The Relative of the Night and the Price of Peace
Not again, I heard Helen whisper as she stared into the sink brimming with soapy water.
The kitchen clock glowed stubbornly at 1:15am. The whole house was silent. Little Mary was gently snoring in the next room, and Helen figured I must have finally drifted off in our bedroom. The lamp, hiding under its frosted shade, sprayed a faded circle of golden light over the table, where a mug of cooling chamomile tea stood abandoned.
The doorbell split the silence like a razor. Long, stubborn, with gaps just long enough to hope, helplessly, Please, not tonight.
From the bedroom came my own drowsy but knowing mumble:
Is it him again?
Helen wiped her hands on her dressing gown, stifling the yawn she wanted to turn into a sign for the universe: Leave me be, Im asleep. Despite her fatigueweighty as a sodden winter blanketshe set off for the door, steeling herself against irritation and the guilt that tinged it.
Through the peephole, there he was: broad-shouldered, in his forever battered Barbour, cap askew, standing slightly sideways as always. My father, Eric Harris. One hand braced against the wall, the other gripping a cardboard box. Down by his feet, the inevitable Sainsburys bagthat meant the same oat biscuits as every time.
Helen opened the door.
Helen, love! Eric beamed as if hed arrived at midday. Youre still up? Smashing. Only ten minutesI promise.
Hello, Mr Harris, she managed a half-hearted smile. Its the middle of the night, by the way.
Ah, the nights but young for the young at heart, he waved dismissively. And my legs still work. Not letting an old man in? Ive got a treasure to share.
He hoisted the box. On the lid: a faded label8mm Film. In the corner, biro scribble: 1978. New Year. Home. The box smelled of dust, attics and that long-ago life Helen only knew from sepia photos.
Found it, can you believe it? Eric manoeuvred himself inside, not pausing for an actual come in. On Bills top shelf, next door. Swore blind it wasnt mine, then he saw the handwriting. My Elsie, he sayssure enough, her handwriting.
The mention of Elsie, Erics wife, gone these ten years, hung in the narrow hallway like a ghost.
I appeared, blinking in the glare, in my t-shirt and baggy joggers.
Dad its gone one.
Thats rich! Erics eyes danced. Best hour for reminiscing. At your age, Id not have even started my night yet, wed be at a disco or two!
I felt every chirpy word from Eric thud in my head, but caught Helens silent calculationHes on his own. His house is always dark. It must be lonely, mustnt it?
Lets go through to the kitchen, she said, smoothing her sigh. Quietly though. Marys sleeping.
Quiet as a mouse, Eric assured, rustling off his jacket. Wouldnt wake a fly.
A mouse, Helen thought, that rings the bell like a fire engine.
***
Eric always sat by the radiator. My back hates a draught, as hed say. Helen put a mug in front of him, making the tea automatically, like she was on night duty.
I sat across, still yawning, eyeing his box.
Whats this? I asked.
Our home movie, Eric announced. Film reel. Not much, but still alive. Your mum, you as a tiny lad. And the whole lotsparkly tree, lumpy salads, Aunt Maureens face, nose and all! He let his laughter roll through the room. Proper history, that.
Helen perched nearby, head in her hand. The clock hummed1:27, 1:28 Eric, meanwhile, was only warming up.
I remember us opening the front door, hours past midnight. In came Bill and Carol. It was freezing, thick snow, but we yelled Come in! Ours is always an open house! And Elsie piped uplet me rememberAt night, doors ought to be open for those who truly need them.
Helen nodded, the words sticking to her brain like burrs.
Dad, I rubbed my eyes, we ever going to actually watch this film? Wasnt that the plan?
I would, but Ive no projector left. Thought you mightve dug one up.
In a two-bed on the top floor? Helen snorted. Between the grand piano and the printing press, is it?
Eric missed the sarcasm, as usual.
Well find a way, he said cheerfully. We can digitalise itVictor, youre handy with tech. Meanwhile, let me tell you about Well, about getting that first camera, and Elsies laugh with snow down her collar
He talked, words pouring out like endless teapots at a village fete, as if the night were a myth only for others. Helen, half aware, was only really counting the minutes till dawn, mentally chanting, Up at seven, nursery run, work report, closing eyes
***
A quiet noise made Helen jump. In the doorway, little Mary appeared in pyjamas scattered with pink stars. She rubbed her eyes with a fist, her hair wild and static.
Mum she whispered, tripping over the threshold.
Mary, sweetheart? Helen darted up, catching her before she toppled.
