now I have a sister, he whispered. And a brother. A dad. And Mary.
Abigail still called for him.
But David always answered,
Im home. Ive come home.
Years passed. People stopped mentioning that David wasnt my own. The whispers faded.
And when David became a father himself, hed tell his children and grandchildren about the finest man he ever knew.
He wasnt handsome, David would say. But he had more love in him than anyone Ive known.
And every year, on the day we remembered, the whole family would gather in our home Marys children, Abigails, grandchildren and great-grandchildren.
Wed drink tea, laugh, share stories.
He was the best dad anyone could have! the grown-ups would say, raising their mugs. May there be more fathers like him!
And always, a finger would point skyward towards the stars, to the memory of the man who, against all odds, became a true father.
The only one.
