The Pup
Emily and her son Alfie lived alone, just the two of them. Of course, Alfie had a father somewhere—only, that man wanted nothing to do with them. Alfie hadn’t yet asked questions about him, and why would he? In nursery, toys mattered far more than fathers.
Emily had once believed herself deeply in love with Alfie’s father. But when she told him she was expecting, he admitted he was already married—to the daughter of his employer. He couldn’t leave her, he said, not unless he fancied losing everything. And Emily, he warned, wouldn’t want a man with nothing to his name. Better to end things now, before they grew complicated. He wouldn’t pay a penny in maintenance, and if she dared fight him—well, her life would only get harder.
She vanished from his world without another word and raised Alfie on her own. He grew up bright and kind, and that was enough.
Emily taught Year Three at the local primary school, while five-year-old Alfie spent his days at nursery. They needed no one else.
After the New Year, a new P.E. teacher arrived—tall, fit, always smiling. Most of the staff were single women, and they fluttered around him, laughing at his jokes. Emily, though, kept her distance. Perhaps that was why he noticed her.
One afternoon, as she stepped out of the school gates, a jeep pulled up beside her. The P.E. teacher—James—hopped out, holding the passenger door open.
“Get in,” he said with an easy grin.
“It’s not far. I can walk,” she said, flustered.
“Even so, better to ride than walk.”
Emily hesitated but climbed in. James shut the door, revved the engine, and asked for her address.
“I don’t know it,” she admitted. “Only the nursery’s number.”
“Nursery?” He frowned.
“Where my son goes.”
“You have a son?” His voice softened. “How old?”
“Alfie. He’s five.” She reached for the door handle. “I should walk.”
“Wait. Let’s go.” He turned the key.
She shut the door. Fine. Let him drive her to Alfie. It wasn’t as if anything could happen between them. What man wanted a woman with a child when so many others were free?
“I suppose, if you’re not in a hurry…”
“Not at all. No one’s waiting for me. No wife, no kids,” he said, as if answering the question she hadn’t asked.
“Why’s that? Dreadful temper? Or did someone break your heart?”
“Cheeky,” he chuckled. “And here I thought you were shy. No, just bad luck, I suppose. Never found the right one.”
“Regretting offering me a lift? Oh, turn left here.”
The jeep rolled to a stop outside the nursery.
“I’ll wait,” James said as Emily stepped out.
She lingered. “Don’t. We live close. I don’t want Alfie asking questions. You understand?” Her tone was firm, like she was scolding a stubborn pupil. “Don’t wait.” She shut the door.
James sat there a moment, thinking. Then he drove off. When Emily emerged with Alfie ten minutes later, she sighed—half relieved, half disappointed. Of course he’d gone. Men didn’t stick around for someone else’s child. “We don’t need him anyway,” she told herself.
But the next day, James was there again.
“I know what you’re thinking,” he said, holding the door open. “Nursery?”
She smiled and nodded. When she brought Alfie to the car, the boy studied James with the same serious look Emily had given him the day before.
“This is Mr. Carter. He works at Mummy’s school. Go on, sit,” she said, forcing cheerfulness.
Alfie didn’t bounce with excitement. He climbed silently into the back seat and stared out the window.
“Where to?” James asked, twisting to face him.
“Nowhere far. No child seat—we’d get fined,” Emily said.
“The arcade, then. Too chilly for the park. Alfie, sound good?”
Alfie said nothing. James smirked and pulled away.
At school, whispers followed Emily whenever she entered the staff room. When James walked in, the others fled with knowing smiles.
He didn’t rush things. Twice, he left after dinner. The third time, he stayed. Emily barely slept, checking the clock, terrified Alfie would walk in on them.
“Relax,” James murmured at dawn, pulling her close. “He’s a clever lad. Let him get used to me.”
She slipped free and got up. Alfie was a heavy sleeper—except today, of course. When he shuffled into the kitchen after washing up, Emily was flipping pancakes while James sat at the table.
“Hello,” Alfie said slowly, eyeing his mother.
“Ready for breakfast?” She smiled, first at James, then at Alfie, sliding pancakes onto their plates—James’s first. Alfie noticed.
“Dig in,” she said, pouring tea. “How many sugars?”
“Two.” James stared at Alfie. “Race you to finish?”
“Why?”
“Just for fun.”
Alfie chewed slowly, making no effort to win. Emily was proud—he wouldn’t be goaded—but her heart sank. He didn’t like James.
“Mum says your birthday’s soon,” James pressed. “What do you want? A transformer? Remote-control car?”
“A puppy.”
“An electronic one?”
“A real one.” Alfie gave him a withering look.
“We’ve talked about this,” Emily cut in. “Puppies need care. We’re out all day. When you’re older—”
“Then I don’t want anything.”
“Finish up. We’ll go to the toy shop,” James said, swallowing his last bite.
March had warmed, then turned cruel again—icy wind, biting sleet. At the shopping centre, Emily hunted for affordable shoes while James showed Alfie the toy aisle. The boy barely glanced at robots and cars—until a sleek transformer caught his eye. But Emily whisked him off to try on coats.
They left with bags. One held the transformer.
As they crossed the car park, a flurry of snow whipped up—and something small and filthy darted under James’s feet. He swore.
“Did you see that? Could’ve stepped on it.”
Alfie spotted the shivering ball of matted fur pressed to James’s shoe.
“Get lost.” James kicked it—hard. The pup yelped, skidding toward the wheels of a reversing car.
Alfie lunged, scooping it up and glaring at James. “You—you idiot!”
“Alfie! Apologise!” Emily demanded.
He clutched the trembling pup, silent.
“He’s filthy! Probably diseased. Put him down!”
But Alfie’s expression told her he’d never let go.
“He’ll freeze. We’ll wash him. I’ll clean up after him,” he said, lip quivering.
“Your mum’s right,” James said stiffly. “Next weekend, we’ll get a proper puppy from the breeder. Give him here.”
Alfie spun and bolted—straight into the path of a reversing car.
“Alfie!” Emily screamed.
The bumper grazed him. He sat on the tarmac, still cradling the pup, tears streaking his cheeks.
“You alright? Let him go—he nearly got you killed!” Emily wiped his face.
The driver swore innocence. James brushed him off.
“Drop that mongrel,” he snapped. “Christ, he’s playing you. Needs a proper thrashing.”
“Stop it. Let’s go home.”
“He’s mine,” Alfie hissed. “And I’m not getting in the car with you. You kicked him on purpose!”
“You little brat!” James roared. “He’d have ruined my upholstery!”
“James, enough! He’s my son.” Emily turned to Alfie. “Fine. Bring him. But we’re driving.”
The sky darkened. Sleet stung their faces. The ride home was silent. At their door, Emily told James to leave.
“You’ll regret this,” he spat. “Who else’d want you—with that spoiled brat?”
She shoved him out and slammed the door. Inside, Alfie played with the pup, grinning.
“Mum, look! He’s licking me!” His face glowed with pure childhood joy.
The pup yawned, curled up, and slept.
“Was that him?” Alfie asked warily.
“Yes. But he won’t come back.”
“Good. We’ve got Smudge.”
“Who?”
“That’s his name. See? He’s smiling!”
Emily watched them, heart aching. She’d been wrong about James—he’d never love another man’s child. But Alfie was happy. And perhaps, for now, that was enough.
