So Mum, stop it already,” Oliver snapped, turning from the window where he’d been watching cars go by. “How many times can you say the same thing? I explained it a hundred times!”
“Explained?!” Margaret threw her hands up. “What exactly did you explain? That you’re dumping us for some strange woman and her children?!”
“She’s not strange! Claire’s my wife!” His fists clenched, voice trembling with anger. “And the kids are mine now too! Get it? Mine!”
Emily sat silently at the kitchen table, twisting a teaspoon. Tears dripped into her cold tea. She wasn’t crying; the tears just fell, like the rain outside.
“Yours?!” Mother laughed, a sound harsher than any shout. “Have you lost your mind? You’ve a real sister who can barely walk since her accident! A mother who gave everything for you! And you… you’re walking out to strangers!”
Oliver sank onto the sofa arm, rubbing his face. He was bone-tired of these talks, worn out to the point of headache.
“Mum, try to understand. I’m thirty-two, a grown man. I’ve a right to my own life.”
“Own life?” Margaret sat opposite, taking his hands. “Oliver, love, what kind of life is it with a divorced woman and two children not your own? You’re young still, handsome, got a good job. Find a nice younger girl, have your *own* children…”
“I don’t *want* other children!” He pulled his hands free. “James and Sophie – they’re mine now. James called me ‘Dad’ yesterday. D’you get it? First time anyone’s called me that!”
Emily sniffled, stood up. Limping slowly, she approached her brother.
“Oliver, what about me?” Her voice was quiet, strained. “You know I can’t manage without you. Since the accident, you’re my only hope. Mum’s on pension, got no money. Who’ll help me if not you?”
Brotherly embrace. Oliver held Emily tight, stroked her hair.
“Em, I’m not dying. Just moving out. Course I’ll help. But I’ve my own family now.”
“You always had your own family!” Margaret couldn’t hold back. “We’re your family! Your blood!”
“Claire’s expecting,” Oliver said softly.
Silence filled the room. Just the wall clock ticking and rain drumming outside.
“What did you say?” Mother paled, sinking into her armchair.
“Claire’s pregnant. Our child. See now why I can’t leave her?”
Emily pulled back, looking at him wide-eyed.
“How far along?”
“Just five weeks. But the doctor says all’s well.”
“Good Lord…” Mother hid her face. “Oh, son, what’ve you done?”
Margaret worked in a nursery as a childminder for over thirty years. She adored kids, but imagined Oliver’s own children very differently. Not from some divorced stranger with two others, but from a proper girl from a good family.
“Mum, what’s the big deal?” Oliver sat beside her, trying for an embrace. “Finally get to be a gran. Grandson or granddaughter. Isn’t that good?”
“From *who*?” She moved away. “From a woman already married once? Who’s had two already? What’s her background? Where’d she spring from?”
“Claire works as a nurse on the children’s ward at our hospital. Lovely woman, kind. Her kids are smashing, well-mannered.”
“And their father?” Mum pressed.
“Died serving in the Army. Claire was barely twenty-two, alone with two toddlers.”
“Ah,” Margaret nodded. “So she hunted for some mug to support them all. Found one.”
“Mum!” Oliver exploded. “Enough! I’m not a mug! I’m a grown man who chose a woman I love!”
“Love?” Mother stood, pacing the room. “What do you know of it? Years sat at home, went to work, helped us. No real experience with women. First one turned your head proper.”
Emily sat back down, head in her hands. The headaches since the accident got unbearable during family rows.
“My head’s splitting,” she complained. “Can you keep it down?”
“Sorry, Em,” Oliver touched her forehead. “No fever. Taken your tablets?”
“Yes. They’re not helping.”
“See the doctor tomorrow,” he promised.
“Tomorrow?” Mother scoffed. “Tomorrow you won’t have time. You’ve got other worries now. Getting *those* kids to school, helping with homework.”
“James is eight, Sophie’s five. They’re not *those* kids,” Oliver repeated wearily. “We’ll go tomorrow.”
“And the next day? Next week?” Margaret persisted. “When your… *wife*… shows properly, she’ll need constant help. Won’t be time for Emily.”
“There will be. I’m not moving to Mars. Just the next borough over.”
“Next borough,” Mother mocked. “You used to live next door. If Emily took poorly at night, she’d knock on the wall, you ran over. Now what? Doctor over the phone?”
Oliver slumped back on the sofa. Round and round it went. Mum wouldn’t budge, Emily cried, and he felt guilty and furious about feeling guilty.
“Oliver, can I meet your Claire?” Emily suddenly asked.
“What for?” Mum eyed her suspiciously.
“Want to see her. Know what’s so special.”
“Course you can,” Oliver brightened. “Meet tomorrow? We could go for coffee, or visit ours?”
“Yours?” Mother frowned. “Where is *yours*?”
“Renting a two-bed flat for now. Planning to buy a three-bedder though, more space for the kids.”
“With what money?”
“My savings. Claire’ll sell her one-bedder.”
“Ah, got it,” Margaret nodded. “So your money’s needed too. Adds up.”
“Mum, stop it!” He jumped up. “Go on like this, I just won’t come round!”
“Won’t visit your mother and sick sister?” Tears edged her voice. “How can you say that?”
“I can! I’m sick of hearing rubbish about my wife!”
“Wife…” Mother shook her head. “Are you even married?”
“Registry office next week. Church wedding after the baby’s born.”
“Church?” She perched on the chair edge. “Proper service?”
“Proper service. Claire’s faithful.”
“Kids christened?”
“Course. We go to church Sundays.”
Margaret thought. She believed too, though mostly prayed at home. If this Claire took the kids to church, maybe she wasn’t entirely lost.
“Oliver, what’s she like?” Emily asked. “Properly, without the anger.”
He sat beside Emily, took her hand.
“Dead kind. Quiet, calm. Respected at work. Kids adore her, even the tricky ones. James and Sophie are lovely, well-behaved. Claire raised them alone five years, managed it all.”
“Is she pretty?” Emily asked, feeling it mattered.
“To me, dead pretty. No model, like… but… she lights up a room. Kind eyes, warm smile. When I come home, she always cheers, meets me at the door.”
“And we didn’t?” Mum asked softly.
“You did. But different. You cheered ’cause I came to help, chat, bring money. She cheers ’cause I just *am*. See the difference?”
Emily nodded. She understood. Since the accident, when doctors said she’d not fully recover, she felt a burden. Even to her brother. Felt he visited out of pity, duty.
“Oliver, how do the kids feel about you?” she asked.
“James was jealous of Mum at first. Now he sticks to me like glue. Always
Ian stared out at the steadily falling London rain, praying tomorrow’s awkward cafe meeting with Mum, Freya, Lily, Alfie, and little Evie wouldn’t shatter the fragile hope finally stirring between his two worlds.
