Real Son “Lynn, you won’t believe it! Matty and I have decided—we’re off to Turkey again next year!” My stepdad was beaming. “He says he needs that same hotel with the sea view again. What can I do—he’s my son after all.” He didn’t even realise he’d emphasised *real* son. “I’m happy for you both,” she replied, remembering the happier days before Matty appeared. “Real son… You always told me we were a family, that it didn’t matter who was actually related.” He had. He’d said she was his daughter, no matter what. “Not this again, Lynn! You’re my daughter, no question. You know I love you as if you were my own. But Matty…” He didn’t even realise he’d proved her point. “Matty’s the son. And I’m just someone you know, apparently.” “Lynn, don’t be like that! I told you, to me you’re as good as family!” “As good as… But did you ever take me to the seaside? Not once in fifteen years of being my ‘dad’?” He hadn’t. Arthur loved to claim there was no difference between her and Matty, but Lynn saw how much more he did for his actual son. The difference was enormous. “It was never possible, Lynn. You know money was tight. You’re old enough to know what two weeks in a five-star hotel costs… It’s expensive.” “I get it,” said Lynn. “Too expensive to take me. But Matty—who you only met six months ago—you’re willing to get a mortgage to buy him a flat so he’d have a place for a wife. I suppose that’s a ‘minor’ expense, as long as it’s for your son?” “I’m not buying him a flat, who told you that?” “Nice people.” “Well, tell those nice people to stop spreading rumours.” Lynn perked up a bit. “So, you’re really not?” “Of course not. Oh, guess where we’re going Saturday?” He answered himself: “Go-karting! He used to race a bit at uni, I’m just tagging along.” “Go-karting,” Lynn repeated. “Sounds thrilling.” “Exactly!” “Can I come with you?” The words burst out before she could stop them. Arthur clearly hadn’t wanted her along and stammered, “Uh… Lynn… You’d be bored. Honestly. It’s a… bloke thing. Matty and I need to have a father-son talk.” How much that hurt… “So… it’s fun for you, but not for me?” “Not quite… We just—we never spent any time together, and we’re trying to make up for it. Just us two. I hope you understand.” Understand. That was their new, most cruel phrase. She was supposed to understand that real was more important than adopted, and that she should now know her place outside the fence. Matty, in fairness, was amazing. Grew up without a father—his mum had never told Arthur—yet he’d done so well. Smart, handsome, kind. “Dad, I helped at the shelter today—fixing the dog runs.” “Dad, did you know I got a first-class degree?” “Dad, look, I fixed your phone.” He wasn’t just a son. He was the perfect son. That night, after Arthur had left, Lynn sat sorting through old photos—Arthur’s wedding to her mum (who’d died five years ago, leaving her and Arthur alone). Their holiday at the cottage… Lynn’s graduation photo… Nothing would ever be the same again. *** “Lynn, are you up? Got an urgent question.” Arthur turned up at eight in the morning. “What’s so urgent?” Lynn swept her fringe back with a headband and started the coffee machine. “It’s about Matty’s flat.” “So it’s true after all?” she breathed. “Sorry, but yes… true.” “And you lied to me.” “I didn’t want to upset you. But I need your advice! I really think I should hurry. He’ll want to marry someday, needs a place of his own. I remember what it was like for me…” “Just take out a mortgage,” Lynn muttered, who really did not want to discuss buying Matty a flat. What a cushy deal for Matty. “Yes, yes, I know. But you know my credit score… But Matty needs help. He deserves his dad to buy his very first home.” “And what are you getting at?” “Would you help? If I asked?” “Depends how.” “I’ll explain. I’ve got £20,000 for the deposit, but the bank won’t lend to me. You’d get approved. Your credit’s perfect. We’ll put it in your name, I’ll make all the payments. Promise.” The illusion that “there’s no difference” between them shattered for good. There was. They weren’t putting Matty’s neck on the block. “So Matty gets the flat, I get the debt—is that it?” Arthur shook his head, looking so wounded, it was as if Lynn had made the suggestion. “Don’t talk nonsense! I’ll pay. I’m not asking you to do anything but put it in your name. Think about it…” “You know, Arthur, I’m not even thinking about signing the loan. I’m thinking about how you don’t see me as your daughter anymore. Now you have a son. Known him for half a year, known me for fifteen, but that doesn’t matter—he’s *real*.” “That’s not true!” Arthur flushed. “I love you both equally!” “No. Not equally.” “Lynn, that’s not fair! It’s just—he’s my real son…” Curtain. She was done being his daughter. She was the stand-in, acceptable only until the real thing came along. “Fine,” she said politely. “I can’t, Arthur. I’ll need a place myself one day. Can’t take a second mortgage.” Arthur seemed to just remember she had nowhere herself. “Oh, right, you’ll need one too… But for now, before you want to buy your own place, you could help me. I’ve got most of the money, just need a bit more, only for a few years.” “No. I won’t do it.” She didn’t expect Arthur to understand. “All right,” he said. “If you can’t help me as a daughter… so be it. I’ll sort it some other way.” Whether he’d ever really seen her as his daughter no longer mattered. Now she saw Arthur only in photos. One evening, scrolling through social media, she saw it. A photo at the airport. Arthur and Matty, both in light jackets. Arthur, arm on Matty’s shoulder. Caption: “Off to Dubai with Dad. Family is everything.” Family. Lynn put down her phone. She remembered a moment from her own childhood, before her mum met Arthur. She was five. They had little money, and her favourite doll from Grandma broke. She cried, and her ‘real’ father told her: “Lynn, stop crying over nonsense. Don’t bother me.” You never could bother him. He was only ever interested in his bottle. Really, Lynn never had a dad. And thought Arthur had replaced him… Later, Arthur tried once more to persuade her. “Lynn, I think you’re overthinking this trust issue—” “What trust issue, Arthur? I said no.” “You just don’t get it. Matty grew up without a dad. I need to make it up to him. He’s grown up, needs somewhere to live. I’m not asking much—you just need to sign, I’ll pay every penny.” “Who’ll fix my empty spaces, Arthur…” That got to him. “Lynn, enough! I don’t want an argument. I do love you, that’s true! But you must understand—Matty is my real family now. When you have your own kids, you’ll see. Yes, I love you both, just differently, but you matter.” “Sure. As a tool.” “Lynn, cool off! You’re being dramatic.” “You dropped me the moment he turned up, Arthur. I don’t ask you to choose. There’s nothing to choose. You said it yourself—Matty’s your real son. I never was.” Half a year passed. Arthur never called. Not once. One day, scrolling her feed again, she saw a new photo. Arthur and Matty, standing in front of mountains. Arthur in trendy ski gear. Caption: “Teaching Dad to snowboard! He’s a bit old for it, but with a son—anything’s possible!” Lynn stared at the picture a long time. She turned to her desk to finish her report when a message pinged. Unknown number. “Hi, Lynn. It’s Matty. Dad gave me your number—he can’t ring himself. He’s sorted the flat another way, and he’s worried about you. He really wants you to come for the Bank Holiday. He can’t say why, but it matters.” She drafted a reply, deleting and rewriting several times. “Hi Matty. Tell Arthur I’m really glad for him, I’m thinking of him too. But I won’t be coming. I have other plans for the long weekend. I’m going to the seaside.” She didn’t bother mentioning she’d bought that trip herself, and the beach was in Cornwall, not Turkey—and she was travelling with a friend, not a dad. Lynn hit send. And realised she could still be happy, even without him.

