The House Where You Can’t Wear Trousers
George Harrison hadn’t visited anyone in years, but today he was walking to see a woman who’d been on his mind more and more—Emily. Once, he’d sworn to himself: no relationships, no new family. He’d been through it all before. Survived it. Carried the ache for years.
His ex-wife had left without warning. Told him she’d never loved him, that their child had been an accident. She took their son with her. George couldn’t forgive. Couldn’t forget rocking the boy to sleep, changing his nappies, hearing his first “Dad.” Then—silence. Court orders, restrictions, distance. Once, he drove to another town, saw his son on the doorstep. The boy reached out—“Dad, I want to come with you.” But someone pulled him back inside. The door slammed, and all George heard was a desperate scream—“I want my dad!”—before it dissolved into sobs. That broke him. No more attachments, he decided. Just work. Just solitude.
But Emily was different. She slipped into his life quietly, without intrusion. Just… being there. They’d bump into each other, exchange brief words, until he found himself waiting for her glances. Then seeking her out—near the shops, outside the office. Just to be close. He learned about her: a widow, a son just turning four, living with her mum. She didn’t let men get close. But then she invited him over. “You’ll meet Tommy,” she said, her voice trembling.
He brought a toy—a big train set. Wore his best suit. His heart pounded like a teenager’s. Rang the bell.
“Who’s there?” a child’s voice called.
“George Harrison.”
“Oh, right. Come in. Mum’s not back yet. Gran’s asleep—her head hurts. But you have to… take your trousers off!”
“What?” George blinked.
“You’ve been outside. Mum says trousers have germs. We could get sick. You have to take them off straight away. Our house is clean!”
The boy was dead serious. Button-up shirt, little bow tie, eyes steady.
“Er… Could I not? They’re clean.”
“Well… then put on these slippers. They’re yours. Mum bought them. So you don’t bring dirt in. I’m Tommy. You’re George?”
“Yes. Pleased to meet you.”
“We’ve got rules. I don’t walk in shoes. Only by the wall and jump over the rug.”
“Is your mum strict?”
“Very. But nice. Especially if you’re good. Then you might not need slippers.”
George laughed. Tommy took his hand and said, “Are you staying forever?”
“I’d like to. If that’s alright with you.”
“I don’t mind. Mum’ll be happy. Gran… she’ll wake up and know straight away.”
“Why?”
“She’s got a nose for it. And her heart. She always knows good people.”
They sat building the train set. Laughed, argued. The boy warmed to him, and George couldn’t tear his eyes away. Then—the door opened behind them.
“Mum, he kept his trousers on!” Tommy shouted.
Emily laughed. Then she stepped closer, touched George’s shoulder, and whispered, “If you’re ready—stay. But fair warning, our rules are odd.”
George smiled. “For you? I’ll follow any rule. Even cross the rug in my pants. Just don’t leave.”
Tommy went quiet, then murmured, “Dad…”
George turned. The boy looked down.
“Can I call you that?”
George didn’t answer. Just nodded. And for the first time in years, something in his chest felt warm. Bright. He wasn’t visiting. He’d come home.
