Do you even understand what you’re doing? a harsh voice rasped from the hallway, the tone of a mother scalded by rage. You brought her sweets. Once every six months. What a caring dad! Wheres the love? Is that all you can manage? You show up, hand over a packet of candy and trot off, ignoring every ounce of parental duty. Do you ever wonder how we survive? Do you ever ask? Did you bring any money? Not a single pound! All you do is pop up now and then so she doesnt forget dad. A good, kind father who hands a child, abandoned for days because I cant quit my shift, a few sweets!
Never before had Helen ever quarreled with David in front of Emily. Now Helen tried desperately to keep the argument away from her daughter, but the walls were thin
***
Twelve square metres. In the corner a battered desk, scattered pencils, a crooked paper cutout and a stack of open textbooks. This cramped council flat was Emilys kingdom, shared only with a few battered toys. At seven she was already accustomed to being alone, especially in the evenings. School gave her friends, a seatmate, a neighbour, but at home it was just her and the silence.
Emily wrestled with a maths worksheet. Numbers swam before her eyes, her brain tired, the solution a distant fog. She had to finish a blank paper would mean nothing, and there was no one to help. She didnt know when Helen would return, or if shed have any time left.
Everything was her own responsibility. School, the walk past the two courtyards where old swings creaked in the wind, reheating yesterdays soup on the stove, and nowmaths.
Five plus three eight. Write eight, she whispered, pencil hovering.
A voice, imagined, seemed to echo from the hallway: Youre getting big, Emily. You can handle it.
She pressed on because Helen, her mother, was at workfrom dawn till late nightalways working, always trying, always loving, but rarely just being a mother.
Suddenly, thin walls let slip a muffled argument from the stairwell. Something was happening. Emily froze, the pencil suspended midair. Someone knocked on the flats doorHelen and someone else.
With the careful caution shed learned, Emily slipped to the door, eased it open a crack, and peered into the dim corridor.
A figure entered.
The scene that unfolded was both familiar and alien. Helen stood by the flats entrance, the fringe of her hair, usually curled each morning, pushed to one side. Beside her stood her father, David Clarke, a man who hadnt lived with them for years. His sleek, glossy car sometimes appeared in the courtyard, stirring in Helen a mix of nervousness and a strange, hopeful anticipation. In the six months since his disappearance, Emily had begun to forget that she even had a dad.
Davids hand clutched something that stood out against the grey concrete of the stairwella bright red bag.
Helen hung her coat on a peg and David slammed the door behind him.
Emily! Helen called, her tone soft at first, then sharper as she glanced at her exhusband. We have a guest.
Emily stepped hesitantly out of her room, eyes locked on the red bag. David, seeing his daughter, smiled a practiced smile and cooed, Hello, princess. He thrust the bag toward her. Heretreats. I saved up for you, picked them out, saved every penny
Emily took the bag gingerly. It was heavy. Through a translucent wrap, glittering wrappers could be seencandy! In their flat, sweets were a rarity, saved for special occasions like a visit from Grandma or a school fête. Yet here was an entire bag, and she, forgetting everything else, tore open a piece. It was her favourite Bear sweets.
Thanks, dad! she blurted, mouth full, and plunged back into the bag.
Helen watched, her expression a mask Emily had learned to readneither approval nor joy, but something far more complex.
David, lets go to the living room, Helen said, taking his arm and, ignoring Emilys stillgiddy munching, led him deeper into the flat.
Feeling her presence was no longer needed, Emily retreated to her room, but the voices continued to echo.
Do you even understand what youre doing? Helens voice, now a hiss, filled the hallway again. You brought her sweets. Once every six months. What a caring dad! Wheres the love? Is that all you can manage? You come, hand over candy and stroll past every parental duty. Do you even know how we survive? Did you ever bring money? Not a single pound! All you do is appear now and then so she doesnt forget dad. A good, kind father who hands a child, abandoned because I cant quit my shift, a few sweets!
Helen had never before let a fight with David spill in front of Emily. Still she tried to shield her, but the thin walls offered little protection.
Helen, well David began, his words garbled, impossible for Emily to make out even pressing her ear to the wall.
Not well, Helen! Emily snapped. Im still paying off your loan! Your failed business! Do you remember whose name was on the loan? Mine! And youre gallivanting somewhere, free as a bird. Not planning to settle your debts?
A rustle rose.
I pay what I can, Davids voice faded. Money doesnt just appear. I help as best I can. I could shower you with goldif I could.
Help? Helen shouted. You bring the child sweets, and that counts as help? Fine suppose youve got no money. Sell the car. Close the loan.
Helen, how can I sell the car when I cant survive without it? Its the only way I earn. Where would I go without it?
If you cant help with money, at least sit with the child.
Id come if I had time, but I dont. Thats life.
Emily pressed her back against the wall, a shiver racing down her spine. At seven she already understood. She understood that dad had left. She understood that debt was a monster. She understood that the business her father bragged about was now a weight, not a pride. And all of itbecause of him.
The candy in her hand suddenly seemed tasteless. Unfair! Yet what other world had ever been fair?
***
Years later.
The red bag and its bitter aftertaste resurfaced.
