The Price of Happiness
Denis lay on the sofa, his eyes half-closed as he listened to the sounds inside the flat and beyond the window. Through the double-glazed panes came the muffled honking of car horns, the distant wail of police sirens or an ambulance. Next door, neighbours argued, somewhere a phone rang, a door slammed…
He used to love lying like this, guessing which flat had the TV on too loud, which couple was fighting, which floor the lift would stop on…
“Daydreaming again? Did you do your homework?”
Denis could’ve sworn it wasn’t his imagination—he heard his mum’s voice, distant but alive. He flinched and opened his eyes. The room was empty, the hallway door ajar. If she’d stepped out of the darkness right then, he wouldn’t have been surprised—he’d have been overjoyed. But she’d never walk through that door again. She’d died a week ago. That voice? Just a phantom pain.
Denis sat up, his bare feet pressing into the soft carpet. *I’ll lose my mind if I stay here. Should’ve booked the return ticket right after the funeral—at the latest, the next day.* He braced his elbows on his knees, cradled his head in his hands, and rocked back and forth.
The sudden ring of his phone made him jerk. His elbow slipped, and his head lurched forward. He stood, snatched the phone without checking the screen. His eyes landed on the note on the table: *”Son, my darling…”*
“Denis? It’s Auntie Maggie. How are you holding up? It must be hard there alone. Why don’t you come stay with me?”
“No, I’m fine.” He set the phone down, folded the letter, and tucked it into the sideboard drawer.
He couldn’t stay here alone anymore. He was hearing voices now. He grabbed the phone again, scrolled through his contacts. *Mike—old uni mate. That’s who I need.*
“Mike, hey!” Denis said the second his friend answered.
“Hey! Wait, who—?”
“Don’t recognise me? Didn’t take you long to forget an old friend. Disappointed.”
“Hold on—Denis?! You’re back?!” Mike’s voice boomed through the receiver.
“I’m back. Clearly, I wasn’t missed.”
“Don’t talk rubbish! Just didn’t expect it. Where are you now?”
“Home.” Denis’s voice darkened.
Mike caught the shift instantly. “Your mum?”
“Gone. Buried her last week. Nine days now.”
“Christ, mate. I’m sorry. I saw her six months ago—she looked rough, lost weight. Didn’t even recognise her at first. How long you staying?”
“Three days.”
“Want me to come over? No, better yet—come to ours. You’ll go spare there alone.”
“Ours?” Denis repeated.
“Yeah, I’m married. To Alice. Can you believe it? She’s right here, says hi and insists you come now. Perfect timing—lunch is ready. Oh, but our address has changed. Got a mortgaged flat with the missus.”
“Give me the address,” Denis said briskly.
*Married. Alice was crazy about Mike since first year, and he kept stringing her along while chasing other girls until I set him straight…* Denis packed fast and called a cab.
On the way, he asked the driver to stop at a shop. Picked up some brandy for him and Mike, wine for Alice, a box of chocolates, and some cold cuts.
He skipped the lift, took the stairs to the sixth floor. After two days cooped up, the exercise felt good. Passing the third-floor flat, he heard a faint whine—maybe a child, maybe a pup. He stopped.
“Hey, what’s going on in there?” He pressed his ear to the door.
The whining stopped. Denis waited. Just as he turned to leave, the sound started again—long, drawn-out, monotone.
“Who’s crying in there?” he asked.
“Not crying—singing,” a small voice replied.
“Why sing by the door?”
“Waiting for Mummy.”
“Where is she? You alone?”
“Mummy went to see Granny in hospital. Locked me in. I’m poorly.”
“Locked you in? How old are you?”
“Five. Who’re you?”
“Denis. Heard your song while passing.”
“I’m Theo. Want to hear my Father Christmas poem?”
“Go on,” Denis said, smiling. He’d learned one just like it as a kid—forgotten it now.
“Poems get prizes. But how? I’m locked in.”
“I’ll pop in later with a prize. Deal?”
“What prize? Are you Father Christmas?”
“No. Wait here.”
Mike answered the door and immediately bear-hugged him. “Bloody hell, mate! Years without a word!”
“Let the man take his coat off,” came Alice’s voice.
Denis stepped back. Alice stood in the doorway—different, prettier.
“Come in. Still settling in, half the place is boxes.” Mike’s voice brimmed with pride. *Look at this, envy me.*
Denis whistled. “Blimey. Don’t play it down—this is nice.”
“Up to our eyeballs in debt, but it’s ours. Planning a sprog soon.” Mike beamed like a polished kettle.
“Let’s eat,” Alice directed.
They drank, ate, caught up.
“You married? Kids?” Alice asked.
Then Denis remembered the boy. “Listen, I’ll sound rude, but can I nick some chocolates and satsumas? Kid downstairs told me a poem—promised him a prize. Tough little lad, home alone.”
“Course.” Alice packed a bag with sweets, biscuits, and satsumas.
Denis rang the third-floor flat’s bell. No crying now. The lock clicked, and a young woman opened the door. He recognised her—just couldn’t place the name.
“You?” She recognised him too.
Quick footsteps, and the boy appeared beside her—just as Denis pictured: bright-eyed, sweet-faced.
“Promised you a prize. No toys, sorry.” He handed Theo the bag.
The boy studied him solemnly.
“Can I come in?” Denis asked the woman.
“Why?”
“Just… chat. Been years. He yours? Smart kid.” He nodded at Theo.
“Fine,” she said, stepping aside.
Denis racked his brain for her name—*Annie? Lucy? Emma?*
“You just wandering about like that? How’d you even find me?” asked *Emily—no, Ellie—*
*”Ellie!”* It clicked.
“Wasn’t looking. Met Theo by chance. My mate Mike lives upstairs—him and Alice. Know them?”
Ellie shrugged.
“Where’s Theo’s dad?”
“Shouldn’t you get back to your friends?” she deflected.
“Right. Good seeing you.” Genuine.
Walking upstairs, he thought, *What are the odds? Mike buys a flat in Ellie’s building. Her kid’s crying just as I pass… We’d never have met otherwise. She’s changed…*
Final year, New Year’s Eve party. Ellie was there—tagging along with someone. He’d noticed her at uni, caught her glances. They drank. Danced. She asked him to walk her home. He barely remembered the conversation—if there was one. Ended up in her flat.
Cosy. Her beside him, soft, warm… She woke him later—*”Mum’s due back. You should go.”*
At uni, he’d wave, play it cool—like nothing happened. Twice, she tried to talk. He brushed her off—*”Crazy busy.”*
Denis froze mid-step. *Theo’s five. Five years ago was that New Year’s. Six months later, I left for the North Sea rigs. That would mean… No. Can’t be. She invited me that night…*
He rang Mike’s bell again.
“Finally! We were about to send a search party,” Mike said.
“Sorry. I—I’ve got to go.” Denis grabbed his jacket.
“What’s wrong? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
“Pretty much. Sorry, guys. I’ll drop by tomorrow.”
“Want me to call you a cab?”
“Nah, I’ll walk.”
Outside, Denis moved on autopilot. The booze wore off fast—made everything sharper, worse. *What if…? No, she wasn’t like that. I was the only one. Liked me—obvious to everyone. So I used her and bailed…*
At home, he face-planted into the sofa and howled into a cushion.
Next day, he returned to Ellie’s with toys for Theo. The boy lit up, tearing into boxes on the floor. Ellie and Denis settled in the kitchenDenis knelt in front of Ellie, ring in hand, and whispered, “I stayed.”
