The thin, sour hiss of another tin can being pried open split the stillness of the flat. My sister Emma pressed her forehead against the cold pane, watching the snowstorm outside swallow the faint outlines of the world preparing for night. It wasnt just a flurry; it was a white, merciless wall, and Emma swore that if she stepped into it shed vanish forever perhaps for the best.
Mum, could you send someone else to Aunt Lindas? she asked, her voice sounding as if it came from another universe.
Mum, frantically shoving clothes into a duffel, let out an irritated sigh, her fingers fumbling with straps and zippers.
Do you even know what youre saying? Shes taken my place. I cant just leave her alone in this mess. And youre not staying by yourself with Arthur, she snapped.
Exactly. With Arthur, Emma replied without turning, lest Mum see the betrayal glint in her eyes.
So Ill be stuck with him for the whole twoweek break? Mum blurted.
Lord, what has he ever done to you? Hes older, so hell be wiser. Youre not a child any more, yet youre scared of him more than a toddler! she retorted.
Mum zipped the bag shut, a chill creeping down Emmas spine. Being alone with a brother who hated her while Mum pretended nothing was wrong felt unbearable. She stole a glance at the bookshelf, at a thick leatherbound volume of distant travels. Between its pages lay a ticket to another life or so she thought.
Mum swept over, thrusting a handful of notes into Emmas hand.
The bulk of the cash is in the jewellery box on the bookcase. Arthur knows. This is for an emergency. I trust youre sensible.
Emma nodded, still staring at the book, fingers gripping the money. Suddenly Mums hand reached for the same volume. Emma tried to speak, but the words caught. In an instant the envelope tucked between the pages was in Mums grasp.
Where did you get this? This letter is a hundred years old! Mums voice trembled with alarm.
Emmas cheeks flushed.
Mum, could I maybe go to my father while youre away? she whispered, but Mums expression turned the ground beneath her hopeful fantasies to ash.
Mum sneered, slipping the envelope back into the book. Which father? Do you really think hed welcome you with open arms? Maybe his trail has gone cold at that address. She slung the duffel over her shoulder and headed for the hallway. Listen, Ive got to run. Ill be back later; well talk then. Aunt Lindas number is in my diary call only if youre desperate.
The door slammed, leaving a hollow echo in the entryway. Almost immediately Arthur appeared, reeking of stale alcohol and something acrid.
Well, sis, Mums bolted. Youre under my wing now, he yawned lazily, a glint of mischief in his eyes. So, how much pocket money did Mum slip you?
The cash is in the box, Emma muttered, trying to slip into her room, but Arthur blocked the way.
Im talking about the emergency stash. Think I didnt hear you? Dont try to fool me.
Youll never see it!
Ah, you little pest!
Emma darted under his arm and slammed the door behind her, locking it.
That evening the flat throbbed with music, the raucous laughter of Arthurs friends, and a thick, cloying haze of perfume and booze. Locked in her room, Emma felt around for her knapsack. The plan was reckless first thing in the morning shed head for the address scribbled on the yellowed envelope, any place far enough away from this madness.
Just as she began to drift off, the door burst open. Arthur stood there with a girl hed dragged along.
Clear the room, we need to talk to Emma, he barked, his eyes cold as ice.
In a flash, his iron grip yanked her, a shove to the back, the door slammed shut in her face. She awoke on the concrete steps of the stairwell, knapsack pressed to her chest, hearing Arthurs drunken howl: Scram, you little mouse!
Tears streamed down her cheeks. It was night, and she was huddled on the landing, shivering in her boots, when a voice called out:
Why are you standing out here shivering?
A man in a bulky coat stood before her, his face oddly familiar. He was a neighbour shed seen in the building for years but whod vanished for a few seasons.
Brothers thrown me out, she sniffed.
And mum?
Shes gone.
For how long?
Two weeks, I think.
He shook his head.
Right then. Get inside before you catch a cold. Come over, warm up a bit. Im Graham, your flatmate. Ive known you since you were a tot.
