A Father’s True Son “Len, you won’t believe it! Matvey and I have decided to fly out to Turkey again next year!” My stepfather practically glowed with happiness. “He says he needs that hotel with the sea view again. What can I do? He’s my own son, after all.” It struck me how naturally he clarified—his **own** son. “I’m happy for you,” I replied, remembering how good things used to be before this Matvey appeared, “Your own son… And you always said we’re a family. That it makes no difference, whether real or not.” He did say that. That I was his daughter, and it didn’t matter if we were blood. “There you go again… Come on, Len! You’re my daughter, that’s not up for discussion! You know I love you like my own. But Matvey…” He didn’t even realise he’d just proved my point. “Matvey is a son. And I’m just an acquaintance, I suppose.” “Len, what are you on about? I keep telling you, you’re like a daughter to me!” “Like a daughter… Did you ever take me to the seaside? Not once in all those fifteen years you called yourself my dad?” He hadn’t. Arthur always insisted there was no difference between me and Matvey, but as I listened to how much he did for his son, I realised—the difference was massive. “It just never worked out, Len. You know in the old days, money was tight. You know how expensive two weeks in a five-star hotel are…” he muttered, “Costly, that.” “I understand,” I nodded, “Expense. Too pricey to take me. But Matvey, who you met six months ago, you’re already thinking about taking out a mortgage to buy him a flat, so he has somewhere to bring his wife. That’s a small thing, if it’s your son?” “I’m not buying any flat. Who told you that?” “People talk.” “Well, tell them not to spread nonsense.” A flicker of hope. “Really, you’re not?” “Of course not. Oh, and guess where we’re going on Saturday?” he didn’t wait for me to answer, “Go-karting! Back at uni, Matvey was into racing—me, I’m just tagging along.” “Go-karting,” I repeated, “Sounds exciting.” “Absolutely!” “Can I come with you?” The question slipped out before I could help it. Arthur, desperate to say no, rattled off, “Uh… Len… You’d be bored. Honestly. It’s a lads’ thing. Me and Matvey—we’ll have a father-son chat.” How it hurt… “So… interesting for you, but not for me?” “Not exactly… It’s just, you know, we missed out on a lifetime together. We want to make up for it. Just the two of us. You understand?” Oh, I understood. “You understand” had become the cruellest phrase in our new vocabulary. I was meant to understand that blood mattered more than adoption. I was meant to understand my place was now outside the gate. Matvey was perfect. Raised without a father because his mother never told Arthur about him, yet against all odds, he was good, clever, kind. “Dad, I fixed the cages at the animal shelter.” “Oh, and Dad, you know I graduated with first class honours?” “Dad, look, I fixed your phone.” Not just a son—an ideal son. Later that same day, after Arthur had stopped by before going home, I lingered over old photos… Arthur’s wedding to my mother (she died five years ago, leaving just me and Arthur). Us at the cottage… Me finishing school… Nothing would ever be the same. *** “Len, are you awake? I’ve got a question. Urgent,” my stepfather turned up at eight in the morning. “What’s so urgent?” I pushed back my fringe and started the coffee machine. “About that flat for Matvey.” “So it is true?” I breathed. “Sorry but… yes, it is.” “And you lied to me.” “I just didn’t want to upset you. But I need your advice! I’m thinking we have to move quickly—he might get married any time. Best to get him a place now, you know how I struggled at his age…” “So go for the mortgage,” I snapped, not wanting to talk about Matvey’s perfect set-up. “Yeah, yeah, I know. But you know my credit history… Matvey deserves his dad, who he never had, to help him buy a home.” “And your point?” “Will you help, if I ask?” “Depends how.” “I’ll explain. I’ve got £20,000—that’s enough for a deposit. But the bank won’t give me a loan. They’ll give you one. Your credit’s clean. We can put it in your name, I’ll handle the payments, I promise.” Any illusion that there