Twice a week, my dad would slip out of the house for a few hours, returning full of energy and in the most marvellous mood. Soon enough, his secret was revealed.
I was ten at the time, and my older brother, twelve. He spent his days mucking about in the garden, while I helped Mum with choresmostly because we didnt get along well enough to do anything else. Dad worked at a factory, coming home late in the evenings. Mum would set the table, wed eat dinner, and thenwithout failDad would polish his shoes, spend an absurd amount of time admiring himself in the hall mirror, and leave without a word. The moment the door clicked shut, Mum would glare at it as if it had personally offended her. Naturally, I wondered where he wentand why it bothered her so much. Yet, he always came back in high spirits.
One day, curiosity got the better of me. Why do you get cross when Dad goes out? I asked.
Mum sighed. Because hes got a girlfriend.
I refused to believe it. Dad adored Mumhe wouldnt! That evening, when he left again, I followed him. To my surprise, he headed straight for the Royal Opera House and disappeared inside. I hesitated, shuffling my feet outside, until a gentle hand touched my shoulder. Turning, I found myself face-to-face with a stunning womannone other than a famous actress. With a smile, she ushered me inside.
The place was packed. And there, centre stage, was Dadsinging an aria like hed been born for it. I had no idea he was an opera singer, let alone such a brilliant one. Tears welled up as I watched, tucked in the back row. When he finished, the audience erupted into applause. He took his bows, accepted flowers, and beamed like a man whod found his true calling.
After the performance, we strolled through Hyde Park, basking in the glow of his triumph. Back home, I whispered to Mum, Hes not seeing anyonehes performing at the opera!
She smirked. I know.
