Arthur settled himself comfortably at his desk, laptop open, mug of tea steaming away. There were a few things he needed to wrap up. Suddenly, his focus was shattered by an unexpected phone call. The number? Unfamiliar.
Hello, Arthur speaking.
Arthur Henry? came the crackling tones of a distinctly elderly chap. Sorry to bother you, this is St. Marys Maternity in Birmingham. Do you know a Miss Emily Robinson?
Emily Robinson? Arthurs confusion was genuine. Sorry, no idea. Whats this all about?
Im afraid Miss Robinson passed away yesterday in childbirth, the old gent continued, voice grave enough for a BBC tragedy. Weve spoken to her mother. She saidyoure the father of the child. An epic pause followed, as if waiting for a drum roll.
Father? Whose child? Im sorry, I think youve got the wrong man, Arthurs hands gripped the mug a little tighter.
Emily had a little girl. Yesterday. And youre named as the father. That is, if you are Arthur Henry. The mans voice was slow and exceedingly proper. Youll need to come down to the hospital tomorrow. Some things to sort out
Sort out what, exactly? Arthur felt the headache coming on already.
Come to St. Marys on Edgbaston Road. Ask for Dr. Nicholas Potterthats me. Well discuss everything then. And with that, the line went dead.
Arthur found himself staring at the phone like it had just grown a moustache. He set it down, attempting to process what hed just heard.
Emily Who on earth is Emily? he muttered, pacing in circles. Think, Arthur. This needs logic. He stopped, summoning memories with all the grace of a malfunctioning satnav. How long are women pregnant for? Nine months, isnt it? He counted on his fingers, feeling a bit thick. Its May now, so September. What was I doing in September?
The answer arrived with the force of a cup of cold Earl Grey. He eyed his tea, wrinkled his nose and set it asidethis really called for something stronger, but, alas
September oh blimey, I was in Brighton for two weeks That mustve been it. Emilya blonde, blue-eyed, and what was her surname again? His memory served up an indistinct image, nothing more. Surely cant be expected to remember every Emily, he thought. Nearing forty, never married, and blissfully intending to keep things that way, Arthur had always been well practiced in the art of avoiding responsibilityespecially of the nappy-wearing variety.
But shes shes dead, came the dim, persistent thud of realisation.
How could she die? She mustve been, what, twenty? he mumbled, gazing up at the ceiling like it held the answers in neon letters. The urge to light up a cigarette hit, but hed given up. Instead, a strange knot formed somewhere insidea mix of guilt, confusion, and something annoyingly close to regret.
A baby he said aloud, aiming the words into the quiet of the flat. Well, her mum can take care of the child. Shes the granny, after all. And who even knows if its mine?
Arthur decided hed go, talk to the doctor, sign a form to wave goodbye to this accidental legacy, and go on living as he always had. Sorted. Easy. So why couldnt he sleep a wink that night? Memories shuffled through his mind, clamorous and uninvited. He remembered laughter, the rush of sea air, a young woman sprinting along the pebbled shore, casting him glances full of mischief and hope. And nowher body laid out on a slab somewhere, and it was his turn to face the consequences.
The next morning found Arthur at the maternity hospital, face pale, nerves frayed. Dr. Nicholas Potter greeted him with officious gentleness.
Would you like to see your daughter? Dr. Potter asked, lifting an eyebrow.
No, uh, actually, can I speak to Emilys mum first? Is she here? Arthur glanced at the corridor hopefully.
Shes just outside. The lady in black, you walked right past her. The doctor nodded down the hallway.
Right. Back in a tick. Arthur scurried out.
He spotted a slight woman dressed top-to-toe in black, headscarf and all, perched on one of those regrettably plastic seats. He covered the distance in three awkward steps.
Er, hello, he managed, voice cracking.
She looked up, grief swimming in eyes so familiar that it caught him off guard.
She looks just like Emily, he thought, startled by the resemblance.
My names Vera. Vera Robinson. Im Emilys mum, she said quietly.
