A Strangers Boy
Your husband is the father of my child.
With these surreal words, an unfamiliar woman approached Emily as she dined in a quaint London café, the kind thats always cloaked in the gentle aroma of cherry pie and black tea. Without so much as a nod, the woman dropped herself across from Emily, waiting, as if the clock had melted, for some kind of reaction.
And how old is your little one? Emily inquired serenely, with the casual poise of someone who took such news with her scones each morning.
Eight. The womanher name floated up like a half-remembered tune, perhaps Susanpursed her lips, dismayed. Shed expected outrage, denials, a storm of accusations swirling about the room.
Lovely, murmured Emily, allowing a ghost of a smile as she returned her attention to the heavenly cherry pie this café was famous for. James and I have only been married three years, so any loves before me are no real concern. Just a single question, if you pleaseher interest flickered like the gleam of fine chinais James aware?
No, Susan replied, her voice as stiff as the starched collars of long ago. But that hardly matters! Im seeking maintenance! And he will pay, understood?
Of course he will, replied Emily, unruffled. My husband simply adores children. Had he known sooner, hed surely have been part of your sons world. By the way, whats his name?
Oliver, Susan said automatically, her brows drawing together like the wings of a moth. Doesnt it bother you, your beloved having a child elsewhere?
As I said, anything before our vows doesnt trouble me, Emilys gentle smile never faded. One hardly expects a man of thirty to be a blank slate. Naturally, there were romances. What truly matters is that Im his only now.
Well then, Ill see you in court. Prepare your purse; I intend to claim every penny my son is owed by law.
Susan swept out, leaving a cloying trail of perfume so sharp it danced on the air like spectres. Emily nearly wrinkled her nosesurely no one but a dream-figure would pour half a bottle of scent upon themselves.
Well, do try, Emily shrugged, devouring the last crumb of her pie. Wonder how youll take the news Jamess official wages come to just twenty thousand pounds? The business is all in his fathers name… and what about his poorly mother, who he cares for now? Youll end up with naught but shillings.
A twinge of pity flickered for the boy. Perhaps she ought to visit them, see how they lived, maybe arrange a sensible monthly sum for the child.
Of course, if Oliver truly was Jamess son. She knew these stories…
*
The DNA test was briska twitch of the fingers was all it took when money flowed through the cracks of reality. The result was certain: Oliver was indeed Jamess child.
The boy struck Emily as far too hushed and withdrawn. Surely, at eight, no child could sit in a waiting room for an hour and a half, staring into the wallpapers strange patterns? No cartoons, no laps round the chairs, not a single soundnone of the things a boy his age might do when asked to wait.
Odd, certainly. Emilys resolve to pay the family a visit solidified like cold butter.
The block of flats stood in a respectable part of townconcierge at the door, a smart two-bedroom, fashionable renovations Emily made mental notes, unable to fathom why someone living so comfortably could complain of hardship.
The hearing is in a week, Susan huffed as she let Emily in, the flat perfumed again as if the air itself wore cologne. You could have waited till then.
I wanted to get to know Oliver. James is intent on being part of his life now, perhaps having him at weekends once the boys settled.
As if Id allow that! snapped Susan.
The court will decide, replied Emily mildly. Hes Olivers father. Oh, I dont see a single toy
No extra money for such nonsense, Susan sniffed, flicking her hand dismissively. His clothes are barely managedwhat talk of toys?
Really? Emilys eyes roamed over a posh handbag perched on the side table, costly clothes tossed on the sofa, a pile of designer make-up by the mirror. Youre short on money?
Im still young, I want a new family, Susan muttered darkly, wary of Emilys tone. Really, none of this is your business.
And who looks after Oliver while youre out courting a new father? Emily pressed, beginning to understand the reason for the boys shadowy quiet.
Hes old enough to sit by himself. Are you done? If so, well see each other in court!
Ill request accounts for every pound to be spent on Oliver, Emily said coolly, eager to depart this odd tableau. She couldnt stomach how some mothers treated their own flesh and blood! I doubt youll appreciate the judgement thats coming
*
the court decrees: the claim of Susan Baker is granted in part. It is recognised that James Walker is Oliver Bakers father. The birth certificate is to be amended accordingly. The demand for maintenance is denied. The counterclaim by James Walker for residence is granted
A satisfied smile crept across Emilys faceher goal, radiant and surreal, had materialized: Oliver would live with them. Some may scold her for taking the boy from his mother, but it was the right path. Susans neighbours all whispered the same story: the boy meant nothing to her, she shouted without reason, her hand would rise regardless of witnesses. The child psychologist confirmed itremoving Oliver was now vital. Schoolteachers, nursery nurses, they all agreed.
Now, Oliver would have his own bright room, heaps of toys, a computer and most importantly, the love from parents he never knew. Both James and Emilys hearts, strange and wonderful as the dream itself, beat with joy for their boy.