His flat was empty, dusty, smelling of solitude and yesterdays stew. While a pot of beans and tinned meat simmered on the stove, Emma, stunned by the sudden kindness, spilled her desperate plan to find her father at the address on the envelope.
Graham chuckled, sliding a plate over.
Dont catch a fever. Youll get through the night, and in the morning things will look clearer. I had a brother too a storm of a man, not a person. I know how that feels. He set her on a sagging sofa, and that night became the border between two lives. She drifted into strange dreams, fleeing Arthurs glassy stare, only to wake in Grahams modest, safe flat opposite the chaos.
Thus began a strange friendship. She turned up whenever the house filled with drunken voices. He listened in silence, occasionally sharing fragments of his own story wandering, loss, a family that had slipped away. He became her quiet harbour, an anchor in the tempest of her existence.
Then came the final straw. Arthur, unable to locate the jewellery box, staged a brutal interrogation, shouting threats. His hand raised to strike, but Emma, heart pounding, twisted away and bolted for the stairwell.
Youll never get out! he roared after her.
Mum will come back and youll have no one left to bother! she shouted, sprinting toward a familiar door.
Dont let your spirit linger here! he snarled, his last words echoing behind her.
Grahams door was already ajar before she could knock. He looked at her tearstreaked face, the tiny knapsack, and without a word let her in.
I cant go back there, she sighed, feeling the weight lift from her shoulders.
He nodded, his gaze steady and understanding.
Then stay here until Mum returns. After that who knows? He closed the door, sealing away the noisy brother and an era of fear. Beyond that door, something new began, and for the first time in ages Emma felt that this new might not be terrifying at all.
***
Graham woke from a fit of coughing that shattered the thin nighttime silence. He lay still, staring at the ceiling, the predawn gloom pressing in. The sound was familiar, bitter as the smoke from an autumn fire. Is it Emma again?
The past few days had left him in a state of restless splitpersonality. The city, heavy with the memory of past mistakes, pressed down on him. Six months out of prison after his last runin was hardly enough time to breathe. His exwife had vanished years ago, erasing herself from his life. His plan was simple: head to an old friend, disappear into the countryside, start fresh. Then this girl appeared, an unexpected little prodigy at his doorstep, making him doubt his escape. He felt sorry for her, yet fear of any new attachment gnawed at his old, hardened heart.
A timid knock sounded at his door.
Uncle Graham, I know youre leaving. I saw your suitcase. Take me with you. I need to find my father. Heres the address. She thrust a crumpled sheet of paper toward him, and Graham whistled softly, feeling his carefully built plans crumble under her gaze.
I cant stay. Arthurs gone feral, and Mum she only shows up to cook and clean. Take me to the train, then Ill go on my own! Her voice trembled with desperation.
Emma, are you out of your mind? What if Im blamed for kidnapping you? He tried to protest, but her huge, clear eyes full of tears silenced him. Fine, I wont leave you in the lurch. Does your father know youre coming?
She nodded quickly, turning to the window. A lie hung heavy between them, unspoken but palpable. She had to find him, whatever it took.
Thank you, Uncle Graham! she breathed, hope lifting her voice.
Call your father, warn him, he said wearily, already knowing the call would never happen.
The train carriage smelled of boiled potatoes, sausage, and dust; outside, dusk painted the snowcovered fields in ghostly shades. Emmas heart raced, then steadied, as the thought of finally meeting her father filled her with a fierce, trembling anticipation.
Graham, unwilling to let her drift alone into the unknown, bought tickets to the town where her father supposedly lived. He planned to drop her off there and continue on his own way. While she slept, a crumpled note slipped from a high shelf and fell onto the table. Graham picked it up and, almost by accident, read:
Dear Vera, happy birthday. Sorry everything turned out so foolish. Kiss my daughter for me. Love, Tom.
He folded the paper gently and, waiting for Emma to wake, handed it to her.
Sorry, didnt mean to read it. It from him?
She nodded silently.
Tell me honestly, did you call him? Is he waiting?
She lowered her head.
No. I only have the address. Ive never seen him.
Graham exhaled sharply.
Blast, Im a fool! Are you sure he still lives there?