was “no difference between you” was shattered for good. There was a difference. I wasn’t sending Matvey into the firing line. “So Matvey gets the flat, and I get stuck with the mortgage? That it?” Arthur shook his head, as if hurt by my words. As if it was my idea. “Don’t be like that! I’ll pay… I’m not asking you for money. It just needs to be in your name. Just think about it…” “You know, Arthur, I’m not wondering about the mortgage. I’m wondering how you stopped thinking of me as your daughter. You have a real son now. You’ve known him six months. Me, fifteen years—but it’s only him that matters, because he’s your own.” “That’s not true!” Arthur flared, “I love you both the same!” “No—it’s not the same.” “That’s not fair! But he’s my real…” Curtain. I was no longer his daughter. Just the convenient one; good enough until the genuine article appeared. “Fine,” I tried to be polite. “I can’t, Arthur. I’ll need a flat myself one day. And the bank won’t give me a second loan.” Arthur seemed to only just remember I had nowhere of my own. “Oh, right, you’ll need one too…” he fiddled with his watch. “But right now, until you’re ready to buy, you could help me out. I’ve got £20,000—it’s not much more. Only for a couple years.” “No. I’m not signing anything for you.” I never expected him to understand. “Alright,” he said, “If you can’t help me as a daughter… I’ll just figure something else out.” Whether he’d ever truly considered me his child didn’t matter any more. Now, Arthur was only someone I saw in old pictures. One evening as I scrolled through the feed, I saw it. A photo from the airport. Arthur and Matvey, both wearing pale jackets. Arthur’s hand resting proudly on Matvey’s shoulder. Caption: “Off to Dubai with Dad. Family is everything.” Family. I put the phone aside. Suddenly, I remembered a moment from my early childhood, long before my mum married Arthur. I was about five. We lived modestly, and my favourite doll from Granny broke. I cried, but my own father said, “Len, why are you crying over such nonsense? Don’t interrupt me!” He couldn’t be interrupted. His main interest was the bottle. I guess I never had a dad. I thought Arthur had replaced him… But a while later, Arthur tried again. “Len, I think we need to do something about this trust issue between us…” “What trust issue, Arthur? I told you: no.” “You just don’t get it. Matvey… he never knew me. He was fatherless. I have to fix that. He needs somewhere to live. And it’s not like I need anything much from you, just to have your name on the paperwork—I guarantee you won’t spend a penny.” “Who’ll make up for my missing pieces…” That annoyed him. “Len, enough! I don’t want an argument! I love you, really! But you have to understand… Matvey is my real family. When you have kids, you’ll see. Look, I love you both—just differently. Doesn’t mean I don’t need you.” “You need me—as a resource.” “Len, come on! You’re overreacting.” “You switched to him within six months, Arthur,” I said. “I’m not asking you to choose. The choice is obvious. Matvey is your real one. I never was.” Six months passed. Arthur never called. Not once. Once again scrolling through my news feed, I saw another photo. Arthur and Matvey, this time in the mountains. Arthur in fancy ski gear. The caption: “Teaching Dad to snowboard! He might be a bit old for this, but with your son, anything’s possible.” I stared at the photo for a long time. I reached for my laptop to finish a report when my phone buzzed. Unknown number. “Hi, Lena. It’s Matvey. Dad gave me your number but he can’t call. He wanted me to tell you: he sorted the flat without you, but he’s worried about you. And he hopes you’ll come see us over the bank holiday. He can’t explain, but he really wants you there.” I wrote a reply and rewrote it, over and over. “Hi Matvey. Tell Arthur I’m very glad he’s doing well. I’m thinking of him too. But I’m not coming. I’ve got my own plans for the bank holiday. I’m off to the seaside.” I didn’t say I bought my own ticket, that it wasn’t Turkey but Brighton, and I wasn’t going with a father but a friend. I pressed send. And thought: maybe I can be happy without him.

