Get away from me! I never promised to marry you! In fact, Im not even sure thats my child.
Whos to say its actually mine? So off you go, do whatever you like Im off. Thats what Richard said to the dumbstruck Victoria.
And there she stood, unable to believe her ears or her eyes Was this the same Richard who used to adore her and practically carried her around like a porcelain doll?
Was this the dearest Richie who called her Vicky and promised her the world, with a cherry on top?
Now, before her, stood a rather flustered, hence grumpy, complete stranger of a man Vicky cried for a week, waving a mental cheerio to her Richie forever.
But given her age thirty-five and her perceivable lack of sparkle (meaning her chance of landing romantic happiness was slimmer than a toothpick at a hedgehog convention), she decided to go ahead and have the child on her own
Victoria gave birth right on time to a big-lunged baby girl. She named her Pippa.
Pippa grew up calm, low-maintenance, and gave her mum no trouble at all. It was as if she instinctively knew it made no difference whether she kicked up a fuss or not; nothing was really coming her way anyway.
Victoria treated her daughter decently enough kept her fed, clothed, even bought her the occasional toy, but real motherly warmth was conspicuously absent.
Shed never go out of her way for a cuddle, or a gentle stroll in the park. No time for all that too busy, too tired, never up for the effort. Seems the maternal instinct took a wrong turn on its way to her.
Little Pippa would often reach for her mum, arms stretched wide, only to be brushed off. Victoria always had an excuse: busy, too much to do, headache, exhaustion. That was just the way of things.
Then, when Pippa was seven, something completely unexpected occurred. Victoria met a man.
Not just met him, either she carted him straight home! The whole village was ablaze with gossip. That Victoria, what a reckless woman.
The man wasnt local, not particularly serious, had no steady work, and no one knew quite where he lived. Some said he must be a scam artist. Honestly, how outrageous!
Victoria worked at the village shop, and this chap Patrick helped out now and then unloading lorries. Thats where their romance blossomed among the potatoes, onions, and pallets of Fairy Liquid.
Soon enough, Victoria invited her new fiancé to move in. The neighbours were scandalised dragging home a man with a past as vague as English weather!
What about the little girl? they whispered. Doesnt say a word, that one must be hiding something.
But Victoria didnt listen to a soul. Perhaps she knew this was her last shot at a bit of happiness not reliant on houseplants.
But the villagers soon changed their minds about this reserved, unsociable Patrick.
Victorias cottage had fallen into a proper state everything could do with a good fix but Patrick set to work, quietly and without fuss. First, he repaired the porch, then patched the roof, then righted a wobbly bit of fencing.
Every day, he was tinkering and the house started looking cheerful. The village quickly clocked that this man truly knew his way around a hammer. Folks started turning up at Victorias, asking for help, and Patrick would say:
If youre old or truly skint, Ill lend a hand. Otherwise, its a tenner or a few eggs and some sausages.
Hed accept cash from some, from others homemade chutney, bacon, or a bottle of milk.
Victoria had a decent garden, but without a man about the place, no chickens or goats so Pippa rarely saw so much as a dollop of fresh cream.
Now, suddenly, the fridge sported clotted cream, proper farmhouse milk, and good English butter.
In short, Patrick was a real jack-of-all-trades, the kind who could patch a roof, fix a kettle, and still find time for a decent cup of tea.
And Victoria, never known for her looks, seemed transformed glowing, softer, even a bit smiley these days.
Even kinder to Pippa one day, Victoria smiled so wide you could see, to everyones great surprise, she actually had dimples. Pippa, meanwhile, had just started school.
One day, young Pippa was sitting on the front step, watching Uncle Patrick work miracles with a hammer, as usual.
She then nipped off to play at her friends house and only returned as dusk fell. She pushed open the gate and nearly fell backwards
Smack in the middle of the garden was a pair of swings! They shivered and shimmied in the evening breeze, almost singing her name.
For me?! Uncle Patrick! Did you make those for me? Swings?! Really?! Pippas jaw nearly hit the daisies.
For you, Pip, of course for you! There you go, take them for a spin! For once, Uncle Patrick actually laughed out loud.
Pippa planted herself in the seat and flung herself back and forth, the wind howling past her ears the happiest girl in all of England.
Victoria left early for work, so Patrick took over the cooking. He made breakfast, lunch, and, oh, his pies and casseroles were legendary!
It was Patrick who taught Pippa to cook and to set the table properly. Who knew this surly man could hide more talent than a whole season of Britains Got Talent?
When winter rolled in, and days got shorter, Uncle Patrick would walk Pippa to and from school. Hed carry her book bag and tell stories from his own life.
He talked about looking after his terminally ill mum, even selling his flat to pay for everything.
And how his own brother, not particularly saint-like, tricked him out of house and home. He told Pippa all of this so shed know even family can be complicated.
He taught her how to fish. In summer, at the crack of dawn, theyd creep off to the river and sit quietly, waiting for a bite. Thats how she learned patience.
Not long after, Uncle Patrick got her first real bike and taught her to ride it. He patched up her knees with Savlon every time she fell.
Shell break her neck, her mum would grumble.
She wont, hed say firmly. She needs to learn how to fall and get up again.
And one Christmas, Uncle Patrick gave her a real pair of white skates. That evening, the family sat down to the Christmas feast a table Patrick and Pippa had set themselves.
They waited for Big Bens chimes, cheered, laughed, and clinked their glasses. Everyone was happy and full. The next morning, Victoria and Patrick were jolted awake by Pippas wild shrieking.
Skates! Oh wow!! Actual white skates! Thank you, thank you!! cried Pippa when she discovered the fancy present under the Christmas tree.
She threw her arms round them, tears streaming down her face for joy.
Then Patrick and Pippa trundled off to the frozen river. He spent ages brushing snow off the ice, and Pippa helped him. Then he taught her how to skate.
She fell, of course, but Patrick patiently held her hand until she could skate on her own.
When she finally managed a long wobbly push without tumbling over, Pippa shouted, I did it! and hugged Patrick so hard his hat nearly came off. Then, on the way home, she threw her arms around his neck.
Thank you for everything! Thank you, Dad
Now it was Patrick’s turn to cry tears of joy, small and glinting, which he quickly brushed away so Pippa wouldnt see, though the winter air promptly froze them to his cheeks.
Pippa grew up, headed off to university in the city, and faced plenty of bumps and potholes, as you do. But Patrick was always there.
He was at her graduation. Brought bags loaded with groceries, lest his dear girl, his Pippa, so much as missed a pudding.
He walked her down the aisle on her wedding day. Waited outside the hospital in the rain, pacing with her husband, longing to meet his grandchild. Patrick spoilt the grandkids rotten, loving them more fiercely than most biological granddads.
And then, when he too was called away, as we all are in the end, Pippa and her mother stood in sorrow. Pippa let fall a handful of earth on the grave, sighed deeply and said,
Goodbye, Dad You were the best father anyone could have asked for. Ill remember you forever
He remained in her heart, not as Uncle Patrick, or the stepdad, but as her true DAD.
Sometimes a dad isnt the one who begets you, but the one who loves you, cheers you on, and nurses your grazed knees. The one who simply, always, stays.
