Dad’s Journey

Youll have to prove youre my son, he snapped out of nowhere.

I should have given him a swift kick onto the landing, but instead he asked, How?

Buy me a house, he said.

***

Outside the maternity ward a familiar scene unfolded. Tom stood on the steps, his face frozen in awe, camera ready. A crowd of his mates hovered behind him. Emily, cradling her newborn son, beamed at her husband with all thirtytwo teeth shining.

Hows the little one? Tom asked, his voice hoarse from the sleepless night hed spent worrying, calling the hospital every hour while Emily was in labor. When they told him there were complications, his nerves shattered and he rushed over. Hed been on duty there for days and was already feeling the effects of sleep deprivation.

Emily lifted the blanket, revealing the babys face.

Little Andrew, wrinkled and dozing, hadnt yet met his father. Hed greet him when he awoke.

I look just like the pictures we took of the kids, Tom muttered.

Spot on! Emily exclaimed delightedly. The nose, the lips a perfect copy!

Tom could not take his eyes off the infant and nodded at every compliment.

Andrew John, welcome to the world and to our family, Tom declared solemnly.

Andrew, it seemed, was not thrilled. He woke, twisted his mouth in displeasure and let out a tiny, croaky protest.

The birth was a celebration. The flat was overflowing with flowers and gifts. Guests gushed over the baby, noting how much he resembled his father. Tom spent the whole day holding Andrew, only handing the bottle to Emily. They were happy then.

***

Sixteen years later.

Life had become as sticky as mud. Romance had evaporated, leaving only the smell of burnt potatoes and socks strewn about the flat. Arguments were commonplaceabout money, about how to raise the boy, about who would take out the rubbish. Tom and Emily had learned to pick quarrels in the most harmless situations.

Andrew was their anchor, keeping the family afloat. Without him, they might have split years earlier. He loved his mother, reached for his father, and still held the family together.

Andrew not only looked like Tom; he loved football. Tom, a former athlete himself, drove him to training. When there were no sessions theyd head out to the garden with a ball. As a dad, Tom was decent enough.

When Andrew turned sixteen one summer, Tom was preparing to visit his mothers cottage in the Cotswolds, his annual trip that hed never taken Andrew on.

What will we do now? Andrew asked his mother when his dad left.

Nothing special, Emily shrugged. Youve got the holidays, youve sat your exams. Im about to take a break myself. Well sort something out.

Mum, Ive asked before and you always dodged it, but why do we never visit Granddad and Grandma? Andrew pressed, his eyes searching. Ive never even seen them.

Emily was taken aback. Shed thought hed simply grown out of it, that hed figured it all out.

Well it just happened that way, she stammered. I never got on with your grandparents. They never liked me much.

Why? Andrew pressed.

They were against us from the start, thought I wasnt right for their son. It never mended. They dont want to see me, and I suppose they feel the same about you.

So Im not a daughterinlaw to them, and Im not a grandson to them?

In short, yes. Dont take it personally.

What, am I a child? Andrew snapped, a hint of hurt in his tone.

It irritated him, but he didnt fall apart. After all, they were strangers he barely knew, and he told himself it wouldnt affect his life. Yet, soon enough, it did.

When Tom returned from the cottage something had shifted. On the surface he seemed the same, but the years of bickering with Emily had altered his attitude toward his son.

Usually on Fridays theyd go to football practice together. This time Tom said, Im not going today. Go on your own. Andrew was surprised but shrugged it off, assuming his dad was tired. The next Friday Tom refused again, then the next, and soon the visits grew rarer.

Tom answered Andrews questions with monosyllables or ignored them entirely. When Andrew tried to talk, Tom was always busy or tossed a dismissive, Youre sixteen, sort your own problems out, you should be with your mates.

Then, one evening, Tom snapped, Youre not my son.

Andrew sat frozen, unsure if it was a joke. He searched Toms eyes for any hint of humour, but found only a cold hostility.

Emily gasped. Tom! What are you saying? Have you lost your mind?

Speaking the truth, Tom replied flatly. He isnt my son. You thought no one would find out? Everyone knows now!

A fight was about to break out.

Emily tried to calm Andrew, saying his father was just exhausted and in a bad mood. Andrew couldnt grasp it. How could a man deny his own child after a lifetime of being a dad? If youre not my son, then youre not my father either! he shouted.