Dearest Son

Ellen, you simply wouldnt believe it! Matthew and I have decided, were off to Spain again next year! My stepfather was absolutely beaming with delight. He says he wants that same hotel with the sea view. Well, what can I do for my own son?

He made a point, quite without realising, to call him own son.

Im happy for you, I replied, memories flickering back to happier times before Matthew appeared from nowhere. Own son but youve always told me were a family, that it makes no difference whether Im yours by blood or not.

He had said so. That I was his daughter, regardless of flesh and blood.

Now, dont start that again Ellen, youre my daughter, thats not up for debate! You know I love you as if you werewellas if you were my own. But Matthew

He hardly noticed he was proving my point.

Matthew is the son. And I suppose Im just an acquaintance.

Ellen, what are you saying? I told you, youre like my own!

Like my own Did you ever once take me to the seaside? In all these fifteen years youve called yourself my father?

He never had. Arthur was always fond of claiming that there was no difference between me and Matthew, but I knew better each time I heard what he did for his sonthe difference was vast.

It just never worked out, Ellen. You know how hard things were with money, back then. Youre old enough to understand what two weeks at a five-star hotel would cost. Its expensive.

I understand, I nodded, Expensiveto take me. But for Matthew, whom you only met half a year ago, youre already talking about buying a flat on a mortgage so he can bring a wife home. I suppose those arent significant expenses if its for your son?

Im not buying him a flat. Who told you that?

People talk.

Well, tell those people not to spread nonsense.

Something in me flickered back to life.

You really arent?

Of course not. Oh, and guess where were off this Saturday?he didnt make me answerGo-karting! He did some racing at university, apparently, and Ill just tag along.

Go-karting, I repeated. Sounds thrilling.

Doesnt it just!

Can I come with you? The words slipped out before I could gather them.

Arthur, hesitant, stumbled over his reply: Er, well, Ellen I think youd be bored, honestly. Its really well, its a bit of a mans game. Matthew and I wanted to chat, you know, about father-son things.

That stung.

So it might interest you, but not me?

Not exactly Its just, weve never had years together. Were trying to make up for lost time. We wanted it to be the two of us. You understand?

You understand. Of all phrases in our new vocabulary, that was the cruellest. I had to grasp that blood took priority over bond, and that my place was now somewhere outside the gates.

Matthew truly was impressive. Raised without a fatherall because his mother never told Arthur he existedand yet, against all odds, he was accomplished, clever, handsome, generous.

Dad, I helped out at an animal shelter, fixed up the kennels.

Dad, you know I got a first in my degree?

Dad, look, Ive repaired your mobile.

He was more than a sonhe was a flawless son.

That evening, once Arthur had finished his tea at mine and headed home, I lingered over old photos Arthur and Mums wedding (Mum, gone these five years now, leaving only Arthur and me behind). All of us at the cottage My school-leaving photo

Nothing was ever going to be the same again.

***

Ellen, are you awake? Its urgent, Arthur had arrived at mine as early as eight in the morning.

Whats the big emergency?

I swept my fringe back with a headband and switched on the kettle.

Its about the flat for Matthew.

So its true, then? The words slipped out with a gasp.

Sorry, love, but yes its true.

So you lied to me.

I didnt want to upset you. But I need advice! I really think I should hurry. Hell want to marry soon, surely. While hes still young, he should have a place of his own. I remember what it was like for me…

Then take out a mortgage, I muttered, really wishing we werent talking about Matthews new flat. Matthew did land on his feet, didnt he?

Yes, yes, I know. But, you see, you know what my credit records like Matthew deserves a bit of help from a father he never had.

And so?

Will you help me? If I asked?

Depends how.

Let me explain Ive saved forty thousand pounds. Thatll cover the deposit. But the bank wont give me the loan. Theyll give it to you, thoughyouve got a clean record. Well put it in your name, Ill make the payments, obviously.

The illusion of there being no difference between us was gone forever. There was a difference. He wasnt asking Matthew to put himself at risk.