My dear, you wont believe it! Simon and I have decidedwere heading back to Spain next year, Davids voice was full of glee as he nearly danced across the sitting room. He says it has to be that same hotel by the sea. Well, what can I do? Thats what a father does for his own son, isnt it?

It was the way he said own son without even thinking.

Im glad for you, Emma answered quietly, her mind drifting back to those years when everything felt rightbefore Simons shadow fell across their lives. Own son And yet you always told me we were a family. That it made no difference whether I was your real daughter or not.

He always said it. That she was his girl, and blood didnt matter.

Oh, Emma, not this again, David sighed, waving her words away like a summer wasp. You know youre my daughter. Of course you are! I love you as if you were my own. But Simon

He didnt even catch himself, confirming everything she feared.

Simons your son. And Im just whatan acquaintance?

Dont be daft, Em. Youre like my own daughter, honestly!

Like your own, she echoed, eyes steady. You ever taken me to the coast? Not once in fifteen years, for all the times youve called yourself my dad.

He hadnt. David loved to tell her, and anyone whod listen, that there was no difference between her and Simon. But Emma saw it in the way he hustled for his sonthe contrast couldnt have been starker.

Things were different then, he started, fidgeting with his watch. You remember, work was thinner on the ground. Youre not a child, you know how much two weeks in a five-star in Marbella costs Steep.

I know, Emma nodded, face unreadable. Its expensive. Too dear to waste on me. But for Simon, who you didnt know until half a year ago, youre all set to buy a flatso hell have somewhere to bring his fiancée. Funny how those expenses are tiny, when its your son.

Im not buying any flat! Who told you that?

People who care.

Well, tell your well-wishers to mind their own business and stop spreading tales.

Something in Emmas chest loosened, just for a moment.

So, its not true?

Of course not! Ohguess where were off to on Saturday? He didnt wait. Go-karting! He used to race at university, back in the day. Im just going along for the banter.

Go-karting, she repeated. Sounds thrilling.

Doesnt it just!

Could I come with you? The words slipped out before she could pull them back.

Davids practiced smile faltered. Erm Emma Its not really your sort of thing, love. Bit of a blokes day out, you know? Simon and I havewellsome father-son catching up to do.

She felt it, sharp as a slap.

Because itll be fun for you, but not for me?

No, its just Weve missed out on so much, Em. I want to do this with him. Im sure you get it.

Get it. That was their new phrase: get it. She was meant to understand that blood came first. That her place was somewhere outside the gate now.

Simon, to be fair, seemed perfect. Raised without a fatherhis mother never told Davidhed made his own way, and succeeded everywhere he went: clever, charming, kind.

