A dreadful discovery came about purely by chance. My little four-year-old sister, Lucy, had developed an umbilical hernia. The doctors insisted it couldnt waitthe sooner the operation, the better. Lucy refused point-blank to go to hospital without Dad. We waited till he got back from his lorry run, and he walked her all the way to the operating theatre.
“Daddy, youll wait here for me, wont you?” my sister sobbed.
“Where else would I go, love? Of course Ill wait. Why are you crying? Youre my brave girl, arent you?”
“Im not crying, Im just sighing hard!”
And with that, she was wheeled away. A routine procedure, nothing complicated. But the hospital asked our parents to donate bloodstandard practice, they said.
“Only one of us will match, surely,” Dad said. “Shouldnt you test first? Save us donating unnecessarily.”
“You can never have too much blood,” the doctor replied firmly.
Mum and Dad both gave blood. Mum went pale, looking like she might faint any second. Afterwards, she couldnt sit still, darting in and out of the treatment room, chatting with the nurse. Eventually, Lucy was brought out. Dad went to meet her, just as hed promised. He stayed with her the whole weekend. Mum seemed calmer, checked on Lucy, then dragged me home despite my protests.
“I could stay with her too,” I insisted stubbornly.
I was eleven by then. Lucymy little blonde-haired sisterwas the person I loved most in the world. More than Mum or Dad, maybe. How could you not adore her? An angel. A fair-haired angel in the flesh.
Picture a small market town with its modest hospital. Modern, well-equippedeven had a blood bank, would you believe. But a towns a town. Three days later, Lucy was back home, and Dad was packing for another haul. He popped out for cigarettes. Came back looking like thunder.
“Daddy!” Lucy wailed from the nursery (she was still on bed rest). “Did you get my marshmallows?”
Dad left the shopping bag in the hall. Told me sharply to go to the nursery. Took Mum by the elbow and steered her into the kitchen.
“Tom Tom, whats wrong?”
What followed was a conversation I wouldnt understand for years. Lucy was too young, and I did as I was told. Off to the nursery. Lucy whined for Dad and her sweets, so I offered to read to her. Thank God, she agreed.
In the kitchen, Tom, eyes wild, backed Jane against the wall. Nowhere left to retreat.
“Is it true? Lucy isnt mine?”
“WhathowTom, have you lost your mind? How could you say that?”
“Ill tell you what Im saying. My bloods A-positive. Yours is O-positive. Hers” He jerked his head toward the door. “AB-negative. If theres been a mix-up, we can test again.”
Jane shoved past him, slumped at the table, and groaned into her hands.
“Bastards. I begged them! What do they want from me? Theyre jealous, Tom. Weve got it all. Even our kids are perfect.”
“Begged them, did you? Right. Crystal clear.”
He walked out, leaving Jane in tears. One mistake. One moment of weakness with a visiting engineer. Dad always away on the road. A lorry drivers life looks romantic in films. Realitys cold and lonely. Jane told herself he probably wasnt faithful either. Gone for weeks. She leapt up, ran after himbut hed already vanished. A box of marshmallows sat alone on the table.
After his next trip, Dad had a serious talk with me. Asked me to come live with him.
“Dad, what about Lucy? Mum? Cant you stay?”
It felt like a boulder had been dropped on me. Rocks are made of layersId seen a documentary. The weight on my shoulders was no different. Fear of losing Dad. Fear of choosing. Either way, I lost someone. Doing the maths, I chose to stay. Lucy plus Mum outnumbered Dad. Though, really, Lucy alone mightve tipped the scales.
Dad saw me often after that. Lucy, though? Like she didnt exist. I didnt understand, but I knew: if he could explain, he would. At first, Lucy moped and criedheartbreaking to watch. Then she stopped asking about him. Withdrew into herself, playing alone with her toys. I couldnt grasp why this punishment had fallen on her, but I had my suspicions. As for Mum
Mum lost it. Started dragging junk home from the tip. First, harmless bitsstuff that might be useful. Then anything and everything. She stopped caring about us entirely, hunched over her rubbish treasures, muttering, sorting. How a young, beautiful woman could turn into that in eighteen monthsI couldnt fathom. But I never told Dad. Our neighbour, Mrs. Hughes, kept an eye on us. Dads child support covered food, barely. The stench clinging to our flat? Schoolmates mocked me, but I avoided fights.
“Mrs. Hughes, can you teach me to iron?” I asked, knocking on her door.
“Oliver, love, youd need to wash them first,” she said, wrinkling her nose.
“Pointless. Ive tried. But Im seeing Dad tomorrowI need to look decent.”
“So he doesnt” She gasped. “Know about Jane?”
“I wont tell him. He left. Not his problem anymore!”
She let me in, then paused.
“Bring Lucy too. Ill sort you both. And bring your clotheschange here. Least I can do.”
So we did. No more reeking like tramps at school. But kind Mrs. Hughes didnt stop there. She confronted Dad. Shamed him. He met me after school.
“Why didnt you tell me?”
“What difference would it make? Would you have come back?”
“No. But you couldve lived with me.”
“And Lucy?”
Silence. I shook my head and turned toward home.
“Wait! Lucy could stay with Gran.”
“Grans got a new bloke. Shes not bothered with us.”
“Right. Takes after” He cut himself off.
Dad did try talking to his ex-mother-in-law.
“Tom, youve lost it! Why would I want kids? Im living my second youth.”
“But Lucys your granddaughter!”
“Pity.”
“What?!”
“Pity motherhoods a certainty, but fatherhoods not. If Id had a son, and hed had kidswhos to say theyre mine? Clean slate. But she is mine. And Ive got my own life.”
“Christ. Shouldve looked closer at you before marrying Jane.”
One morning, I woke to find Mum gone. Her hoard remainedshed at least kept mine and Lucys room clearbut shed vanished. I opened the window, letting icy air dilute the stench. Fed Lucy, nibbled something myself. Took her to Mrs. Hughes.
“Mums gone. Ive got school.”
“Gone? Its freezing! Whered she go?”
My reckless, broken mother ended her days on a distant landfill. Why she froze instead of coming homeno one knew. Mrs. Hughes said social services would decide our fate. And they came. A woman eyed our flat, then turned to Mrs. Hughes.
“Could we handle the paperwork at yours?”
“Course. Come in.”
“Hold on.” Dads voice echoed up the stairs. “Sorryjust back from a run. Theyre my kids.”
“Flat yours too?” Social services smirked.
Dad didnt even glance inside. Just said to me,
“Pack your things. Were going home. Sort this place later.”
“Lucy?” I asked, terrified.
“Obviously. Lucy, you too.”
My sister peeled herself from the wall and shuffled toward him.
“Daddy?”
“Yeah, love?”
“Is it really you?”
He scooped her up, holding tight, exhaling hard.
“Its me. Im here. Its alright.”
“Dont go away again, Daddy!” Lucy wailed.
I froze. Shed spill everything, and stern Miss Social Services would take us, Dad or not. But the woman had lost interest, gossiping with Mrs. Hughes. And Dadtears streamingheld Lucy close. Hed tried so hard to resent her, to stay away. But love won. Love for us. His kids.
“I wont. Im not leaving you again.”