No Mum said he might have moved. But I feel hed protect me! Hed never let me be hurt! Her voice quivered with desperate faith.
He shook his head, watching her tuck the scrap of paper away. A sudden, sharp thought struck him: if he hadnt taken the crooked road years ago, perhaps hed have a family now. Maybe a daughter like Emma would have been his own.
The artist T.C.Clina
Reaching the town, they spent another day searching. The address led to a flat occupied by strangers. A neighbour, whod overheard their conversation, felt sorry for the girl and, digging through his notebook, found a new lead a village where Ian, according to rumors, had gone for inspiration.
They rattled to the remote village on a creaking bus. An elderly woman, dry as last years grass, met them at the doorway of her ramshackle cottage, eyeing them suspiciously.
No money! Im fed up with city folk! she snapped.
Were not after money, Emma said softly. Im your granddaughter.
The womans eyes widened, then softened, letting them inside. She fed them stew and, for hours, recounted stories of her son a talented yet fragile man, forever chasing a phantom happiness.
Grandma, where is he now? Emma asked, unable to hold back.
The address was there, but Im not sure its still right
Graham, listening in silence, leaned toward her and whispered, Why do you need a father youve never met?
Its a feeling, Uncle Graham. I think everything will be alright, she replied, her belief stubborn and naive.
The new clue led them to a bland, fivestorey block on the outskirts. The clock read half past five as they reached the right floor. After a long knock, a hoarse, irritated voice asked, Who the hell is that?
On the landing stood a gaunt man with a rumpled, sleepless face, reeking of stale whisky and damp.
You Ian Saunders? Graham asked.
Yes. What do you want? I didnt arrange an interview…
Were here on personal business. May we come in? Graham stepped forward.
The flat was dim and cluttered. Ian pushed aside empty cans and gestured to a chair.
You remember Vera? Emma asked, feeling her legs wobble.
Vera Saunders? The cook? We met a few times then she claimed she was pregnant. I wasnt ready for a child, so it ended. He stared at Emma, then asked, What are you doing here?
Im your daughter. The daughter of that Vera.
Ians face twisted with disgust more than surprise.
And what? What do you want from me?
The world collapsed in an instant. Emma bolted, running out of the flat without a thought. Graham caught up with her in the street. She sobbed, tears streaming down her pale cheeks.
I dont want to live, Uncle Graham! Why am I useless? I found him and lost him again!
Hold on, Emma! Dont talk rubbish. Lifes a pendulum it swings one way, then the other. Youre still young, the whole future lies ahead. Fate doesnt cheat brave, stubborn souls. Happiness and love will come.
Please call Mum, she whimpered, head bowed, as if shed already been driven mad.
Mum arrived on the first available flight. In the airport she grabbed Emma, holding her tight, swaying silently together. She was gaunt, hair greyed from sleepless nights, but in her arms the whole universe seemed to fit.
Darling, why didnt you call? I was going crazy! The police were about to she said, eyes flicking to Graham standing a short distance away. He didnt bother you, did he?
No, Mum. Hes a decent man, better than my socalled father. Hes the one I should have married.
Mum she could only sigh.
The plane climbed, the sunset flooding the cabin in a warm glow. Below, the ground disappeared into clouds. Graham watched from the stairwell, his own path now stretching toward work, a new honest life. He promised to write.
Well fly back, Ill hand Arthur over to that clinic you mentioned. Hes at Aunt Lindas now. Hell never touch you again. Im sorry I didnt see it sooner, Veras voice trembled.
Its fine, Mum. Well get through. The important thing is were together, Emma replied, eyes on the window as the clouds drifted past.
Months later a rough envelope arrived. The handwriting was shaky yet firm. Emma imagined the senders face lined, eyes forever a little sad but understanding. He wrote that hed found work, a roof over his head, and that happiness didnt need much. She read the letter again, pressed it to her chest, and walked to the window. Outside, the first autumn leaves spiraled down, but inside her heart felt light and calm. The road home was longer than shed imagined, but she had finally found him not the phantom father of childhood dreams, but a steady, reliable harbour that had always waited. She sat at the table and began to write her reply.