So, Matthew gets the flatand I get saddled with the mortgage? Is that it?

Arthur shook his head with a look of genuine hurt, as if I had suggested it.

Dont be like that! Ill pay it all I dont expect you to pay a penny. It would just be in your name, thats all. Think about it, yes?

You know, Arthur, Im not thinking about whether Ill take a loan or not. Im thinking about the fact that you no longer think of me as a daughter. Youve got a son now. Someone youve known six months, me, fifteen years, but the only thing that matters is that hes yours.

Thats not fair! Arthur flared. I love you the same!

No. Not the same.

Ellen, thats not right! Hes my blood

Curtain down. I was no longer his daughter. I was accepted, manageable, so very convenientuntil someone real came along.

I see, I managed, polite, I cant, Arthur. Someday Ill need to buy a place of my own, and the bank wont give me a second mortgage.

It seemed only now that Arthur remembered I was also without a home of my own.

Ohright, yes, youll be needing your own as well But for now, while youre not buying, you could help out. Ive forty thousand, theres not so much more needed. Its only for a year or two.

No. I wont put my name to anything.

And I never believed Arthur would understand.

Fine, he said, if you cant help me as a daughter nevermind. Ill sort it out myself.

Whether hed ever truly considered me a daughter, or whether it was just convenient, no longer mattered. From then on, Arthur was someone I saw only in photographs.

One evening, scrolling absent-mindedly on my phone, I saw it.

A photo from the airport. Arthur and Matthew. Both in pale jackets, Arthurs hand resting on Matthews shoulder, and beneath, the caption: Off to Dubai with Dad. Family means everything.

Family.

I put my phone down.

A memory from my own childhood came rushing back. It was years before Mum married Arthur. I was maybe five. Life was modest, and my favourite doll from Granny had broken. I was sobbing, and my own fathermy bloodhad said, Ellen, what are you crying for? Stop bothering me with nonsense.

You could never distract himdrink was all he cared for. Truth be told, Id never really had a father at all. I thought Arthur had taken that place

Arthur tried again, not long after.

Ellen, I think we need to do something about your lack of trust

What lack of trust, Arthur? I told you, its no.

You simply dont see it. Matthew he never had a father. Thats a big gap to fill. Hes a grown man, and he needs a home. You wouldnt have to do anything, just put your name down; I promise you wouldnt spend a penny.

Wholl fill my gaps, I wonder

He bristled at that.

Enough, Ellen! I cant deal with arguments. I do love you, honestly! But you must see Matthew is my real family. When you have your own children, youll understand. Yes, I love you differently, but that doesnt mean I dont need you.

You need me. As a resource.

Cool down, Ellen! Youre being dramatic.

You dropped me for him in half a year, Arthur, I said quietly. Im not asking you to choosenot that theres really a choice. You spoke the truth: Matthew is your own, and I never really was.

Six months passed. Arthur didnt ring once.

One day, idly checking for news, I came across a new photo.

Arthur and Matthew, standing in the mountains. Arthur in smart ski gear, the caption: Teaching Dad to snowboard! He may be a bit old, but with your son, you can do anything!

I stared at the picture for a long time.

I reached over to my desk to finish a report, when my phone buzzed. Unknown number.

Hi Ellen. Its Matthew. Dad gave me your number, but is too nervous to call himself. Hes found another way for the flat, doesnt need you, but he worries about you. Hed really like you to come to ours for the Bank Holiday. He doesnt really know how to explain but hes asking a lot.

I typed a response, deleting and rewriting it again and again.

Hi, Matthew. Tell Arthur Im truly glad all is well for him. I do still think of him. But I wont come. Ive made my own plans for the Bank Holiday. Im off to the seaside.

I didnt say Id bought those tickets myselfand was going, not to Spain, but to Brighton, and as it happens, not with a father, but with a friend.

I pressed send.

And thought, perhaps, I could be happy without him after all.