Back in the tough days of the recession, I ended up marrying a woman with three kidsjust her and them against the world, no help in sight.
“Blimey, Andrew, youre really gonna marry a shop assistant with three kids? Gone mad, have you?” Vince, my mate from the cramped shared house, clapped me on the back with a smirk.
“Whats wrong with that?” I barely looked up from the alarm clock I was fixing, screwdriver in hand, but I caught his eye.
This was back in the early 80s, in our quiet little town up north where nothing much happened. For me, a bloke in my thirties with no family, life was just work at the factory, the odd game of darts, telly, and a pint now and then. Sometimes Id watch kids playing outside and feel that old pangwanting a family of my own. But Id push it aside. What kind of family could you have in a dingy shared house?
Then one drizzly October evening, everything changed. I nipped into the corner shop for a loaf of bread. Same as always. But this time, *she* was behind the counterSophie. Hadnt noticed her before, but now I couldnt look away. Tired but warm, with this quiet strength about her.
“White or brown?” she asked, a faint smile playing on her lips.
“White,” I mumbled, like some shy schoolboy.
“Fresh in today,” she said, wrapping it up neat before handing it over.
When our fingers brushed, something just clicked. I fumbled for coins, stealing glances. No glamour, just her shop apron, early thirties maybe, worn out but with this light inside.
A few days later, I spotted her at the bus stop, wrestling with shopping bags while three kids bounced around her. The oldest, a lad about fourteen, was carrying a heavy bag; a girl held the little ones hand.
“Let me help,” I said, taking a bag.
“No, its fine” she started, but I was already loading them onto the bus.
“Mum, whos this?” the little one piped up.
“Hush, Archie,” his sister hissed.
On the ride, I found out they lived near the factory in a rundown postwar flat. The boy was Tom, the girl Lily, the little one Archie. Sophies husband had passed years back, and shed been raising them alone ever since.
“We manage,” she said with a weary smile.
That night, I couldnt sleep. Her eyes, Archies voicesomething inside me woke up, like a promise waiting to be kept.
After that, I became a regular at the shop. Milk one day, biscuits the next, sometimes just loitering. The lads at work picked up on it.
“Andrew, mate, three trips a day? Thats not groceries, thats love,” my foreman, Harris, grinned.
“Just fancied something fresh,” I muttered, going red.
“Or the shop assistant, eh?” he winked.
One evening, I waited for her after closing.
“Let me carry those,” I said, trying to sound casual.
“You dont have to”
“Sleeping on the ceilings the tricky bit,” I joked, taking the bags.
On the walk, she told me about the kidsTom did odd jobs after school, Lily was top of her class, and Archie had just learned to tie his laces.
“Youre kind. But dont pity us,” she said suddenly.
“I dont. I want to be here.”
Later, I fixed their leaky tap. Archie hovered, fascinated.
“Can you fix my toy car too?”
“Bring it here, lets have a look,” I smiled.
Lily asked for help with maths. We worked through sums. Over tea, we talked. Only Tom kept his distance. Then I overheard:
“Mum, dyou need him? What if he leaves?”
“Hes not like that.”
“Theyre *all* like that!”
I stood in the hallway, fists clenched. Nearly walked out. But then I remembered Lilys grin when she aced her test, Archies laughter as we fixed his toy, and I knewI wasnt going anywhere.
Gossip flew at work, but I didnt care. I knew what I was living for.
“Listen, Andrew,” Vince said one night, “think it through. Why take that on? Find a nice girl without baggage.”
“Lost the plot, mate! Marry a shop assistant with three kids?”
“Piss off,” I grunted, still fiddling with the clock.
“Its not thatjust three kids, its”
“Shut it, Vince.”
One evening, I helped Archie with a school project, cutting out shapes while he stuck his tongue out in concentration.
“Uncle Andrew, are you gonna stay with us forever?” he asked out of nowhere.
“What dyou mean?”
“Yknow like a dad.”
I froze, scissors in hand. A floorboard creakedSophie stood in the doorway, hand over her mouth. Then she turned and hurried to the kitchen.
She was crying into a tea towel.
“Sophie, love, whats wrong?” I touched her shoulder gently.
“Sorry Archie doesnt understand what hes saying”
“What if hes right?” I turned her to face me.
Her tear-filled eyes widened.
“You mean it?”
“Dead serious.”
Then Tom burst in.
“Mum, you alright? He upset you?” He glared at me.
“No, Tom, its fine,” Sophie managed through tears.
“Liar! Whats he even doing here? Clear off!”
“Let him speak,” I met Toms stare. “Say what you want.”
“Why dyou keep coming? Weve no money, the flats tinywhat dyou want?”
“You. And Lily. And Archie. And your mum. I need *all* of you. Im not going anywhere, so dont hold your breath.”
Tom stared, then turned and slammed his bedroom door. Muffled sobs came through.
“Go to him,” Sophie whispered. “You have to.”
I found Tom on the fire escape, hugging his knees, staring into the dark.
“Mind if I join you?” I sat beside him.
“What dyou want?”
“I grew up without a dad too. Mum tried, but it was hard.”
“So?”
“Just know what its likeno one to show you how to fix a bike or stand up for yourself.”
“I can fight,” he muttered.
“I bet. Youre a good lad, Tom. But being a man isnt just fists. Its knowing when to let someone help. For your family.”
He was quiet. Then, barely audible:
“You really wont leave?”
“Never.”
“Swear it.”
“On my life.”
“Dont lie,” he almost smiled.
“Aunt Margaret, dyou have anything simpler?” I squinted at rings in WHSmith.
“Andrew Bennett, youre seriously marrying Sophie? With *three* children?”
“Dead serious,” I said, eyeing a plain band with a tiny stone.
I proposed without fussjust a bunch of daisies (shed once said she liked them better than roses). Archie barrelled into me at the door.
“Whore the flowers for?”
“Your mum. And theres something else.”
Sophie froze when she saw them.
“Andrew” My voice shook. “Maybe we should make it official? Feels odd, just visiting.”
Lily gasped. Tom looked up from his book. Sophie burst into tears.
“Mum, is it a bad present?” Archie panicked.
“The *best*, love,” she smiled through tears.
We married quietly in the factory canteen. Sophie wore a homemade white dress; I had a new suit. Tom shadowed her all day, serious. Lily decorated with friends. Archie raced around announcing, “This is my new dad! Forever now!”
A month later, the factory gave us a two-bed on the new estate. Harris even helped us move.
“Alright, newlywed,” he clapped my back. “Just dont expect us to paint it for you.”
“Wouldnt dream of it,” I grinned.
And we did it ourselvesTom plastering, Lily picking wallpaper, Archie handing me tools. Sophie cooked, and we ate on the floor. It was the happiest Id ever been.
Sophie quit the shopI insisted she rest. Tom started college, helping me with odd jobs. Lily took up ballet. Archie just *shone*.
Not that it was perfect. We had rows. Once, Tom came home drunkfirst time with mates. I didnt shout, just sat opposite him.
“How is it?”
“Rubbish,” he admitted. “Heads killing me.”
“Good. Means youll think twice next time.”
The years rolled on like pages in a well-loved book, and one rainy autumn evening, as I watched Archienow taller than meteach his own son to fix a broken toy car, I realized the circle had closed, and the love wed built had grown roots deep enough to outlast us all.
