Keep away from me! I never promised to marry you! And in all honesty, how do I know who that child belongs to? For all I know, the child may not even be mine at all!
So you may as well be on your waygo on, do what you want, said Arthur, who was just visiting our village for work when he turned abruptly on poor Charlotte.
She stood there, utterly stunned, unable to believe her eyes or ears. Was this the same Arthur who used to whisper declarations of love and spin her around the fields? Was this even the same Arthur whod called her Lottie and promised her the moon and stars? Now, in front of her, stood a sullen, angry stranger.
For a week, Charlotte cried, waving off Arthur for good. Yet, at thirty-five, she realised her life wasnt likely to take another romantic turnshe wasnt much to look at, and her chance at ladies happiness, as they say, was slim. So she decided to become a mother on her own.
In time, Charlotte gave birth to a noisy little girl who she named Emily. The child grew up calm, clever, and with hardly any trouble to her mother. It was almost as though she knew that, no matter how much she cried, nothing would change. Charlotte never mistreated her, but it was clear that real motherly love just didnt live in her heartshe fed Emily, bought her clothes and the odd toy, but rarely did she offer a cuddle, a gentle stroll, or a comforting whisper. Whenever Emily reached out for affection, Charlotte turned her away, always too busy, too tired, or too bothered by a headache. That maternal instinct simply never awoke.
When Emily turned seven, something extraordinary happenedCharlotte met a man. Not only that, she brought him home to stay! The entire village was scandalised. Charlottes off her rocker, they whispered. The mans not local, and he doesnt have a proper job; most likely a drifter, perhaps even a rogue.
But Charlotte ignored the sniggering and carried on, perhaps knowing this might just be her last shot at happiness. His name was Peter. She had met him down at the village shop, where she worked, and he was there to unload the delivery lorry. From a shared cup of weak tea while stacking boxes, a romance blossomed. Soon enough, Peter was living with Charlotte and Emily.
At first, everyone gossiped. Bringing in a stranger! She ought to think of her young daughter, the neighbours said. Hes a quiet type bet hes hiding something!
But opinions soon changed. Charlottes cottage was in dreadful need of repairs, and Peter, instead of being a layabout, rolled up his sleeves and put things right. First he fixed the porch, then mended the leaky roof, and straightened the sagging garden fence.
Peter hardly let a day go by without making some improvement, and soon the house seemed brighter, warmer, more alive. People began knocking on their door, asking Peter for help. And hed say, If youre elderly or hard up, Ill lend a hand for free. But if youre able, you can pay mepound notes or, if youd rather, fresh bread, meat, fresh eggs, or milk. For Charlotte, who had a vegetable patch but no livestock, homemade cream or milk had always been a treat for Emily. Now, the fridge was full with fresh dairy and eggs, and Emily was never short of warm milk.
Peters hands could do anything, and Charlotte, never a beauty, started to bloom under his quiet careshe even softened, her cheek dimples showing when she smiled, and to everyones surprise, grew distinctly warmer toward Emily.
Life for Emily now included school, and one afternoon, she sat on the porch step, watching Peter workhow skillful he was with a hammer! Then she went out to play with a friend. When she finally came home at dusk, she swung open the creaky garden gate and stopped short at the scene before her: right in the middle of the garden stood a brand new swing set, gently swaying in the evening breeze.
For me? Peter, did you make those swings for me? Emily cried out, not quite believing her eyes.
For you, Emilyyes! Give it a go, Peter replied, smiling wider than shed ever seen.
Emily hopped on, swinging higher and higher, the wind whistling in her earsshe felt like the luckiest girl in the world.
As Charlotte often left early for work, Peter took charge of breakfast and lunch as well. And he could cook! His pies were the flakiest, his casseroles rich and filling. He patiently showed Emily how to bake bread and set a table properlya myriad of quiet talents hiding in that reserved man.
When winter descended, with darkness falling early, Peter would collect Emily from school each afternoon. Hed carry her satchel, spinning stories from his own life: how hed cared for an ailing mother, sold his London bedsit to pay her bills, only to be tricked out of his inheritance by a brother. From Peter, Emily learned how to fish; in summer, theyd head to the slow-moving river before dawn, sitting quietly with their rods and talking about patience and hope.
One July, Peter bought her a proper bicycle and taught her to balance. When she fell and grazed her knees, he would dab them with germolene and encourage her to try again.
Shell break her neck, Peter! Charlotte would grumble.
She wont. She needs to learn to falland how to get back up, hed say stubbornly.
One Christmas, Peter gave Emily her very first pair of white ice skates. That evening, they sat together at the table Peter and Emily had set. They saw in the New Year with sparkling squash and laughter. In the morning, Emily woke with a shout that woke the whole house.
Skates! Proper skates! Thank you, thank you! she shouted, clutching them to her chest, tears of happiness streaming down her cheeks.
Later, they went to the frozen pond where Peter shoveled off the snow. He patiently supported Emily, guiding her gliding until she was steady on her feetand soon enough, skating properly, without a single fall. She was flushed with pride and joy.
As they left the pond, she threw her arms around him. Thank you for everything, Dad.
Peter wept then, quietly, tears running down his face as he tried to hide them.
Emily grew up and moved to the city for university. Life was full of its struggles, as it is for everyone, but Peter stayed by her sideattending her graduation, sending care packages, and making sure she never went hungry.
Peter walked her down the aisle at her wedding. He waited outside the hospital as her little ones came into the world, bouncing his grandchildren on his knee and loving them fiercely.
Eventually, as all fathers do, Peter passed quietly from this world. Emily and Charlotte stood together, burdened by grief, as Emily scattered a handful of earth and said through sobs, Goodbye, Dad. You were the best father anyone could wish for. I will remember you always.
He stayed in her heart for evermore. Not merely as Peter or as her mothers husbandbut truly as her father. Its not always the man who brings you into the world who is your father, but the one who stands beside you through sadness and joy, who lifts you when you fall, who chooses, every day, to love you.
This is, I suppose, the unvarnished story of ordinary folkfull of small kindnesses and true love. In recording it here tonight, I remind myself of a simple truth: sometimes, the family you choose is just as real as the one youre born with.