I thirsty, she mumbled. And Granddad was in my dream again.
Erics face brightened at the word granddad.
There you have it! He sat up. Children sense the bond.
Mary stared at him, heavy-lidded and dreamy.
You come every night in my dreams, she said solemnly. You keep knocking and knocking. But I cant close the door. The handles too hot.
Helens stomach turned icy. I frowned.
What sort of dream is that? I muttered.
Not nightmares, Eric was emphatic. Thats her soul reaching for her granddad.
Or just for some peace and quiet, Helen thought, but out loud, Right, bedtime, darling. Granddad can visit another time.
At night? Mary asked.
Helen caught Erics startled, naive gaze.
Daytimes better, love, Helen soothed. Much nicer.
Mary sniffled and nestled into her shoulder.
Helen took her back to bed, listening to Erics half-whispered stories through the doorstill much too lively for this hour. She tucked Mary under the quilt, stroked her hair, and thought, So it goes every time. His just ten minutes means another hour of chatter, biscuits, and fracturing our sleep.
In the hall, the clock ticked closer to two. Helen could feel her patience, like a wind-up alarm, winding down at last.
***
I remember her moaning about it all to her best friend earlier that week, her phone pressed to her cheek.
Sarah, honestlyits as though were running a 24-hour Son and Daughter-in-Law Café, she grumbled.
Sarah, ever theatrical, chimed, Helen, my condolences. Youre possessed by the midnight spirit of the elusive older generation!
Helen heaved a sigh. I cant sleep for wondering, Will he ring again? And he does! Always Just ten minutes! At one, half-one, nearly two
Treat it like a challenge, Sarah quipped. Night shift mode. Brew tea, listen to a soliloquy. Prize: oat biscuits.
Helen caught herself smiling. Its always the same biscuits. I cant stand them anymore.
Thats now a symbol, Sarah mused. Set him a guest curfew.
Pardon?
Well, ring him yourself at 1am.
Thats cruel, Helen huffed.
Joking, of course. Sarah chuckled. But you do need to draw some boundaries, or hell believe its fine. Because you open the door.
Sarah, hes my father-in-law. Wife gone, Victors his only son How can I say, Mr Harris, dont come so late? His heart, his blood pressure, his memories
And you? You have a heart, child, job Boundaries help everyone in the end.
Helen went quiet, her sense of duty fitfully stung. She believed being a good daughter-in-law meant simply putting up with it.
***
Erics first night visit happened six months after Mum died.
Back then, Helen thought it was just a one-offgrief shared in the hush of night because daytime felt too busy, too exposed.
We were in bed, almost asleep, shadows folding over the ceiling. Suddenly, the front door rattled.
Who can that be? she gasped.
The bell rang outinsistent, a bit desperate. I scrambled for my joggers. Maybe somethings wrong.
Eric stood on the doorstep, crumpled, only his worn jumper, no jacket, no cap. His eyes shone oddly.
Sorry he murmured, but he stepped in before wed got the words out. Cant stay at home tonight. Its too empty.
He smelled faintly of tobacco and frosty air. In his hands: the Sainsburys oat biscuits.
Dad, are you alright? Is it your blood pressure?
Nojust needed to see you. His eyes were wild.
Helens resistance vanished. She remembered Elsies funeral and Eric, clutching his old trilby, adrift in a world out of alignment.
We sat him in the kitchen. Back then, he barely spokea few fragments: She loved sitting here, tea at night…
His hands trembled as he snapped a biscuit in two.
I saw these in Tesco, he whispered. We met by the biscuit shelf, you know. I was reaching, so was she. Both grabbed the same boxshe said, Have it, Im watching my figure. Thats when I knew, Id marry her.
That night, Helens irritation evaporated into sympathy.
Pop by whenever you need, Mr Harris, she said at sunrise, seeing him off. Were close.
And he did. But whenever you need usually meant after midnight.
After that, the intervals shrank. Twice a week. Eventually, there were no gaps at all.
***
When Helen tried talking to me about it, I only shrugged.
Hes always been a night owl, I reminded her. Worked late, always fiddling or reading at 2am. Even when I was little, Id find him in the kitchen with a book during the small hours.
Yes, but that was in his own house, Helen replied gently. Now hes here.
Its like continuing home for him, I reasoned. Hes lonely thereand at night its worse.
I get scared too, Helen admitted. From exhaustion, cos Mary wakes, or because every bell sends me into a panic.
I was quietthe awkwardness between me and Dad was palpable. Hes my dad hung between us like smoke.
