When the Train Has Already Departed

James, can you hear yourself? So Im supposed to wait until Im forty to fix the mistakes of your youth? And why should I foot the bill for the fact that you found your garage more exciting than your own son? Emily asked, genuine bewilderment in her voice.

Come on, Em, dont be like that! James pressed on. I was a fool. I didnt value it. I didnt realise what I was losing. And now its all gone, Harry doesnt even see me as his dad.

And why not? Emily smirked bitterly. He spent seventeen years not with his father, but with the neighbour down the hall. Did you think you could switch a child on and off like a telly when you felt like playing dad for a bit?

James darkened, his brow furrowing. A familiar irritation flickered in his eyes the one Emily saw every time the topic of his paternal duties came up.

Em, enough! Its all yesterdays business. Give me one more chance, he insisted stubbornly.

So I can have a laugh, dump everything on me, and let another child grow up fatherless? Emily crossed her arms. Thanks, Ive had enough. No, James, thats not even up for discussion.

A mask of hurt and anger twisted his face. He had no retort, so he snorted angrily and buried himself in his phone.

The argument was exhaustedfor now. The problem, however, lingered. Emilys heart was left with a heavy aftertaste, not because of Jamess absurd demands but because of her son, Harry.

Emily was twentythree when Harry was born. She still recalled standing outside the StThomass Hospital, exhausted yet radiant, cradling a tiny bundle swaddled in a white blanket. James hovered like a carrion bird, never moving an inch. He beamed with joy, tucking the blanket, planting kisses on Emilys forehead, and, on occasion, reverently scooping the baby up.

Look at this little thing! With the same dimple on his chin, he exclaimed, eyes sparkling. Im a proper dad now, Emily. Im just getting it. Ill do everything with him: walks, changing, teaching him football Ill be the best dad in the world, youll see!

Emily met his excitement with an equally bright gaze, believing every word. She imagined a perfect family full of love, care, and shared happiness.

But, as it often goes, reality turned out to be far more prosaic and harsh.

It was a deep night. Dark circles under Emilys eyes, she paced the bedroom, rocking a wailing infant for the third time that evening. James, meanwhile, tossed uncomfortably, pulling the duvet over his head.

Can you put him down already? he hissed softly. Ive got work tomorrow; I need to get up early!

In those moments Emily slipped into the spare room, tears of helplessness welling up. The babys cries grew louder, desperate to stay in the bedroom, but she had no choice. She shut the door and spent hours rocking Harry, just to let James get some sleep.

Weekend arrived. Exhausted after a week of sleeplessness, Emily timidly asked:

James, could you take him for a couple of hours? Im dead on my feet, I need some sleep

Later, Em. I cant now; Ive got plans. The lads promised to bring over a new bike, well be fixing it.

But I cant

Youre strong, Em. Youll manage. Ill be back and help.

The door closed, leaving Emily alone with her strength and the relentless demands of motherhood. The promised later never materialised.

Time rolled on. Harry grew. Emily tried to forge any connection between father and son. She approached James, slumped in his armchair, eyes glued to the footie on TV, and handed him the rosycheeked toddler tugging at his sleeves.

Hold him, spend a bit of time, please she pleaded, not for a break but to stitch the family together.

James took the boy reluctantly, as if handed a suspicious parcel. He held him on outstretched arms, barely pressing him, his gaze fixed on the screen. A minute, maybe ninety seconds, later he carelessly set the child down on the floor and returned to the match.

Now Harry was five, building a Lego castle on the livingroom carpet. James passed the sofa, ignoring his son completely. Harry, accustomed to his fathers absence, didnt even look up.

James wasnt a total disaster of a husband. He brought home a steady £2,500 a month, helped Emily with cooking and tidying, but he missed his sons childhood entirely. No wonder, when Harry grew up, he never saw James as a dad.

Harry, hows school going? James asked one afternoon.

Ah fine, I guess, the boy mumbled.

Your grades? Hope theyre decent? James persisted. Let me know if you need help. I dont want my son becoming a binman.

No, Dad, thanks. All good, Harry replied, darting off to his room.

Look, we could go fishing this weekend if you like! James called after him.

Harry didnt answer. Only Emily knew that today hed be at a school disco, hoping to impress a girl from his class whod turned him down, and that fishing held zero appeal for him.

The train had clearly left the station. Harry was no longer the little lad craving his fathers attention. The childhood James wanted to make up for was irrevocably gone. When he finally grasped this, he started dreaming of a clean slate a second child. Emily, scarred by every sleepless night, was adamantly opposed.

Soon, relatives caught wind of the family drama.

Love, I hear everything, James told me everything. Listen to your mother, have another baby. Hes changed, grown up! Dont deny him a second chance. Itll be a joy to raise another little one!

Jamess motherinlaw chimed in:

Emily, if you dont have one, you could lose him. He wants to be a dad. If you wont, someone else will. Think of the futureyour first son will soon leave the nest, and a second will keep your marriage together and give you support in old age.

Emily felt doubly insulted hearing this from other women. It was as if her body and life had become bargaining chips in some mad market. Everyone saw her as mother and wife, not as a tired woman whod already walked that road and remembered how it ended.

Desperation sparked a halfmad plan. She dug up an old box of Harrys baby stuff in the cupboard and found a dusty, stillworking Tamagotchi. A tiny electronic pet that needed feeding, playing, healing, and cleaning.

When James came home from work, Emily handed him the plastic egg with a tiny grey screen.

Whats this? he asked, puzzled, inspecting the gift.

Consider it a probation period. Treat it like a tenth of what fatherhood will demand. Feed it, press the buttons, keep it alive. If, after a year, your Tamagotchi is still beeping, Ill believe youre ready for a real child.

James looked at Emily, then burst into loud laughter, assuming it was a joke. His mirth quickly turned to irritation when he saw her deadpan expression.

Youre serious? Comparing a real baby to this gizmo?

Start with this. If you cant manage a toy, how can you handle a child?

James smirked, shoved the gadget into his pocket, and went about his day. For three days he dutifully woke up at night to feed the virtual pet. On the fifth day he started losing his mind, but didnt quit. After a week he complained that the lack of sleep was ruining his job.

On the eighth day, he flung the Tamagotchi onto the kitchen table. The screen displayed a bold red cross hed failed.

Forgot to feed it. Work was a nightmare, James muttered, avoiding Emilys gaze.

Arguments continued, but the storm finally subsided. Misunderstanding and resentment lingered, yet James no longer pressed his agenda with such zeal.

Three years later, everything fell into place. Harry, now a university student, brought his girlfriend home, and soon announced they were expecting.

James underwent a renaissance of enthusiasm. He now spoke of a second chance, this time as a grandfather. He bought a pram with money saved for emergencies, stocked up on oversized jumper suits, and amassed Lego sets with tiny pieces. He swore hed be the best granddad ever, always there to help, walk, and babysit.

Emily watched all this with healthy scepticism.

When the grandchild arrived, the story unsurprisingly repeated itself. The first weeks James was a whirlwind of activity rocking, snapping photos, bragging to anyone whod listen. But once the initial buzz faded, his fervour dimmed. He persuaded the young couple to move into a rented flat, limiting his help to occasional, meticulously planned weekend visits when the baby was fed, changed, and in a good mood. The moment the infant wailed, James would find an urgent excuse: a work call, a meeting, a trip to his mothers cottage.

Emily stepped in, rescued the situation, watched the whole scene unfold, and realised shed made the right call. Harry grew into a considerate, responsible man who never left his wife to fend for herself. James he remained the sort of chap who loves the idea of fatherhood more than the actual work of it.