Granny Doris never warmed to little Alfie. Shed sigh over her tea at the village shop and mutter to her friends, “Hes just not one of ours, you know?”
Mabel, ever the peacemaker, would chuckle. “Oh, Doris, love, how can you say that? Spitting image of your Frank, he is!”
But Doris would shake her head. “I know hes Franks boy, logically, but my heart wont have it. Now, my daughters childrenthose are my grandchildren. But this one? Cant bring myself to care. Runs about, chatters Gran, Granbut no. Takes one look at him, and all I see is that wretched Sutton blood. Not mine.”
“Ah, well, it happens,” piped up Ethel, stirring her cuppa. “My late mum was the samedoted on my Millies lot, but my brothers kids? Barely a glance. Our Ted used to sulk over it, and shed just say, Dont take it personal, son. A daughters childrenyou *know* theyre yours. A sons? Well”
“Same here!”
“And mine!”
“Goodness, Im no better,” admitted Doris. “My daughters boy? Absolute cherub. Dimples, button nosemy Stan and I cant get enough. But that daughter-in-laws child? Ugh. Not only does he look just like *her* lot, but hes always snotty, always filthy. I tell her to clean him up, and she snaps, When have I got the time? Your Frank wants the house spotless and supper hotwhen am I meant to chase after this brat?”
Doris huffed. “I told her, other women manage! Used to be up at four for milking. Knead the dough, leave it to rise, stoke the oventhen dash off to the cows. Once, I left young Susan to pop the bread in. Heart told me something was wrong, so I nipped home. And what did I find? Dough slumped over the table, nearly on the floor, her hair stuck in itfast asleep, bless her. Stan! I yelled. What were you thinking? Thinking? says he. Bread wont run off, will it? Then off he shufflesin his vest! Mad as a hatter.”
The conversation meandered from sons children to daughters children, as these things do.
Doris trudged home, oddly comforted. She wasnt alone in this. Plenty of women struggled to love their sons offspring.
Oddly, Alfie adored her. Maybe because it made him feel closer to Dad. Frank had gone north years ago, when Alfie was smalloff to “build the future,” whatever that meant. Never visited. But Alfie wrote him letters, brought them to Granny Doris. Mum said the old bat was the only one who knew where that useless fool Frank had got to. But Alfie knew Mum loved Dad. She was just cross he hadnt taken them north.
(Where would *he* have gone? Honestly, Mum needed to think these things through.)
Sometimes Mum shrieked that Alfie and his dad had ruined her life. “Shouldve married Johnny Spires! Given him a houseful of kids. Living like a queen, Id be.”
Alfie once tried rolling cheese in butter in his toy lorrya birthday gift from Doris. Mum nearly binned it, but he clung on. Felt like Dad had given it. Probably *had*lorries werent cheap. Frank mustve sent Doris money for it. Mum screeched, “Chuck it!”
Alfie never understood why she wanted that life. What was so great about buttered cheese?
When Dad came home, everything would be better than the Spires lot. Mum would stop moaning.
One day, Alfie found his cousin Poppy at Doriss. Spoilt little thing, but she was youngergot away with it.
“Gran got *me* a dolly,” Poppy taunted, sticking out her tongue.
Alfie didnt care for dolls.
“Shes making *me* pancakes with cream!”
“Pfft. For *everyone*,” Doris muttered.
Alfie stayed for politeness sake, sipped tea, nibbled a pancake. “Need help with anything?” Then left.
“Ugh, finally,” Poppys voice floated after him.
Doris snapped, “Shut it, you!”
Warmth bloomed in Alfies chest. She *did* love him.
Meanwhile, Doris scolded Poppy: “Blathering already? Hes not even down the path! Whole villagell hear. Ill tan your hide”
“You wont!”
“Why not?”
“Cos you love me! Im your *favourite*.” Poppy clambered onto Doriss lap. “Your pretty, clever girl!”
“Oh, you little monster,” Doris sighed, hugging her.
***
Frank never returned. Mum married Johnnys cousin, Uncle Nick Spires. Decent blokenever bothered Alfie. Didnt love him like his own two with Mum, but treated him fair. And Nicks mum, Granny Tess, adored Alfie.
Life rolled on. Alfie still visited Doristhough the letters stopped.
Before joining the army, he learned the truth: Frank had a new family up north. Never visited, but Doris didregularly.
Hurt, Alfie confronted her. “Why didnt you say? I *waited*wrote letters”
Doris waved him off. “All your scribbles are in the drawer. And what of it? Your dad sent good money. Your mum raised another mans kids on it.”
That night, Alfie got roaring drunkfirst and last time. Raged at Mum, Doris, Frank.
Mum screeched, “You drunken lout! Just like your” but Uncle Nick hauled him to the garage. There, Alfie sobbednever cried as a kid, but now? Floodgates opened. Told Nick everything: school bullies calling him “bastard,” saying Mum “dragged him home in her apron.”
Thats why Alfie learned to fight. Why hed forced himself on Dorishoping to prove he had a dad, two grannies, like everyone else. Never mind that nobody wanted him.
Nick wiped his eyes. “Listen, lad. Youre my son. Ten years Ive been with your mum, with *you*. Doesnt matter who sired you. *Youre mine.*”
Alfie crumpled. “*Dad.*”
Mum peeked in, ready to shout about the whiskythen quietly shut the door. “Your fathers talking with your brother,” she told the younger ones. “Mens business.”
***
Army life flew by. Alfie came back broad-shouldered, grinningMum and *Dad* (no more “Uncle Nick”) bursting with pride. Granny Tess bragged about her handy grandsonbarely demobbed, already fixing her fence.
Poppy, living with Doris now, sneered, “Dont bother visiting. Dads got a proper family. *If* hes even *your* dad.”
Doris said nothing. Alfie never went back.
He married, got a semi in townparents helped. They moved nearby with Granny Tess. Bought a car, had two kids. Life was sweet.
Then his back gave out. Dad had warned him”Lift properly, or youll break yourself!”
Now he shuffled through the hospital like an old man, catching raised voices:
“*My* problem? Youre the doctors*you* fix her!”
“Miss, with proper home care, your grandmother could recover”
“Oh, brilliant! Ive not wiped backsides before. *You* treat her!”
“If you refuse, we must transfer her to a home”
“Shameless!” cut in another voice. “Your gran doted on you, Poppy!”
“Fine. Paperwork me.”
Alfie stepped in. “No need. Ill take her.”
Poppy sneered. “Ooh, hero! After the will, eh? Too lateshe left *me* the house.”
Alfie brought Doris home. Mum rolled her eyesremembering how hed trailed after her as a boy, convinced she loved him, while Doris moaned to anyone whod listen.
But Doris thrived. Apologised daily. Doted on his kids.
When her time came, Poppy didnt even visit. Mum and Dad sent cash (which Poppy kept, naturally).
Back at the village shop, folks clucked. “So the unfavoured grandson took her in?”
Those who played favourites paused. What if *they* ended up like Doris?
“Extra sweets, love. For my grandbabies.”
***
Funny, life. Doted on the daughters child, scorned the sons. Yet it was he who held her hand at the end.
