Get away from me! I never promised to marry you! In fact, I havent the faintest idea whose child this is.
Maybe it isnt even mine at all, he added, so waltz off with your fancy thoughts while Im off on my own. That was Victors baffled reply to the flustered Violet.
Violet could hardly believe her ears or her eyes. Was this the Victor who had once carried her in his arms, the same Victor whod whispered sweet promises under moonlit skies? Or was it the cheeky Tom, who used to call her Little Val and swear the heavens would rain honey for her?
Before her stood a slightly bewildered, now angry, stranger. Little Poppy who had wept for a week after waving goodbye to Tom was now thirtyfive, past the age where one might expect romance to knock on the door, and decided to have a baby anyway.
Poppy delivered on schedule a shrieking little girl, naming her Poppy, just like the bright red flowers that grow by the hedgerows. The child grew up calm and unproblematic, never giving her mother any real trouble. It seemed Poppy knew that whether you shout or stay quiet, you wont get far without a decent cup of tea.
Violet treated her daughter decently enough feeding, clothing, buying the occasional toy but the slightest extra cuddle, a kiss on the forehead, a walk in the park? Those were never on the agenda. It was as if the maternal instinct had simply not switched on.
Whenever Poppy reached out, Violet would push her away with excuses: Im busy, Ive got chores, my head hurts. The little girls instinct to cling never quite developed.
When Poppy turned seven, an unexpected development occurred Violet met a man. Not only that, she invited him into the cottage! The whole village of Littlebrook had a field day gossiping: What a lighthearted wife, bringing a stranger home!
The newcomer, Ian Whitaker, was a bit of a drifter. No steady job, no clear address perhaps even a con artist, the locals whispered. Hed show up at the local shop where Violet worked, offering to unload the delivery vans. Thats how their romance sparked, right there among crates of biscuits and jam.
Soon enough, Violet announced to the whole lane that she was taking Ian in. Neighbours scoffed: Shes dragged home a mystery man! And what about the child? They noted his silence, thinking he must be hiding something.
Violet, however, turned a deaf ear to the chatter. She sensed this could be her last shot at a happy marriage.
And as it turned out, the villagers opinion of the taciturn Ian shifted dramatically. Violets cottage, neglected for years, needed repairs. Ian, who was handy with a wrench, first patched the porch, then fixed the roof, and finally rebuilt the sagging fence.
Day after day he worked, and the house began to look presentable again. Folks started ringing his doorbell, asking for a fix, and hed reply:
If youre old or broke, Ill lend a hand. If you can pay, do it in cash or a basket of groceries.
He took payments in pounds, canned beans, a slab of bacon, a dozen eggs, or a jug of milk.
Violets garden thrived, though she had no livestock a mans presence made a difference. Previously, shed rarely splashed Poppy with cream or fresh milk, but now the fridge brimmed with butter, cream, and homemade cheese.
In short, Ians hands were golden. As the locals said, Hes a jackofalltrades and a dab hand at the fiddle. Violet, never a beauty queen, suddenly seemed to glow, softening her features, and even her cheeks acquired a hint of dimpled charm.
Poppy grew kinder too, smiling more, and soon started school.
One afternoon she perched on the garden wall, watching Uncle Ian work, his tools dancing in his grasp. Later she visited a neighbours house and, returning at dusk, found the gate open to a surprise: a set of swings swaying gently in the evening breeze.
Is this for me, Uncle Ian? Did you put up the swings? Poppy gasped, eyes wide.
Of course, Poppy! Take em for a spin! Ian chuckled, his gruff exterior melting for a moment.
She hopped onto the seat, soaring back and forth as the wind whistled in her ears the happiest girl in the whole village.
Because Violet left early for work, Ian took over the cooking. He whipped up breakfasts, roasts, and the most glorious pies and casseroles. He taught Poppy how to cook, set a table, and discovered a hidden talent for culinary wizardry.
When winter shortened the days, Ian escorted Poppy home from school, lugging her backpack and regaling her with tales of his own life: caring for a sick mother, selling his flat to help her, and being betrayed by a brother who kicked him out. People can be close and cruel at the same time, hed say.
He taught her to fish on quiet summer mornings by the river, waiting for the bite and learning patience. Later he bought her her first bicycle and patched up her scraped knees with green ointment.
Dont worry, love, hed mutter when she tumbled, shell learn to fall and get up again.
On New Years Eve, he gifted her a proper pair of childrens ice skates. That night the family gathered around the festive table Ian and Poppy had set, clinking glasses, laughing, and cheering as the clock struck midnight.
The next morning, the house was roused by Poppys shrill scream:
Skates! Hooray! Ive got real skates! White and brandnew! Thank you, thank you!
She pressed them to her chest, tears of joy streaming down her rosy cheeks.
Later, Ian and Poppy trudged out onto the frozen river, clearing snow from the ice so she could glide. She fell a few times, but he held her steady, guiding her until she could stand confidently on her own. When she finally glided without a stumble, she shouted, Thank you, Uncle! Thank you, Dad
Ian, eyes brimming, tried to hide his tears, dabbing them away with his sleeve so Poppy wouldnt see. The tears froze instantly into tiny crystals on the frosty air.
Poppy grew up, left for university in the city, and faced the usual adult hurdles. Through it all, Ian was there at her graduation, ferrying grocery bags so his daughter never went hungry, and later, standing beside her when she wed, waiting in the delivery room for news of the new grandbabies. He doted on his grandchildren with a love few parents ever manage.
Eventually, the time came for Ian to go his own way, as all do. At a solemn farewell, Poppy, handonheart, scattered a handful of earth, sighed deeply, and whispered:
Goodbye, Dad You were the best father anyone could ask for. Ill carry you with me forever.
He remained in her heart, not merely as Uncle Ian or a stepfather, but as a true dad. After all, a father isnt always the one who sired you, but the one who raised you, shared your sorrows and joys, and stood by you through every season.
