**Following in His Footsteps**
“Jimmy, what on earth is the matter with you? Just look at this—English, a D, maths, an F, and you’ve skipped literature altogether! Why won’t you just study instead of skiving off all the time? What am I supposed to do with you, you little rascal?” sighed Laura, flipping through her son’s year 9 school report.
“Dunno,” the teenager muttered, turning away from his mum.
“Leave the lad alone, Laurie! Literature, biology… I bunked off school too back in the day, and I turned out all right, didn’t I?” came the slurred voice of her husband, Simon, sprawled on the sofa in the other room.
“Oh, clearly! Too busy to have a proper chat with your son, aren’t you? Three days straight you’ve been on the sauce!” Laura snapped.
“Oi, what’s the big deal? I’ve got the right, haven’t I? Not like I’m spending your money on it! Besides, it was Gary’s birthday bash—his fiftieth, mind you!” Simon retorted before dropping his head back onto the pillow, already halfway to snoring again.
…Laura had been born into a well-to-do family. Her parents hadn’t just given her good manners; they’d made sure she had a proper upbringing. She’d been a diligent student, worked hard, and even got into a prestigious university. But fate, with its cruel sense of humour, had led her straight to Simon.
They’d met at a student party. Laura was in her fourth year, while Simon had already finished vocational school and started working at the factory. She’d noticed him immediately—the bloke had a roguish charm about him, with those sharp eyes that made him seem older than he was. At the time, Laura had no idea this man would upend her perfectly organised life.
They started dating and married the summer Laura handed in her dissertation. At first, things weren’t too bad—though Laura had already noticed Simon never missed an excuse for a drink. Any occasion, no matter how minor, was seized upon as a reason for a boozy knees-up with his mates.
At some point, Laura realised she’d made a mistake—her and Simon were worlds apart. She’d even considered divorce. But fate had other plans—she found out she was pregnant.
She couldn’t bring herself to end the pregnancy, and raising a child alone wasn’t ideal either. Ever the optimist, Laura hoped fatherhood might settle Simon down. But when he showed up at the hospital still half-cut, she knew—nothing was ever going to change.
And it didn’t. Simon drank hard and often. His help around the house was laughable, since he was either off on another bender with his mates or dead to the world from the last one.
Laura never complained much—she just carried on. She worked long hours, earned a decent wage, kept the flat neat, and did her best with Jimmy. But the older he got, the more he took after his father. Laura hardly recognised herself in him—he hated school, refused after-school clubs, and by year 7, he was running wild.
“Mrs. Thompson, you really must speak with your son. He’s rude, disruptive, and his grades are abysmal… It’s enough to make you weep,” came the constant refrain from his form tutor.
After every parents’ evening, Laura would walk home silently cursing herself—where had she gone wrong?
At first, Jimmy would apologise and promise to do better. Empty words, all of them.
When he scraped through his GCSEs, there was no question of sixth form. Vocational college was the only option. Laura could barely stomach the thought—her son was walking straight into his father’s footsteps. And by then, Simon was drinking harder than ever. Laura had to drag him out of binges, endure the shouting matches, and—more humiliating still—beg his bosses not to sack him.
At college, Jimmy was no better—skiving, mouthing off, picking fights. “Mum, maybe I should just quit and work at the factory with Dad? Start earning proper cash,” he said once.
“Sweetheart, what are you on about? What ‘cash’? You need at least some qualifications—you can always go back to study later. Do you really want to end up like your dad?”
“What’s so bad about that? Dad’s all right,” Jimmy shrugged.
“That’s *exactly* the problem! ‘What’s so bad?’ Blimey, woman, give the lad a break! If he wants to work, let him work! There’s a spot for him at the factory,” Simon cut in.
Somehow, Laura convinced Jimmy to finish college. She had to plead with his tutors to turn a blind eye, give him one more chance. Barely scraping through, he immediately announced he was joining Simon at the factory. Laura begged him not to—she knew exactly how this would end. Especially since Jimmy was his father in every way—looks, attitude, even the way he slouched. Laura shuddered—there was nothing of *her* in him. He was Simon’s son through and through.
But like any mother, she hoped against hope he’d wise up before it was too late. Fate, of course, had other ideas. Her worst fears came true—Jimmy landed the same shift as Simon, and soon, they were drinking together.
One evening, Laura came home from work. She’d barely stepped inside when she tripped over something sprawled in the hallway. Fumbling for the light switch, she flicked it on.
Jimmy lay there, completely out of it. Laura dropped to her knees, shaking him. “Jimmy—love, what’s wrong? Are you hurt?” she fretted, already reaching for her phone.
“Mum… gerroff… just tired… leave me alone,” he slurred, waving her off before passing out again.
Then she caught the smell—booze. He was absolutely plastered, so drunk he couldn’t even make it to bed. Just like Simon used to do.
She walked further in. There he was—Simon, slumped over the kitchen table, snoring. She almost woke him for a shouting match, but at the last second, she just turned away.
Grabbing her bag, she walked out. She wandered aimlessly, nowhere to go. No close friends to cry to, no place to crash. Eventually, she reached a park and sank onto a bench. The autumn air was mild, people laughing, strolling past. Laura watched their happy faces, wondering what she’d done to deserve this.
Suddenly, a dog dashed up—a scruffy terrier with a bright red ball in its jaws. Laura startled.
“Sorry about that! Buster, here—now!” called a man. The dog trotted obediently to his side.
Laura wiped her eyes quickly. “No, no—just took me by surprise.”
“Everything all right?” the man asked.
“Fine, really,” she lied.
“I’m Tony, by the way. And you?”
“Laura.”
“Lovely name. Rare these days. And this troublemaker’s Buster, obviously. Fancy a coffee?”
She hesitated—then nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, why not.”
“Brilliant. There’s a café just round the corner. We’ll grab takeaway—Buster’s not allowed inside.”
They talked for hours. For the first time in years, Laura felt like she could breathe. They swapped numbers, kept talking.
Eventually, she told him everything. Tony asked her to move in. She said yes.
“Look at this! Found yourself a new bloke, eh? Jimmy, your mum’s ditching us! Who’d want you, you daft cow?” Simon jeered when she packed her things.
“Mum, are you actually serious? What about me and Dad?” Jimmy asked.
“What *about* you? You’re fine without me,” Laura said.
“Well… yeah, I s’pose.”
“Right then, son—shall we celebrate your mum leaving? Not every day we get an occasion like this,” Simon sneered.
Laura walked out. Tony was waiting downstairs, loading her suitcase into the boot. As he did, Laura glanced up at the flat. The kitchen light was on. She could picture them—Simon and Jimmy, slapping together some sad sandwiches, cracking open cans.
“Ready?” Tony asked.
“Yeah. Let’s just go,” Laura said, climbing in.
Tony was everything Simon wasn’t. At first, his clean, well-furnished flat felt almost surreal—like she’d forgotten life could be this quiet.
She filed for divorce, cut contact with Simon. She called Jimmy sometimes, asked how he was. But all he ever wanted was money. She gave it—but never invited him over.
“Laura, how’d you feel about moving to London?” Tony asked one night.
“I—what?”
“My firm’s offered me a transfer. Bigger role, better pay. Didn’t say yes yet—wanted to ask you first.”
Laura thought for a moment. “Actually… yeah. I can find work there. Nothing’s keeping me here anymore.”
“Sorted, then.”
Before leaving, Laura met Jimmy one last time.He turned up already half-cut, shrugged when she told him she was leaving, and when she walked away for the last time, he simply took another swig from his can and muttered, “Cheers, then.”