Im Arthur. Arthur Henry, he introduced himself, as if they were at a village fête.
I know, Vera whispered. Emily told me all about you She never will again, will she? And with that, she broke into quiet, shaking tears.
Arthur stood there, feeling more out of his depth than ever before. Eventually, Vera wiped away the tears with her sleeve.
Please dont refuse your daughter, she pleaded. I cant bear the thought of her ending up in care. You understand?
But, surely youre her grandmother, Arthur protested, already bracing for a quick escape. Theyll let you take her, wont they?
They wont, Vera replied wearily. My healths not what it was. Dodgy ticker Please, just acknowledge her as yours. Ill raise her myself, I promisewe wont trouble you. Just She reached out, hands trembling.
Arthur mumbled, Lets go back in, and she followed him to the doctors office.
Dr. Potter looked up. So, whats required to establish paternity? Arthur asked, voice thin with nerves.
DNA test, replied Dr. Potter crisply, eyeing Arthur as if he were an unpredictable terrier. Have you thought of a name for the baby?
Arthur appeared completely lost. Name?
Your daughter needs a name, the doctor smiled.
Would you like to meet her? Dr. Potter suggested, with a lilt in his voice.
Arthur looked at Vera apologetically, No, really Im not ready.
Everything after that happened almost in a blur. DNA confirmed the baby was his. Arthur tried to convince himself hed simply send money, maybe buy a buggy, job done. Support from a safe distance, he decided just before the discharge papers were signed.
But when the day came and a nurse handed Vera a bundle wrapped in violently pink lace and ribbons, Arthur lost all powers of speech.
Vera cradled the bundle, gently nudged the lace aside. Fancy a look at your little girl?
Before Arthur could answer, Dr. Potter called Vera out of the room. Without warning, she pressed the bundle into Arthurs not-very-capable hands.
Arthur froze on the spot, paralysed, clutching the warm, sweetly-scented bundle. Suddenly, the baby wriggled, then emitted a sound exactly like a kitten, followed by a howl that could have cracked windows. Terrified, Arthur peered in and saw, staring up at him in miniature, his own face. The resemblance was undeniable, comically so.
Staggering slightly, Arthur sank onto a nearby chair, gently rocking his daughter. She quietened instantly, looked up at him, andhe could swearsmiled.
Moments later, Vera reappeared.
Here, Ill take her, Vera stretched out her arms, but Arthur held on.
No, its fineIll hold her, Arthur blurted out. She smiled at me, just now! And a clumsy, irrepressible grin spread across his face. Lets go home, Vera, he whispered. Then, with a resolution he never knew he possessed, he added brightly, Lets go home together.Vera blinked, struggling to process the words, then nodded through her tears. A shy hope unfurled in her tired face.
Arthur steadied the bundle in his lap, fingers trembling as he brushed his daughters downy cheek. The babys hand unfurled, impossibly small, and caught his finger in a grip that shocked him with its strength.
There, in the harsh hospital light, Arthur felt something quietly recalibrate inside himlike a compass resetting to true north. In the corridor, nurses bustled; phones buzzed; the world busied itself as always.
But here, time paused.
For the first time in years, Arthur was not merely an observer in his own life but a participantno escape routes, no satirical asides, just the warm weight of responsibility and the giddy, uncertain beginnings of love. He looked at Vera, who watched him with grateful, anxious eyes. He looked at the impossibly tiny person who had made him, in the space of an afternoon, someone new.
He drew a shaky breath. Emily Grace, he whispered. After her mum. Emily Grace Henry.
Vera squeezed his arm, and the three of them sat together, a family pieced together from grief and accident, bound for an uncertain future.
Arthur stood, steady now, the baby nestled confidently in his arms. As they left the hospital behind, and the doors opened onto the bright May air, he realizedastonishedthat he was ready to be someones beginning.
And so, beneath a sky wide with possibility, father and daughter set out for homelearning, with each uncertain step, how to belong to each other.
