**Diary Entry: The Surprise**
“Fancy a pint at the pub? Bit of a chat?” Oliver asked as we clocked out for the day.
“Sorry, mate. Ive got to get home. Look.” I pulled a small velvet box from my pocket and opened it.
“Blimey, youre actually doing it?” Oliver whistled, eyeing the ring. “Never thought youd tie the knot.” He clapped me on the back.
“Emma and I have been together four yearstime to make it official. Shes got no idea. Its a surprise. If I dont ask her now…”
“You never will,” Oliver finished for me. “Still having second thoughts? Come off it, mate. Emmas a stunner. Im a bit jealous, truth be told.”
“Right, Id best be off.” I tucked the box away. “Promised Emma Id be home early,” I said, hurrying to the lift.
On the way, I stopped at a florist for a bouquet of red rosesEmmas favourite. I laid them on the passenger seat, rehearsing my speech at every red light. “Darling Emma, youve waited so long Emma, I love you, marry me. No, thats rubbish…”
Nothing sounded right. After parking, I grabbed the roses and headed inside. Just as I reached for the door handle, my phone rang.
“James, love…” Mums voice was shaky. Something was wrong.
“Whats happened?”
“Im all right. Its Sarah Shes gone, love.”
“Bloody hell…” My hand dropped from the door.
It didnt make sense. Sarah, who Id known since we were kids, was gone. “How?”
“A hit-and-run. Died instantly. They never found the driver. Funerals tomorrow. Will you come? She loved you…” Mum sniffed. “Lucys all alone now. Someones got to decide Im scared theyll take her to foster care.”
“Ill be there,” I promised.
“Please, son…” Mum wept.
“Sarahs gone.” The words looped in my head.
I hadnt loved her the way shed loved me. She deserved better.
I hardly remember climbing the stairs or standing at our flat door. The roses felt absurd in my hands. The news had knocked me sidewaysproposing now felt like a sick joke.
“Special occasion?” Emma asked, stepping into the hallway. The flat smelled of roast dinner, but the warmth of it just felt wrong.
“Roses dont need a reason.” I forced a smile, handing them over and pecking her cheek.
Emmas face fell. She disappeared into the kitchen; soon, water ran in the sink.
When I followed, the roses stood in a vase, and Emma was setting the table. I wasnt hungry but didnt want to upset her.
“Not eating?” she asked.
“Not tonight. Mum called. Sarah died. Funerals tomorrow.”
“Sarah your?”
“Ex-wife,” I clarified. “Got to sort things out for Lucy. Our daughter.”
“Waityou never said you had a daughter. How old is she?”
“Twelve, I think.”
“So youre bringing her here?” Emmas voice sharpened.
“Dunno. Sarahs got no family. Mums too old to take her. Sorry, Ive got to pack.”
“Youre actually going to the funeral?” Emma sounded incredulous.
“On the night train. Ive already called work.”
“Youve been divorced for years. She probably had someone else”
“Emma, not now.” I pocketed the ring.
“So this is my surprise? A ready-made family?” She shoved her chair back.
“No. Well talk when Im back.” My fingers closed around the box.
***
Sarah and I grew up togethersame nursery, same school. She was always pale, thin, a scarf perpetually knotted round her neck. When her parents died in Year 11, her gran passed soon after. My folks took her in. Dad joked shed make a fine wife. Id scoff.
Then, before A-Levels, my parents went away for a weekend. We were alone. I dont remember how it happened, but Sarah got pregnant. Mum and Dad said wed marry.
I cared for her like a sister. Love was supposed to be grander, wasnt it? But I married her. The pregnancy nearly broke her. When I saw Lucy, I felt nothing. The truth hit meI didnt love Sarah. Didnt want this. I scraped through uni, transferred to London, and left.
Dad said our family didnt abandon children. That if I left, I was dead to him. Sarah and Lucy stayed with them.
I never went back. Not even for Dads funeral. Mum sent photos of Lucy growing up. The older she got, the more she looked like Sarah. I felt nothing.
Now, twelve years later, I was going home. No way was I taking Lucy. What kind of father was I? “Our family doesnt do this. Youre no son of mine.” Dads words haunted me. Funnyhed been the one to push for the divorce, said Sarah deserved better.
Shame we never made peace.
Then came Emma. Impossible not to love her. But Id dragged my feet, bought the ring too late. Now Sarahs death had upended everything.
Maybe it was for the best. The spark with Emma had fizzledwe were just comfortable.
Mum wept when I arrived. Lucy stood back, arms crossed.
“Lucy, sweetheart, this is your dad,” Mum said.
Lucy snorted, spun on her heel, and marched to my old room.
“Give her time,” Mum murmured.
Sarahs coffin was closed. Like shed never existed. Lucy didnt cry.
I tried talking to her. She ignored me. Later, I overheard them:
“Lucy, love, Im too old to keep you. Just go with your dad for a bit”
“Why? He doesnt want me. Id rather foster care.”
“Dont be daft! Not with a living father”
“Where was he before?” The door slammed.
But she came to London. On the train, she asked, “Who do you live with?”
“Mum told you? Yeah, theres someone. Ive got a ring. Shell like you.” I wasnt sure.
The flat was empty. Emmas things were gone. Her keys on the sideboard.
“Your rooms there,” I said, vanishing into the loo. Emmas number rang out. Probably blocked me.
When I emerged, Lucy was making tea and toast. No hysterics. No gloating.
Next day, we enrolled her in school, bought clothes. We barely spoke.
I showed her Londoncinema, ice skating in Hyde Park. Slowly, the ice between us thawed.
Then work sent me to China. A week away. What about Lucy?
“Im not a kid,” she said.
“Its London. You dont know it yet.”
“Ask Sophie from work. She fancies you,” Oliver suggested.
He was right. Sophie blushed whenever I walked past. She jumped at the chance to help.
They got on brilliantly. I left, relieved.
Oddly, I missed Lucy. Called every day. Sophie answered, chatting brightly. Lucy still didnt trust me.
Returning, I saw them waiting by the dooralike as sisters. My chest tightened. No one had ever waited for me like that.
Lucy hugged me. Sophie lingered, smiling. I wanted to hug her too.
“Home? Ive got presents.”
Their delight over trinkets warmed me more than the gifts themselves.
“Anything to eat?” I asked.
“Obviously!” Sophie dashed to the kitchen. Lucy followed. Dish sounds. Laughter.
At dinner, they bombarded me with questions. It was nice.
Later, Sophie made to leave.
“Da-ad,” Lucy drawled, nodding to the hall.
Dad. First time shed called me that.
“Sophie, stay. Its late.”
Lucy dragged her off to her room.
That night, I lay awake. So much had changed. Lucys thaw was Sophies doing. She was easy. Uncomplicated. Emma wouldve clashed with Lucy.
Two months ago, if youd said Id be living with my daughter, Id have laughed. And Sophie Knowing she slept just thereit felt right. Too soon to say, but maybe.
Funny how life turns out.
