He Reached His Seventieth Birthday, Raising Three Children Alone. His Wife Passed Away Thirty Years Ago, and He…

Arthur Whitaker has just reached his seventieth birthday, having raised three children on his own. His wife, Martha, died three decades ago and he never remarried. He never found a new partner luck, timing, and a string of reasons kept him single. Theres a long list to write, but does it matter? Hes not looking for explanations now.

His two sons, James and Thomas, were notorious for fights and quarrels. He shuffled them from one school to another until a brilliant physics teacher spots a clear talent in both. Suddenly the bickering stops. Their sister, Poppy, struggles to get along with her peers; the school psychologist even suggests a psychiatrist. Then a new literature teacher starts a writers club, and Poppy throws herself into it. From sunrise to nightfall she writes, and her stories first appear in the school paper, then in local literary societies.

Soon the boys earn scholarships to a prestigious universitys mathsphysics faculty, and Poppy secures a place at a renowned English literature college. Arthur is left alone, and the quiet of his house feels as still as a church mouse. He turns to fishing, gardening and raising pigs on the sprawling plot beside the River Avon that backs his cottage. He makes a decent income, though a factory engineers wage in pounds is far lower than his own.

With his earnings he can finally help his children buying them modest cars, covering pocket money and decent clothes. Yet the extra responsibilities mean his free time shrinks even more. Ten more years fly by, and his seventieth birthday looms. He plans to mark the day by himself. The sons are deep in a topsecret defence project and cant get away for a weekend; Poppy is constantly travelling to writers conferences. He tells himself hell have a quiet night with a bottle of whisky, thinking of Martha and how proud she would be of the children.

The morning of his birthday, he rises early to check on the pigs a special feeding schedule demands it. As he steps out, the field illuminated by the lingering stars catches his eye. In the middle of the grass lies a strange, elongated object wrapped in a tarpaulin.

What on earth is that? he mutters, just as spotlights blaze to life. The beams reveal a crowd emerging from the houses side door his sons with their wives and grandchildren, several relatives, and Poppy escorted by a tall man in thicklensed glasses. Balloons bob in everyones hands, some squeak with whistles, others press noisy airhorns. They all shout, wave and rush toward him.

Happy birthday, Dad! they roar.

He almost forgets the mysterious bundle, wondering what mischief the youngsters might have brought. His daughter stops his wifes hurried entrance to the kitchen and says, Dad, let me tie a blindfold on you.

Alright, he agrees.

She wraps a sturdy cloth over his eyes and spins him round a few times before leading him away.

What now? he asks, bewildered.

Its a present, says James.

Hope its cheap, Arthur jokes, though he doesnt really want anything.

Dont worry, Dad, replies Thomas. Just a little token of gratitude.

They guide him to the covered object and Poppy pulls the blindfold off. Loud music bursts from speakers, drums thudding. The children pull the tarpaulin from three sides, unveiling a gleaming Jaguar XK120, its classic lines flashing under the spotlights.

Arthur gasps, his heart hammering. He nearly collapses, but a hand steadies him and a chair appears beneath him. He can only whisper, Oh my God, oh my God.

Dad, settle down, Poppy splashes water on his face. Youve always wanted this car.

It must be astronomically expensive, he stammers.

Its priceless, James says.

Come on, sit inside. We want photos, Poppy urges.

He opens the door and tries to get in, but a cardboard box sits in the seat.

Whats this? he asks.

Open it, Poppy says.

Inside he finds two bright eyes staring up at him. He pulls out a tiny, fluffy creature and presses it close.

A real Thai kitten! Just like the one we had with Mum, he says. Remember? Bubbles. You loved him when you were tiny.

Of course we do, Dad, the kids reply.

He never gets into the car. Instead he climbs the stairs to his bedroom, shows the kitten a photograph of Martha, and tears run down his cheeks.

You see, Martha? Look, I did it. They havent forgotten, he whispers to the picture. You see?

The children keep him company; the table below is already laden, and toasts begin. Poppy leans in, whispering that shes four months pregnant and that her fiancé is visiting. Shell stay here, and his new book can be written anywhere. Her fiancé will travel to New England to see his parents, and in a couple of weeks theyll wed in the village church.

Is that alright, Dad? she asks.

It feels like a dream, he replies, kissing her forehead.

The day passes with chatter, snacks, drinks and fond recollections. Evening finds him at Marthas graveside, sitting long and talking as if she were still there. Life starts to feel meaningful again, especially with that magnificent car waiting. He imagines buying proper clothes, taking a spin to the nearby city of Bath.

On the bed, the kitten purrs. Tommy, Arthur says, repeating the name. The little cat stretches, his soft belly warm. Arthur strokes it, halfasleep.

Morning comes early. He must feed the pigs, tend the garden and head out fishing none of that ever stops. Downstairs, Poppy and her fiancé sleep. The sons and their families have left, and the house settles into quiet. Tommy follows him everywhere, tumbles into the pig trough, gets tangled in the fishing net, even tries to nibble at bait. Arthur laughs, talking to the mischievous kitten.

Feels like Im young again, he says, scratching Tommys back.

Tommy mews and clamps tiny teeth onto his hand.

Little rascal! Arthur chuckles.

The story is nothing more than a reminder to anyone who can still visit their parents: dont wait for tomorrow. Drive home now.