Prove youre really my son, he snapped out of nowhere.
I could have kicked him onto the landing, but instead a question slipped out:
How?
Buy me a house.
***
Outside StGeorges Maternity Hospital the usual scene unfolded. James stood on the steps, his face frozen in awe, camera ready. A small crowd of friends swarmed around him. Emily, cradling their newborn son, flashed a grin that showed every one of her thirtytwo teeth.
Hows he? James asked, his voice hoarse from exhaustion. He hadnt slept properly for days, running on fumes ever since Emily went into labour. Hed been glued to the phone, calling the ward repeatedly, and when the nurses mentioned a few complications his nerves had snapped. Hed been on shift at the hospital for weeks and was now teetering on the edge of collapse from lack of rest.
Emily lifted the blanket to reveal the infants tiny face.
Little Oliver, wrinkled and still sleeping, hadnt yet met his father. When he wakes, the introduction will happen, James whispered.
I look exactly the same in baby photos, James joked.
Youre a deadringer! Emily exclaimed, eyes sparkling. The nose, the lips its a copy!
James could not pull his gaze away, nodding at every word.
Oliver Jameson, welcome to the world and to our family, James declared solemnly.
Oliver, still halfasleep, squinted and let out a faint, disgruntled squeak, as if to protest his sudden arrival.
The birth was hailed as a celebration. The flat was piled high with flowers and presents. Guests praised the baby, noting how much he resembled his father. James spent the whole day holding Oliver, only stepping away to feed Emily. They were happy at least then.
***
Sixteen years later.
Life had become a quagmire. Romance had evaporated, leaving only the smell of burnt chips and socks strewn across every room. Arguments were routine about money, about how to raise a teenager, about who should take out the rubbish. James and Emily had learned to poke each others nerves over the most harmless incidents.
Oliver was the familys anchor; without him the marriage would likely have collapsed long ago. He loved his mother, reached for his father, and kept a thread of unity as the couple raised their child.
Oliver not only looked like James; he also inherited his love of football. James, a former amateur player, drove him to training and, when there were no sessions, theyd kick a ball around the back garden. As a dad, James was decent enough.
When Oliver turned sixteen, James was preparing for his yearly trip to his mothers cottage in the Cotswolds a tradition hed never included Oliver in.
What are we supposed to do while youre away? Oliver asked his mother when James left.
Nothing special, Emily shrugged. Its holiday time. Youve finished your exams, Im going on leave soon. Well figure something out.
Mom, why never visit Grandma and Granddad? Oliver pressed, looking at Emily. Ive never even seen them.
Emily was caught off guard. Shed assumed Oliverd simply accepted the distance.
Its complicated, she began hesitantly. I never really got along with them. They never liked me.
Why? Oliver persisted.
They always thought I wasnt right for you, Emily explained. They felt I wasnt a proper partner for James. It never mended, so they barely want me around. And that includes you.
So Im just a nuisance to them? Oliver snapped, a little hurt but not devastated. He figured these were strangers hed never known, so it shouldnt affect his life at least not yet.
When James returned from the Cotswolds, something in him had shifted. Outwardly he seemed the same, but the years of bickering had worn down his patience, especially with Oliver.
Usually on Fridays theyd head to a training session together. This time James said, Im not going today. Go by yourself.
Oliver was surprised but shrugged it off. The next Friday James skipped again, then the one after that, and soon the pattern continued. James grew terse, answered Olivers questions with monosyllables or ignored him altogether. When Oliver tried to strike up conversation, James was always busy or replied with something like, Youre sixteen, sort your own problems out and spend time with your mates.
Finally, after a heated argument, James shouted, Youre not my son.
Oliver froze, his mouth opening as if to protest, but the words that came out were only a hoarse, What?
Emily gasped. James! What are you saying?
Its the truth, James said flatly. He isnt my son. Everyone knows it now.
Olivers fists clenched on the armrest. The room felt like a pressure cooker. Emily tried to calm him, insisting James was simply exhausted and in a bad mood, but Oliver could not grasp how his father could deny a bond that had existed his whole life.
Then youre not my father either! James snarled.
Oliver, stop, please, Emily pleaded. Whatevers wrong with Dad, hell apologise later.
