The Stern Father-in-Law

Father, would you mind if we stayed with you for a few months? George asked, his voice tentative.
Dont mind, his father replied shortly.

Their parents had gone their separate ways about a decade earlier. Two years after the split, Georges mother remarried, but his father, Arthur Whitaker, had remained a solitary widower. He was a hardhearted man, some might even say unbearable. Women drifted in and out of his life, never staying long, yet he never abandoned his son. Besides the child support, he supplied everything George needed and took an active, though stern, part in his upbringingfirm, masculine, devoid of overt affection, yet undeniably paternal.

George had been on his own since his school days. After leaving the eleventh grade he took a job and moved straight out of his mothers house into a modest dormitory room. A few years later he married Evelyn, a schoolfriend, and together they planned to buy a house on a mortgage, scrimping for the deposit. Their landlord, however, announced that the room they were renting was to be sold, and they would have to wait while the sale went through. With their plans in limbo, George thought of asking his father if he could lodge at his threebedroom flat, where Arthur lived alone. The refusal would have left George baffled, and he was about to end the conversation when his father added, You may stay, but keep it quiet.

Thank you, George breathed a sigh of relief.

Arthur was a man of few words, a lover of silence, and quick to hoard his emotions. His demand for quiet did not surprise George, and Evelyn, now five months pregnant, welcomed the rule, craving peace herself. She did not realise, however, that Arthurs idea of quiet applied only to them, not to his own household.

Each dawn at five oclock Arthur would trudge about the house in his worn slippers, rattling the floor as he performed his morning rituals: the loo, the washroom, the kitchen, back to the loo, then the bath, and again the kitchen. The early hush was broken only by the incessant clack, clack, clackand the occasional crash. Bloody hell! he would mutter, as though the house were empty of anyone elses ears. He felt no remorse; the house was his domain, and anyone who disliked his habits could simply go elsewhere.

Beyond the morning clatter, Arthur kept a tight rein on George and Evelyns habits. No television after nine at nightits noise grated on him; no frying foodits smells irked him; water and light were to be savedhe was not a man of plenty. Their quiet compliance lasted a week until Evelyn was admitted to the infirmary with a complication. To her astonishment, two days later a sternlooking Arthur appeared at the bedside with a bag of fruit.

The baby needs vitamins, he said, thrusting the parcel forward.
Thank you, Mr. Whitaker, Evelyn replied, her voice hoarse.
Very well, he nodded. Ill be going. Follow the doctor’s orders.

She managed a weak smile. Goodbye.

After Evelyns discharge, Arthur rose at five again, but this time he tried to make less noise, as if his earlier boisterousness were a lesson. He even attempted a kind of care, callously inviting her to breakfast or silently snatching a rag to mop the floors himselfanything to ease her burden.

Three months later they finally bought a cottage in the northshire countryside. Arthur insisted on a full refurbishment before they moved in. As the renovations roared on, Evelyn gave birth, and with the infant, little Clara, she was forced back into Arthurs house. The grandparents visited a couple of times after the discharge, but Arthur always pretended indifference to their presence, though his face softened whenever he looked at his granddaughter. He swore to shield her from any threat he imagined lurked in the world.

Every morning he whisked Clara away, granting Evelyn a few extra hours of sleep after sleepless nights. He even learned to change her nappies. When the day came to shift them into their own home, Arthur, wiping a reluctant tear from his cheek, declared with a grim expression,

Youre still young, you cant manage on your own with a babe. Stay here a while longer. Not for long, mind youuntil Clara is betrothed.

George and Evelyn exchanged bewildered glances. Arthur, turning away, added, Its just oldage sentimentality, nonsense. Pack your things, bring Clara in, and youll have time to move later, you daft heirs of the King of Heaven.

George and Evelyn had expected their fatherinlaw to wait for them to move out, but the tables had turned. They could only marvel at the changes in the oncestern recluse. In the end they chose to stay, for a grandfathers love was a blessing they had not foreseen.

Arthur, now cooing fondly over Clara, felt a happiness he had never known. In his later years, that tiny, cherished human being became the most beloved and priceless treasure of his life.