Emily was no longer a child. She was thirtysomething, a mother herself, with a threeyearold daughter, Lily, who was probably now darting around the flat, playing with a friend in their secret world.
A familiar knock sounded at the door. And againher father.
This time there was no stairwell showdown. Helen had long since stopped paying Davids loans. She had singlehandedly kept Emily afloat all those years. David, after cashing in his share from the sale of the familys old house (when Helen finally decided shed had enough waiting for miracles and sold it to move into a modest flat, giving him a compensation slice), still turned up every six months, a habit that no longer amused Emily.
Hello, princess! Davids smile was as unchanged as ever. In his hand he now held a bright pink bag. A little something for my granddaughter.
Emily forced a smile.
Hello, dad. Come in.
She wanted to say something else, but she kept the interaction neutral for reasons she couldnt name.
Lily, hearing an unfamiliar voice, peeked from the nursery. Seeing the grandfather she barely remembered, she hesitated, but the pink bag caught her eye.
Whos that? she asked Emily.
Thats granddad, love. Dont you remember? He came last year and gave you a Barbie, Emily replied. Granddad David.
David handed the bag to Lily.
Hi, Lily! Look what Ive got!
Lily opened it to find not sweets but cheap plastic figurines, the kind handed out in promotional packs. Emily recognised them instantlytrinkets from a supermarket giveaway, essentially junk.
You never change, dad, Emily said dryly. Not a bit.
Why should I change? Im fine as I am, he grinned, taking the comment as a compliment.
Emily knew he had never truly helped her. He never brought money when she needed a tutor for university applications. He never chipped in when she, as a student, worked nights to buy a new coat. His help was always symbolic gifts.
Im here, you know David settled into an armchair that was long overdue for replacement, Ive got a son.
Emilys breath caught. A sonGeorge. The child from Davids second marriage, born in 2002. Shed only ever seen him in photographs, never met him, never wanted to.
Congratulations, she replied curtly. Want me to take a loan for his wedding?
Even the most unflappable David seemed unsettled.
Id like to invite you
I wont be coming.
Come on, Emily, he pressed, Its family. George called you. He knows you exist. Just drop by for an hour. Itll distract you.
She wanted to scream, to smash him with a kitchen board, but she held back. Why? Why had she never once asked him who he was? George, her socalled brother, seemed to have everythingfavourite son, endless support. And she? Shed built a life on her own.
Fine, she said. Ill come.
***
The wedding. Lavish, the kind Emily could never afford, even with a husband, because it would have broken her budget. She sat at a distant table meant for colleagues, distant cousins, and halfknown relatives. She saw George, his bride Marinaa delicate woman in an expensive white dress. She saw David, who spent the evening trying to please the young couple.
When it was time for speeches, David rose. He held not a bag but a document.
Dear George and Marina, he began, Today I want to wish you a happy birthday. Yes, a birthdayyour life together. Keep each other safe, remember your parents, build your happiness. And to keep your happiness free of storms, I have a little something for you
He handed George a set of keys.
The room went dark for Emily. Never before had she felt such raw hatred, as if years of resentment boiled over in a single moment.
Keys to a flatfor the son. And she, Emily, still working, still scrimping to pay the mortgage on her modest flat, the very mortgage her mother had helped service for years. George, who had always had everythingluxury holidays, gifts, a father who could buy him anything.
Theres your justice, she whispered.
She left, casting a look of pure loathing at David and his new family. In her mind a venomous thought echoed: May this be your last happy day!
***
A month later.
Rumours swirled through the extended family, the ones who always seemed to know everything. George had been assaulted in an alley, robbed, beaten so badly his head was slammed against the pavement repeatedly. He survived, but could no longer walk or speak. He lay in a hospital bed.
David had to hire a carer. Marina, now pregnant, was unable to lift heavy things, and couldnt even carry her husband. The pregnancy was fraught; in the fifth month she miscarried. David was torn between his bedridden son and his grieving fiancée. A glass of whisky became his only solace.
One day he shuffled to Emilys flat, barely standing.
He came to pour out his soul.
Emily listened, nodding, but inside she felt only a cold, bitter satisfaction. Enjoy your happy life, dad, she thought.
She never asked about the details of Davids later life. She didnt care. She repaid the debtif that could even be called a debt.
Time passed.
Emily visited the grave of her paternal grandmother, the one whod always been kinder to her than her own father. At the headstone she noticed a fresh plot beside itGeorges.
He suffered, she noted.
No grief, no anger, just a hollow emptiness. She knew there was no longer a brother shed never truly known.
Eventually David returned, once more, with a plea.
Emily, he sounded like a man in his fifties trying to look younger, do you have a thousand pounds? Ill pay you back soon.
When?
Whenever I can
You dont have to.
Emily agreed without protest. A small, twisted pleasure ran through her. It felt good to see him reduced so low.
She never saw David again. Relatives whispered that he had sold both his flats, poured the money into a fringe cult, found some twisted refuge there. His wife, Georges mother, had returned to her homeland to mourn. Emily, meanwhile, enjoyed a steady rise. She and her husband, after clearing their mortgage, bought a second flat to let out. She lived, and on the rare occasions when she thought of the past, of her father, of his tangled family, a question flickered: could all this misfortune have been born from her own wishes?