The situation deteriorated daily. No amount of talking helped; Emilys voice grew hoarse from pleading, and James kept spitting accusations like, I dont want to feed anyones child but my own. Oliver swung between rage and tears. Finally Emily filed for divorce.
James was forced to move out of the house Emily owned. He left, head held high, as if nothing had changed. How could a man who had spent a decade as a devoted dad become a stranger who wouldnt even look at his son?
Oliver could not understand.
Mum, are you hiding something? Am I not really yours? he asked. Or am I adopted?
Oliver, youre my son. Not adopted, just never doubted, Emily replied, her voice shaking. I think when James stayed with his parents in the Cotswolds, they might have said some things about me. Thats why we never spoke much after we got together.
Oliver fell silent, mulling over her words.
Why didnt they say that before? Why didnt James think about it all these years? he pressed. Did they finally tell him now?
Emily shrugged. She didnt have an answer. She had even suggested a DNA test, but James refused.
Oliver stopped reaching for his father. How could he cling to someone who constantly pushed him away? From sixteen onward he lived essentially fatherless. It felt as though the whole life before was a dream. James reappeared only once, after Emily remarried, sending a short text: You see, I was right. Oliver tried to reply, but James had already blocked him.
When Oliver turned thirty, he decided it was time to settle the loose ends. He called his father.
Hello, Oliver said, trying to sound casual. How are you?
Hey, James answered, his voice flat. Not much, really.
Id like you to come over. Lets talk. If not as father and son, then at least as old friends.
James agreed. He drove to Olivers flat. Oliver greeted him at the door, led him to the couch, and they sat in an uneasy silence.
So, how have you been? Oliver asked, attempting small talk.
Fine, James replied without meeting his eyes.
Ive wanted to ask you something for years why did you say I wasnt your son? Oliver blurted.
James shrugged. I still think so. I havent forgotten anything for the past fourteen years.
Why? Oliver pressed. You refused the DNA test. You were sure for sixteen years. What changed?
James shrugged again. Just a feeling.
A feeling? Oliver snapped. You were my dad my whole life! You took me to training, you taught me to kick a ball, you
It was in the past, James said. I dont see why I have to discuss it now. I used to consider you my son.
And now? Oliver asked.
I dont know, James admitted. I just dont believe it anymore.
Dont believe it? Olivers knuckles whitened as he hammered the sofa armrest. Is that why you left?
James remained silent.
Then, unexpectedly, James said, Prove youre my son.
I should have kicked him onto the stairs, but instead the question hung in the air.
How?
Buy me a house, James said. A loving son would do nothing for his old dad except that. If you can buy me a house, Ill believe were family again. Fourteen years of empty words arent enough.
Oliver stared, stunned. Are you serious?
Very. James nodded. If youre really my son, helping your father is only natural.
Oliver realized the absurdity. Yet deep down, since that summer, hed always hoped things would mend, even if it took years. He looked at the man who no longer felt like his father and found himself at a loss for words.
The conversation ended without resolution. James emptied half a bottle of cheap red wine and left.
Oliver reached for another bottle, but never uncorked it.
What should he do? Buy a house? Take out a mortgage? Spend the rest of his life trying to prove himself to a man who refused to acknowledge him? Was any of it worth it?
He thought it over, weighing pros and cons. In the end he decided it wasnt necessary. Hed grown up, lived a full life without his father, and could continue to do so.
Fine, he muttered, keep the house if you want. Ill keep my pockets deeper.
***
Years later Oliver moved to Italy, fell in love with a woman who had also just arrived, and they had a daughter. They eventually returned to England, where Oliver finally bought a modest house for himself not for anyone else. He no longer mourned his father; the chapter was closed.
Then one day, James called.
I wanted to know how are you? Where do you live? James asked, his voice uncertain. Heard youve gone far.
Yes, but Im back now.
Congratulations on your wedding and your daughter, albeit a bit late, James said.
Thanks, Oliver replied.
May I visit? See you, see my granddaughter catch up?
Oliver felt a familiar tremor; he knew this would happen eventually.
Do you want to keep in touch?
Yes.
Then prove it, James said.
What am I supposed to prove? James asked, confused.
That youre my father, Oliver answered.