One night, Helen didnt get up. She feigned sleep so I was forced to let him in. Later, she crept to the kitchen to find Dad alone, leafing through old photos by lamplight.
Elsie, look at you he murmured. You said Id fall out of love if you put on a stone and I was a damned fool not to protest Vicky heres just a tot in this one. Look at that old tellyremember the night Bill turned up at one in the morning? We never sent him packing till three. You said, Let them come while they can. Well only lock up after were gone
It wasnt just recollection; it was a plea: Dont close the last door on me.
Helen left, her heart squeezed. He wasnt a monster. Just a lost boy in a night everyone else had left.
***
She tried joking once, early summer. The night was mild, windows a slit open. At the bell, she put on a lurid silk dressing gown and sleep mask (a gift from Sarah), pushing it up like a crown.
Movie star look, I teased.
Tonights showing: Erics Midnight Stop-ins, Helen quipped. Theatrically opening the door, she announced, Welcome to your exclusive after-hours event. Tea, biscuits, and chronic insomnia.
Eric roared with laughter.
You young thingsno sense of adventure! We were up all hours. In our day, night trains, carriage tea, faces youd trust for life. Its at night you have the best chats.
Then he said, Some doors should be left open. You never know who might really need to come in.
It stuck with Helen, the way snow finds a boot.
Some windows ought to be closed though, she replied drily. Or we all catch a cold.
Eric missed the point, rolling into another yarn as Helens tiredness boiled quietly away.
***
Once, she didnt open the door.
Mary was feverish, up all night. Quiet at lastthen, as if cued, the bell. Helen froze. The bell sounded again. And again. Then, silence.
She counted to a hundred, then two hundred. Her chest hammered: See? You didnt open for once. Nothing crumbled.
In the morning, there was a Sainsburys bag at the door with soggy biscuits. Next to it, a note in a large, nearly childish hand: Fell asleep. Didnt want to wake you. E.
That was allno complaints, no guilt. Just those biscuits.
Helen shivered with both guilt and anger: Why must I feel selfish for wanting a nights sleep?
***
After the latest nightly episode, the house hung with chill, damp disappointment.
Marys cold worsened; shed been wandering the halls barefoot while Eric told jokes. By morning, Helens eyes had dark rings. At the office she huddled behind coffee cups just to stay upright.
That night, Helen set a pan on the hob, looked at me, and snapped.
I cant do it anymore, she said quietly.
Whats wrong? I was just putting the kettle on.
I mean she spun, I cant live by his sleep calendar! This isnt a tea room on call. We have a child. Ive got work. I dont feel like this is my home any more.
I opened my mouth for the usual excuses, but Helen cut me off.
I always hear, Hes your father. Hes alone. Hes struggling. But Im your wife, a mother, a person too, and nobody ever asks how I am.
I fell silent.
So heres the deal, she pressed on. If he comes tonight, you, me, himwell talk properly. No jokes, no ten minutes. I need a real nights sleep.
Youre going toban him? I said quietly.
I just want him to come in the day. Not past nine. Im not shutting him out, just out of our night.
I sighed, defeated.
He might be hurt.
Im already hurt, she replied softly. By both of you. A year of silent surrender on my part isnt nothing.
Her words hung in the air, suddenly crystalline. I couldnt resist any further.
Alright, I nodded. Tonight. Well try.
***
That night, I recognised what was in Dads boxold film reels, Family Christmas, 1979. He plonked it down, jackets thrown aside.
Look at this! Our whole life inside!
Can we talk first? Helen said gently, while I poured tea.
Talk about what then? Lets celebrate first.
Helen caught my eye. I nodded.
She put his mug before him, took a seat, and summoned her courage.
Mr Harris, its brilliant you found the film. Really. We love seeing you. But we need a word about your visits.
Whats wrong? Eric tried a joke. Need to talk at night about the nights, do we?
Its about your night visits, Helen pressed gently. You always come after one. For you, its memory hour. For us, we need restwork, nursery runs Marys exhausted, so are we.
Eric frowned. Are you saying Im in the way?
I jumped in. No, Dadnever in the way. But it is hard, especially for Helen and Mary.
Helen admitted, I dread every call after ten. My heart drops out. And Mary, she says she dreams youre always at our door, the handle hot.
Eric looked between us solemnly.
I thought it was just like old times. Elsie and I always drank tea at night, doors never locked. If someone comes at night, they must truly need you.
But at night we really need sleep, Helen replied softly, but firmly. Wed love you to visitjust in the daylight. Not at one a.m.