Dad, Ive been doing some work at the RSPCA. Fixed up some dog kennels.

Dad, did you know I got a first at uni?

Dad, hereyour old phones working again.

Simon wasnt just a son. He was the golden child.

That evening, once David had finally left, Emma shuffled through old photographsher mother in a wedding dress by Davids side (her mother, gone these past five years, leaving just Emma and David against the world), pictures from the garden at Easter, Emma on her last day in school

Things would never be simple again.

***

Emma, are you up? I need a wordurgent. David appeared her doorstep at eight the next morning, already fidgeting like a nervous schoolboy.

Whats so urgent?

She flicked her fringe back and pressed the coffee machine on.

Its about Simon. About the flat he trailed off.

So it is true? she breathed.

Im sorry, Em. Yes, its true.

So you lied.

I didnt want to upset you! But I need some advice. I feel like we ought to hurry. Hell get engaged soon enough, and before he gets older, itd be good to get him set up. You know what it was like for me

Go on, take out a mortgage, then, she muttered, tired of this entire exchange. Simon really had landed in clover.

Well, yes, I suppose. But you know my credits a car-crash. But Simon needs the help. Hes got nothing to fall back ona dad ought to do something.

So, what do you want?

I wondered would you help me? If I asked?

Depends, Emma said coolly.

Ive got sixty thousand for the deposit. Thatll get us started. But the bank they wont give me a mortgage, not on my record. But youtheyd approve you. Wed put it in your name, Id payof course Id pay. I promise, you wouldnt be out of pocket.

It was overthe whole lie that there was no difference. There was a difference. She was the one being asked to go out on a limb.

So Simon gets the flat, and I get the debt? Is that it?

David shook his head, as if she was being cruel.

Em, please, Id be paying. Im not asking you to stump up. I just need your name on the paperwork. Think about it.

You know, David, its not the mortgage that troubles me. Its the fact that you dont see me as your daughter anymore. You have a son. And despite knowing him six months, and me for fifteen years, only he seems to matter. Because hes yours.

That isnt fair! Davids voice broke, I love you both. I honestly do.

Just not in the same way.

Emma, dont do this. You know hes my own

Curtain. Emma was no longer anybodys daughterjust tolerated, accepted, useful, until the real thing appeared.

Fine, Emma managed with dignity. I cant do it, David. Ill need to buy somewhere myself, sooner or later. They wont give me a second mortgage.

At last, he remembered she didnt have a home of her own either.

Oh youll need one toowell, until then, though, you could help me. Ive got the money, wed only need a bit more. Just a couple of years.

No. I wont have anything in my name.

She never believed hed really understand.

Right then, he said stiffly, If you cant help me as my daughter well, Ill sort it myself.

Whether hed ever truly considered her his daughter was moot now. From that day, Emma only saw David in snapshots.

One evening, scrolling through Facebook, she saw it: a photo at HeathrowDavid with Simon, both in pale jackets, Davids hand on his sons shoulder. The caption read: Off to Dubai with Dad. Family is everything.

Family.

Emma put her phone down.

She recalled a single memory from childhood, before her mum met David, when times were tough and her grandmothers gift doll had broken. Shed wept, and her biological father told her: Emma, stop fussing over nonsense. Dont bother me.

He was never to be bothered. Interested only in bottles, and little else. In truth, Emma had barely had a father at all. Or so she believeduntil David arrived.

Some weeks later, David tried once more to convince her.

Emma, Ive been thinking about your trust issues

What trust issues, David? I said no.

You just dont understand. Simons never had a father. I have to give him something. He needs a home. And you wouldnt have to do anything, just be named on the application. You wouldnt pay a penny, I promise.

Whos going to fill my old gaps? she replied.

That pierced him.

Oh, Emma, please. I dont want all this drama. I love you, I do! But Simon is my family, my real family. When youre a parent yourselfyoull get it. I love you both, but its different.

Neededlike a resource.

Come off it, Em! Youre exaggerating.

You moved on from me in six months, David. Im not asking you to choose. The choice is clear. Simon is your son. I never really was.

Half a year passed. Not a call from David.

One rainy afternoon, browsing the news feed again, she found another photo: David and Simon, ski kit gleaming in the Alps, grinning for the camera. Caption: Teaching Dad to snowboard! Hes old for it, but with his son, anything is possible!

She stared at it for a long time.

She reached for her laptop to finish her report, when her phone pinged from an unknown number.

Hi, Emma. Its Simon. Dad gave me your numberhe couldnt ring you himself. He wanted to let you know hes sorted the flat, no need to worry. Hes worried about you, though. He really wants you to join us for the Bank Holiday. Says he cant explain why, but hed really love it.

Emma typed a reply, then deleted and rewrote it several times.

Hi Simon. Tell David Im glad everythings working out for him. I think about him too. But I wont be coming. Ive got my own plans for the May Bank Holiday. Im heading to the seaside.

She didnt mention that shed bought the tickets herself, or that it wasnt Spain but Cornwall. Or that she was going with a friend, not her father.

She pressed send.

And realised, she could be happy, even without him.