Uncle Mike was a funny sort. Clumsy as a bear cub, short and round with curly hair, tiny blue eyes like boiled sweets, and spectacles. His face always had this childlike joy, this innocent glow.
Alex was scared of men. Even a deep voice or laughter made him flinch. If someone held out a hand to shake his—proper grown-up style, at six years old—he’d immediately hide behind his mum.
“Sophie! What’s with this timid little guard dog of yours?” the adults would tease.
But Alex wasn’t timid. He once stood up to three lads who’d snatched the neighbour’s girl, Lucy, her football. He shielded her, firm voice unwavering: “Leave her alone. She’s a girl. You’ll deal with me.” And they backed off.
“Look at the brave little scrap,” was all they muttered before walking away. Lucy took his hand afterwards, declaring, “Let’s be friends!”
Even when their tabby got stuck in a tree, it was Alex who climbed after it—until Mum spotted from the window, rushed out, and fetched the neighbours to haul down both boy and kitten. They took the cat in, named her Daisy.
At nursery, Alex was the bravest, brightest, the one teachers held up as an example. Still, men unsettled him.
It started when he was two. His father, tall and striking—jet-black hair, dark eyes, strong—had a temper that lashed out at Mum. Women turned to watch him in the street. Simon was the picture of a perfect man. Until he opened his mouth. Alex couldn’t recall a single hug, a kind word, a moment of comfort from him.
“Stop snivelling! You’re not a girl. Boys don’t cry! Don’t grow up soft. You’ll sleep in the dark, no bedtime stories. And take that stuffed toy out—you’re not a baby. Broke your toy ship? No more toys, clumsy oaf. Go play outside. Shut up.” That’s what love sounded like from the man he adored.
Later, he learned he’d been unwanted. Simon hadn’t planned to marry Mum—his parents insisted.
“He does love you, Alex. Maybe in time he’ll understand. That’s just how he is,” Mum would murmur, stroking his hair.
Time passed. Nothing changed.
“Should’ve waited till I wanted a kid, you do-gooder. Now we’re stuck with this snivelling little mouse,” Simon would sneer.
Nothing about Alex pleased him. The boy grew used to it. Dad was rarely home. Then one day, he left for good. Promised money, but no visits. “Not the son I wanted. Maybe someday.”
Mum was lovely—long honey-blonde hair, big eyes. To Alex, she was a mermaid. She worked hard.
Then one evening, she came home with Uncle Mike. Her boss from work. He’d offered her a lift when she was lugging shopping bags.
“Hello, little man. I’m Uncle Mike. Just popped by. If it’s a bad time, I’ll go. Brought you some cakes. And this toy plane—my grandad gave it to me. Your mum said you like machines. Oh, and this stuffed rabbit. Look how fluffy, eh? Almost real.”
His voice was soft, gentle. He hovered awkwardly by the door. Alex stayed silent, afraid.
“It’s alright, Sophie. I’ll head off. The lad wants time with you.” Uncle Mike set down the parcels and turned to leave, shuffling like that bear cub again.
Alex grinned despite himself. Then he ran after him. “Don’t go, Uncle!”
Uncle Mike lifted him up. He smelled of cologne, fresh bread, and home.
“What a handsome lad! Oh, you’ll break hearts one day! Sophie, look at him—never seen a boy so fine!”
After that, Uncle Mike visited often. He’d sit on the floor in his work suit, playing with Alex. Brought books, read to him. When Mum was tired, he cooked—soups, roast dinners, pies. Simon had never lifted a spoon. “Not a man’s job,” he’d say.
“Why do you cook, Uncle Mike?” Alex once asked.
“Love it, lad. Big family, I was eldest. Parents busy, so I fed the lot. And it’s fun! Cooking with love. Your mum works hard—let her rest.”
“But you work hard too.”
“Ah, I’m tough. Summer, we’ll go to my cottage. There’s a frog in the well—I’ll show you. We’ll fish, pick daisies for Mum.” He hugged Alex tight.
The boy clung to him. More than anything, he wanted Uncle Mike to stay forever.
A month later, they bumped into Simon on the street. Drunk, with a woman on his arm.
“Who’s this? Found a replacement, Soph? Couldn’t do better than this old lump?” Simon laughed. The woman joined in.
Uncle Mike stayed quiet.
“Dad, this is Uncle Mike. Don’t say that!” Alex said.
“What? Got a voice now, pup? What ‘uncle’?” Simon grabbed Uncle Mike’s collar.
“Don’t! Dad, please—” Alex screamed, clinging to his leg.
After that, Simon’s parents took Alex more often. Scolded Mum. Called Uncle Mike “nothing.”
Alex tried to talk to Uncle Mike about it.
“They’re right, son. He’s your dad. You should respect him. Maybe if I hadn’t come along…”
“No! Don’t go, Uncle Mike!”
As Alex grew, home was cosy, safe. Uncle Mike was always busy—gardening, cooking, reading, teaching Alex woodwork. Bought a car, let him “drive” on his lap. Once, overhearing neighbours gossip—”Shame, with his real dad so handsome!”—Alex snapped:
“Stop it! Uncle Mike’s the best!”
Uncle Mike just smiled. “No point bristling at truth, lad.”
Even Mum’s parents disapproved. “Simon’s a looker, and you picked this plain, fussy little man?” They ignored that Uncle Mike was kind, clever, steady.
Years later, walking with Lucy, Alex confessed:
“I love my stepdad more than my real dad. Hate the man. But family won’t forgive me.”
“Alex, forgive them. Who cares? Uncle Mike’s brilliant.”
After graduating, Alex aimed to become a naval captain—make Mum and Uncle Mike proud.
Then a telegram came: Uncle Mike was ill.
Alex rushed home. Strong, handsome now, yet he sobbed in the train carriage.
“Just stay alive. Please.”
Quiet, unassuming, Uncle Mike had slipped into their lives, filling them with love. Small, funny, always shielding his family. He was life itself.
At the hospital, Alex barely recognised the frail man in the bed.
A thin hand rose. Eyes opened, spilling the same warmth that had bathed Alex all his life. Falling to his knees, hugging him, Alex cried:
“Dad! Please live! I need you! I’ll take you sailing—like I promised!”
Uncle Mike always said Simon was his only dad. But the joy on his face—he’d waited for those words.
“Make peace with your dad, Alex. However you feel, he’s still family. Promise me. And look after Sophie. You two… you were my stars. Thank you for letting me be part of it.”
“Thank you. For everything.”
Alex did reconcile with Simon. The man marvelled at his son, apologised, swore to do better. “I’ll visit, Dad. We’ll catch up.”
Now, returning from sea, Alex picks daisies and visits where Uncle Mike rests. Watches clouds race. Remembers the cottage, the well frog. Holds the torch they built together.
“You light this, son, and I’ll come. Even if you can’t see me—I’ll be there.”
“I lit it, Dad. I’m waiting.” Alex whispers to the night sky.