A long pause. Eric stared at trembling hands.
So you dont want me here anymore?
We do, we just need you before ten. A call first, and well be readyyour favourite tea, biscuits.
I added, We want you with us, just not when were barely awake.
Finally, Eric murmured, Didnt realise I was so much bother. I suppose when you cant sleep, you assume no one else can.
I saw Helen relax, just a little.
He wasnt a villain. His clock had just stopped the night Mum died.
Lets watch the film Saturday, in daylight, Helen suggested. All togetherlike a proper New Year.
Eric looked from the reels to Helen. And if I do ring late
Only if you need us badly, Helen replied honestly. Were here. But for a chat, lets make it daytime.
I nodded. I want to see you wide awake, Dad. Half-asleep, I dont even remember your stories.
Eric smiled sadly. Daft old fool, I amshouldve realised ten minutes meant a lifetime for you both.
It does, Helen said gently.
Alright, he sighed. Lets save our experiments for Saturday. Ill head off now.
Helen saw him out; he fiddled with his jacket, dragging out his farewell.
Helen, love, if I ring late by accident
Ill worry, she said. But I cant always open the door. Im only human.
He nodded. In his eyes, she thought she saw a flicker of respect.
***
Saturday came, as promised.
On the table: a battered projector, borrowed from a friend of mine. The living room became a makeshift cinemacurtains drawn, a white bedsheet tacked over the wall.
Eric, like a boy, sat closest to the machine, gripping that precious film reel. Mary parked herself in Helens lap, cuddling her bunny. I fumbled with wires, cursing the ancient contraption.
Eventually, the beam flickered to life. On the wallshaky scenes: a young woman in a cotton frock, sunlight in her smile (Mum), alongside Eric, thick-haired, arms around herand toddler me.
Christmas scene: tangerines, prawn cocktails, fairy lights. Then a sign on the door: Our house is always open. Even at night. For family.
Helen felt a stab. Eric gave a shuddering sob.
She wrote that, he explained. Elsie. Wanted everyone to know.
On the screen, Mum laughed, opening the door for someone unseen: Come in! The clock on the wall read 1:05. In the bottom corner, someone had scribbled: Always welcome. Never close a true home.
Erics shoulders shook gently.
Marys breathing sloweddeep asleep, head in Helens arm.
The projector murmured on: Mum drying plates, Eric kissing her, a tiny me twirling round the tree.
Helen realised: Erics night visits werent just habitthey were desperate attempts to recapture a time when open door meant light and laughter, not lost sleep and trampled boundaries.
***
When the lights came back on, the reels spinning out, Mary lay dozing. Eric scrubbed a hand across his face.
Sorry, he whispered. Honestly thought I was doing some good. That if I showed up, I wasnt really alone.
Helen met his gaze:
Youre not alone. Even without the night shifts. Lets open doors when theres daylight.
A few days later, Helen took a trip to Sainsburys. She bought a pack of those oat biscuitsgreen wrapperand a silver flask: Stays warm for eight hours. She boxed both, added a key on a ring, and a note:
Mr Harris, youre always welcome in our home. Especially mornings. Flask for warmth, key for when were expecting you. Please ring ahead. Love, Helen, Victor & Mary.
She rang him herself, for the first time in daylight.
Mr Harris, hello. Come round for tea tomorrowactual morning tea. Any time before twelve.
He laugheda real, lighter sound.
Is this an official invite?
Its a new tradition, Helen replied. No more night watch.
Next day, he arrivedclean shirt, a bunch of daisies and, under his arm, a plush bear in a nightcap.
For you, Helen, he said, bashful. For your patience.
And this for Marynight-guard bear, to tell her stories instead of dreams.
Helens smile was genuine, at last.
Come inthe teas ready.
Sunlight fanned across the table. The tea steamed. Mary, refreshed, hugged her bear. I explained my latest project; Dad answered with tales of mistaking night trains for day ones.
Same Eric, same storiesnew time. Morning, not midnight. An invited guest, not an intruder.
Later, tucking in Mary, Helen asked, Did Granddad visit in your dreams tonight?
No, Mary said thoughtfully. He was here in the day. Real.
Helen smiled in the quiet.
Lets keep it that way.
At 1:15am, the house was still. No bell. For the first time in ages, Helen woke not from someone elses time, but because shed finally, blissfully, rested.
Shed learned how to ask for boundarieswithout drama or shamejust in words. And nothing fell apart. My dad was still here, just not in the dead of night.
And that, at last, was a little victory for all of us under that roof.
