“Your husband is the father of my child.”
With those words, a strange woman confronted Emily at her usual corner table in the cosy tearoom on Cornhill, interrupting her peaceful lunch. The woman seated herself opposite Emily with an air of entitlement, clearly waiting for some sort of dramatic response.
“And how old is your little one?” Emily replied, voice as calm as if discussing the weather, barely glancing up from her half-finished plate of shepherds pie.
“Eight,” the womanVictoriaanswered tightly, lips pursed in frustration. That was not the response she had expected. Where was the outrage, the accusations, the air of scandal? The look of cold contempt?
“How splendid,” Emily commented, allowing herself a delicate smile, before turning back to the exquisite lemon drizzle cake served only at this very tearoom. “Arthur and I have only been married three years, so whatever happened before is frankly none of my concern. Only one question,” she continued, finally looking up with a mild dose of curiosity, “Does Arthur know?”
“He doesnt,” Victoria snapped, shifting in her seat. “But thats beside the point! Ill be taking him to court for child support, and hell pay, whether you like it or not.”
“Of course he will,” said Emily, unruffled. “My husband adores children. If hed known, he would have done his duty gladly. Whats your sons name, by the way?”
“Oliver,” Victoria replied automatically, then scowled. “Arent you bothered in the slightest that your husband has a child with someone else?”
“Ill say it again, what happened before our marriage is none of my business,” Emily said, her gentle smile unwavering. “When I married Arthur, I knew he wasnt some inexperienced lad. Naturally, a man of thirty had past romances. That doesnt bother me in the least. What matters is that now, Im the only one.”
“Fine. Ill see you in court. Prepare yourselfI plan to take every last penny my son legally deserves.”
Victoria departed, leaving behind a stifling cloud of cloying perfume that stung Emilys nose; the woman must have emptied half a bottle on herself.
“Let her try,” Emily shrugged, polishing off the last crumb of her cake. “Wonder how shell like hearing that Arthurs official salary is only £1,200 a monththat the business is in his fathers name, and hes busy caring for his poorly mother these days. Shell be lucky to get pocket change.”
Emily even felt a pang of sympathy for the poor child. Perhaps a visit was in orderto see how they lived. Maybe, they could reach an agreement for a decent monthly sum for the boy.
But that was only if Oliver truly was Arthurs son. Experience taught her caution.
***
The DNA test was swiftwhen you have the means, things get done. The result was unambiguous: Oliver was indeed Arthurs son.
Meeting Oliver only deepened Emilys concern. The boy was dreadfully quietfar too subdued for an eight-year-old. While the paperwork was being sorted, he sat motionless, staring fixedly at nothing, not asking for cartoons, not wandering, not a typical child in the least.
It was unsettling. Emilys resolve to visit was settled.
The flat was in a respectable part of town, with a doorman at the entrance and a recently modernised two-bedroom flat. The décor was tasteful, everything seemed newEmily couldnt fathom how someone with such surroundings could ever plead poverty.
“The court hearing is next week,” Victoria grumbled, opening the door for her uninvited guest. “You could have waited until then.”
“I wanted to get to know Oliver. Arthur is determined to be part of his life, maybe even have him on weekends once they know each other.”
“As if Id allow that!” Victoria snapped.
“The courts will decide,” Emily countered lightly. “Hes his father. That gives him rights. Odd, I dont see a single toy around here…”
“Ive no spare money for silly things like that,” Victoria replied with derision. “Barely enough for his clothes. What toys are you expecting?”
“Really?” Emilys eyes flicked across the roomthe designer handbag on the table, sleek branded clothes carelessly draped on the sofa, a small fortune in cosmetics lined up on the dressing table. “You struggle for money?”
“Im still young; I want a new life, a family of my own,” Victoria answered through clenched teeth, bristling at Emilys pointed tone. “And thats none of your concern!”
“And who watches your son while youre out chasing this new life of yours?” Emily pressed, finally understanding the childs withdrawn manner.
“Hes old enough to be left on his own,” Victoria snapped. “Anything else? Otherwise, Ill see you in court!”
“Ill be asking the court to make sure every penny for the childs benefit is tracked and accounted for,” Emily said, her disgust hard to conceal. The coldness in Victorias attitude towards her own son was disturbing. “I fear youll be disappointed with the courts decision…”
***
“…the court finds for the claimant, Victoria Harper, in part. It is recognised that Arthur Mason is the father of Oliver Harper. The relevant changes must be made to the childs birth certificate. However, the claim for child support is hereby denied. The counterclaim from Arthur Mason, regarding determination of the childs residence, is upheld…”
Emily allowed herself a quiet smileher mission accomplished. Oliver would be coming to live with them. Let others think what they likedshe knew this was right. Victorias neighbours had all spoken out: she had no interest in her own son, was prone to shouting and striking Oliver, indifferent of witnesses. The child psychologist who evaluated Oliver argued for urgent action, and so had his teachers and former carers.
Now, at last, Oliver would have his own spacious room, piles of books and toys, a computereverything a boy should have. Most importantly, for the first time, hed have the love and warmth of a family. Arthur and Emilys hearts already belonged, entirely, to their extraordinary new son.