Andrew, calm down, his mother pleaded, Your father will apologise later.

Days passed with no resolution. Emilys pleas fell on deaf ears, and she found herself repeatedly telling herself, I dont want to feed another mans child. Andrew oscillated between fury and restrained tears. Emily, worn out by watching her son dissolve, finally filed for divorce.

Tom moved out of the house that belonged to Emily. He left, divorced, his head held high.

How could a man who had cared for his child for years become a stranger who wouldnt even look at him?

Andrew could not understand.

Mum, are you hiding something? Am I not really your son? Am I adopted?

Andrew, youre our son. Not adopted. Just not you know. She guessed that perhaps in the cottage Toms parents had whispered something to him about her, as they had when they first met. Shed never spoken to them again.

Andrew fell silent, mulling over her words.

Why didnt they say this earlier? Why didnt my father think about it all these years? he asked.

Emily shrugged. She didnt know. Shed even suggested a paternity test, but Tom refused.

From sixteen onward Andrew lived essentially fatherless. It seemed everything before was a dream. Tom resurfaced once when Emily remarried, sending a brief message: See, I was right.

In what?

Thats how she turned out, he wrote. Shes got a husband now, I suppose.

Andrew tried to reply, but Tom had blocked him. The gesture sealed the rift.

When Andrew turned thirty, he decided it was time to settle the matter. He called his father.

Hello, he said, as if nothing had changed. How are you?

Hello, Tom replied, his voice distant. Nothing much.

Id like you to come over, Andrew said. Lets talk. If not as father and son, then as old friends.

Tom agreed. He arrived, and Andrew met him at the door. They sat on the sofa, a heavy silence hanging between them.

So, how are you? Andrew ventured.

Fine, Tom answered, not meeting his gaze.

Ive wanted to tell you this for years, Andrew began, but Im not sure I still want to. I just need to understand why you said I wasnt your son. We look alike as two peas in a pod.

Toms reply was blunt: I still think that way. I havent forgotten it in the fourteen years.

Why? Andrew asked. You could have taken the test, you turned it down. So why are you sure Im not yours?

Tom shrugged. Just how I feel.

How can you feel that when youve been a dad all my life? Andrew exclaimed. You drove me to training, you taught me

Whats the difference? Tom said. That was then. I dont see any point in discussing it now. I used to think you were my son.

And now? Andrew pressed.

I dont know, Tom admitted, spreading his arms. I just dont believe it.

Dont believe? Andrew slammed his fist into the armrest. Is that why you left? Youre wrong. Youre my father, you know that.

Tom paused. Prove youre my son, he suddenly blurted.

I should have kicked him onto the stairs then, but instead I asked, How?

Buy me a house, Tom said. A loving son would do that for his old man. Prove were family. Ive heard empty words for fourteen years. Youre grown, and if you truly consider me your father, do something concrete.

Andrew stared, bewildered. Was this a joke, a cruel tease, or a desperate attempt to squeeze something out of him?

You serious? he asked.

Absolutely, Tom nodded. If youre my son, its only natural to help your parents.

Andrew saw the absurdity, yet deep down hed always believed that someday things would be right again. He looked at a man who now seemed no longer his father and found no words.

The conversation ended in silence. Tom finished half a bottle of red wine and left.

Andrew was left with another bottle, unopened.

What was he to do? Buy a house? Take a mortgage? Spend years of his life trying to convince a man who refused to recognise him as his son? Was it worth it?

He thought it over for a long while and concluded it wasnt. Hed grown up, lived his whole life without his father, and could continue to do so.

Fine, he whispered, keep your house. Ill keep my pockets wide.

***

Later Andrew moved to Italy, met a woman who had also just arrived, and they had a daughter. They returned to England, he finally gave up the flat and bought a house for himself, not for any overbearing relative. He no longer missed his father; the chapter was closed.

Then the phone rang.

Its Tom. I wanted to know how are you? Where are you living? he said, uncertain. Heard youve gone far.

Yes, but Im back now.

Congratulations on the wedding and on the daughter, even if a bit late.

Thanks, Andrew replied.

May I visit? See you, see my granddaughter have a chat?

Andrew felt that this moment was inevitable.

Do you want to stay in touch?

Yes.

Then prove it, Tom said.

What am I supposed to prove? Tom was confused.

That youre my father, Andrew answered.