Monday, 18th June
Gregory Wilson summoned me through the intercom. Knew I’d be in for a bollocking again. Deserved it too.
“Anthony, sit down.” His office reeked of stale coffee. “You’ve cocked up the entire project. Formal warning. And no quarterly bonus—I warned you repeatedly! What’s wrong with you? I promised your father I’d look out for you, and you’re letting me down. Anthony Davies!” Gregory waved dismissively. “Get out of my sight. You’re a grown man! Think—where are you headed? No family, no interests. What sort of life is that?”
The commuter train home was heaving. Couldn’t find a seat—stood shoulder-to-shoulder. While my mates from the factory head home to wives and homemade dinners, my flat’s empty. Lately, my only thought’s been grabbing a pint and crashing. Used to enjoy nights out with the lads after shifts. Girls fancied me back then. Now they’re all married. Boring sods with the same worries—kids and mortgages!
At my stop, I squeezed past an old dear blocking the aisle with shopping bags. In the subway tunnel, everyone jostled like rush-hour cattle. Rushing somewhere—but where? At twenty-five, I rushed too. Girls flocked to me—had my flat, good factory wages. Bought a car secondhand, but it was all mine.
Mum used to nag: “Get married, son! Time flies, and you’re wasting it on those painted-up tarts! My neighbour’s girl Harriet—she’s lovely. Young, homely. Helps her mum with everything, studying nursing. Fancies you too—I can tell!”
I’d snap: “Not my type, that Harriet. Don’t fancy her!”
Now that Harriet’s probably frying her husband sausages, making cucumber salad. Kids asking, “Mummy, when’s Daddy home?” But nobody waits for me. Once, I liked that freedom. Can’t pinpoint when things shifted—when the lads’ nights grew stale, yet I drifted along
Anthony flipped through his diary, smiling at Julie’s ultrasound photo tucked inside—now our small miracle due in spring gives each ordinary day extraordinary purpose, and I know Mum and Dad are smiling down, seeing their boy embrace the family life he’d once dismissed so easily. It seems that brief, impossible return to their warmth taught me life’s truest rhythm: cherishing the quiet moments, building a home, and making them proud every day.
