**The Price of Happiness**
I lay on the sofa, eyes half-closed, listening to the sounds inside the flat and beyond the window. Through the double glazing came the muffled hum of car horns, the distant wail of a police siren or an ambulance. Next door, someone was arguing, a phone rang somewhere, a door slammed…
I used to love lying like this, guessing—which flat had the telly on, which one had a row brewing, which floor the lift would stop at—
“Daydreaming again? Have you finished your work?”
I could’ve sworn it wasn’t my imagination. Mum’s voice, faint but alive. I jolted, eyes snapping open. The room was empty, the hallway door ajar. If she’d stepped out of the darkness just then, I wouldn’t have been shocked—I’d have been overjoyed. But Mum would never walk through that door again. She died a week ago. That voice? Just phantom pain.
I sat up, feet sinking into the plush carpet. *I’ll lose my mind if I stay here. Should’ve booked a return ticket for the day after the funeral, two at the latest.* Elbows on my knees, head in my hands, I rocked slightly.
The sudden phone ring made me jerk. My elbow slipped, head lurching forward. I grabbed the phone without looking at the screen—and froze. A note lay on the table: *”My darling boy…”*
“Dennis, it’s Auntie Maggie. How are you holding up? It must be hard there alone. Why don’t you come stay with me?”
“It’s fine,” I muttered, setting the phone down, folding the letter, tucking it away.
I couldn’t stay alone. Not when I was hearing things. Scrolling through contacts, I stopped at one. *Mike—old uni mate. That’s who I need.*
“Mike, hey,” I said when he picked up.
“Who’s—?”
“Don’t recognise me? Didn’t expect you to forget an old friend so quick.”
“Wait. *Dennis*? You’re back? Where are you?”
“Home,” I said, voice steadying.
The shift in Mike’s tone said he understood. “Your mum?”
“Gone. Buried her a week ago.”
“Christ. I saw her six months back—looked rough, lost weight. How long you staying?”
“Three days.”
“Want me to come over? Or—better yet—come to us. You’ll go spare there alone.”
“*Us*?”
“Yeah, I’m married now. To Allie. Remember her? She says hi and insists you come. Dinner’s nearly ready—but new address, mate. Mortgage flat.”
“Go on.”
*Married. Allie fancied him since first year, but he was too busy chasing Liza or Sophie till I set him straight…* I packed quick, called a cab.
On the way, I asked the driver to stop at a shop. Picked up whisky for Mike, wine for Allie, chocolates, and cold cuts.
Skipped the lift, took the stairs to the sixth floor. Two days indoors—nice to stretch my legs. Passing the third-floor flat, I heard a faint whining—kid or pup? I stopped.
“Hello?” I pressed my ear to the door.
Silence. Then, a small voice: “I’m not crying, I’m singing.”
“Why by the door?”
“Waiting for Mum. She’s at the hospital with Nan. I’m sick.”
“Locked in? How old are you?”
“Five. Who’re you?”
“Dennis. Heard your song. Got a poem for me?”
“Yeah! One about Father Christmas!”
I listened, grinning. Used to know that one, forgot it.
“Poems earn rewards. How do I get it to you, though? Wait here—I’ll pop upstairs, then come back.”
“You Father Christmas?”
“Nope. Wait.”
Mike answered, pulling me into a bear hug. “Where’ve you *been*, mate?”
“Let the man breathe,” Allie called—greeting me in the doorway. She’d changed, looked radiant.
“Place is a mess, just moved,” Mike said, proud as punch.
I whistled. “Blimey, it’s nice.”
“Mortgage hell, but worth it. Planning a sprog soon.”
Dinner was booze, food, catching up.
“Married? Kids?” Allie asked.
Then I remembered the boy. “Mind if I nick some sweets and tangerines? Kid downstairs recited a poem—promised him a reward.”
Allie packed a bag with treats.
Back on the third floor, silence now. The door opened—a pretty woman. Familiar, but her name escaped me.
“You?” She recognised *me*.
Quick footsteps, and the boy appeared—just as I pictured: bright-eyed, sweet.
“Your reward. No toys, sorry.” I held out the bag.
“Come in?” I asked.
“Why?”
“Chat? Been years. Clever lad—yours?”
She shrugged. “Fine.”
I racked my brain for her name—*Anna? Lexie? Elle…* *Ellie!*
“You found me… how?”
“Didn’t. Mike lives upstairs—Allie’s his wife.”
“Tom’s dad?”
“Your friends waiting?”
“Yeah. Good seeing you.”
Upstairs, my head spun. *Mike buys a flat where Ellie lives. Her kid cries just as I pass… Coincidence?*
New Year’s, final year—Ellie was there, watching me all night. Drank, danced. She asked me to walk her home. Don’t remember talking. Don’t know why I went up. Cosy flat, her beside me… She woke me—*”Mum’s due back.”*
At uni, I waved, pretended nothing happened. Twice, she tried to talk—I brushed her off.
*Wait.* I stopped cold. *Tom’s five. Five years ago—New Year’s. Six months later, I left for the North Sea rigs. So Tom’s… No. She invited *me*…*
Back at Mike’s, I grabbed my coat.
“Finally! We nearly sent search party,” Mike said.
“Sorry. I’ve—got to go.”
“You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
“Have. Sorry. Tomorrow, yeah?”
Walking home, numb. *What if…? No—she wasn’t like that. Liked *me*. So I used her, forgot her?*
Home, I howled into a pillow.
Next day, I returned with toys. Tom played while Ellie and I talked.
“Tom’s birthday?” I asked.
“Why? You’ll be gone.”
“September. So he’s mine. Ellie, I was a *wanker*. Thought I had forever—love, family… Why didn’t you *tell* me?”
“Who says he’s yours?”
“Then whose?”
She faltered. “You never listened. Always rushing.”
“*Christ.* Ellie, I’ll fix this. Tom needs a dad. *My* dad left when I was eight. Begged him to stay. Mum let him go. Tried dating—I hated it. She chose *me*. Later, he wanted back—we both said no. I *hate* that she died alone. I won’t do that to Tom—to you. Marriage, kids—whatever you want.”
“You’ll leave. Tom already asks about you.”
“One word, and I *stay*. Quit my job, sort the flat—then come back.”
She didn’t believe me.
Next day, I bought a ring.
“Size?” the jeweller asked.
“Standard.”
Tom napped after lunch, gripping my hand.
“Time to go,” Ellie said, stepping back.
“Yeah. This is… for you.” I set the ring box down.
“You don’t love me.”
“Didn’t then. Now? Not just for Tom. Let me try.”
I left.
Next morning, I bought jam from an old woman.
Tom loved the toy car. Ellie thawed over tea—chatty, smiling.
“You *are* leaving tonight?” she asked at the door.
“Yeah.”
Her eyes dimmed. *Not how I wanted this.*
“Tell Tom I’ll be back.”
“Go.”
At the station, I paced. The train arrived. I showed my ticket—didn’t board.
“Leaving?” the guard called.
The train pulled away.
A bloke offered vodka. Drunk fast—no sleep for days.
Cops nearly nicked me. Let me go.
I walked to Ellie’s.
She opened the door—sleep-rumpled, warm.
“Couldn’t leave.” I pulled her close.
“*Dad?*” Tom’s voice.
Later, I quit my job, sorted the flat. Rushed back—to Ellie, to Tom.
*Mum dies—I come home. Mike buys EllieAnd as the years passed, in the quiet moments between laughter and bedtime stories, Dennis would often smile to himself, knowing that life’s cruelest twist had somehow led him to his greatest joy.
