The Last Happy Day
Do you even know what youre doing? shouted Emilys mother, her voice tightening into a hiss. You bring her a packet of sweetsonce every six months. How thoughtful, Father! A real doting dad, huh? Is that all youre capable of? A candy and youre off, ignoring every bit of responsibility? Do you ever wonder how we manage? Ever brought any money? No! You only pop by now and then so she wont forget dad. A good, kind father who hands a child, who sits alone for days because I cant leave work, a handful of candy!
It had never happened before that Sarah, Emilys mum, would argue with David in front of her daughter. Now Sarah strained to keep the conversation out of earshot, the thin walls doing little to help.
***
Twelve square metres of cramped flat. In the corner a cluttered desk, a scatter of pencils, a crooked paper cutout, a stack of textbooks opened at random pages.
This was the room Emily shared with her toys, the place where she spent most of her solitary evenings. She was seven, already accustomed to being on her own, especially after dark. School gave her friends, a seatmate, a bustling hallway, but at home the house fell silent.
Emily wrestled with a maths worksheet, numbers swimming before her eyes. She was exhausted, the solutions eluding her, but the notebook had to be finishedshe could not hand in a blank sheet, and no one was there to help. She didnt know when Sarah would return, or whether shed have any time at all.
Everything fell on Emilys shoulders: school, the walk past the twoacre council estate where old swings creaked in the wind, reheating yesterdays soup on the stove, then tackling algebra.
Five plus three eight. Write eight, she muttered, her voice steady as she whispered each answer.
A voice seemed to hover beside her, imagined but familiar: Youre growing up, Em. You can manage.
Emily managed because Sarah, her mother, was at work from dawn till dusk. Always. A mother who tried, who loved, who so rarely could simply be a mother.
A sudden clatter from the stairwell broke the thin walls. Voices rose in an argument. Emily froze, pencil hovering over the paper. Someone knocked on the flats door. Mother and someone else.
Cautiously, Emily slipped to the door, eased it open a crack, and peered into the dim hallway.
In stepped a scene both familiar and strange. Sarah stood in the doorway, her morningcurl fringe pushed to the side, and beside her stood her father, David.
David, who hadnt lived with them for years, whose sleek black car occasionally rolled into the communal yard, stirring a mix of nerves and a thin hope in Sarah. In the halfyear since his absence, Emily had almost forgotten she had a dad.
In his hand, stark against the grey concrete of the stairwell, was a bright red bag.
Sarah hung her coat on a peg. David slammed the flats front door behind him.
Emily! Sarah called, her tone soft but edged, then, turning to David, added brusquely, We have a guest.
Emily stepped out, eyes fixed on the red bag. David smiled, a practiced grin, and cooed, Hello, princess. He thrust the bag toward her. Heretreats. I saved up just for you.
Emily lifted the bag, heavy with a gleam of foil wrapping. Inside, glinting sweetsrare treats in a house where candy only appeared when Grandma visited or at a school fair.
She unwrapped a chocolate bear, inhaled the sugary scent, and blurted, Thanks, Dad! before the candy disappeared into her mouth.
Sarah watched, her expression a mix Sarah had learned to read: not approval, not joy, certainly not a desire to see David again. It was something more complicated.
David, lets go to the sitting room, Sarah said, taking his arm and, ignoring Emily still hungrily devouring the candy, ushered him deeper into the flat.
Feeling her presence had become a nuisance, Emily retreated to her room, but the words echoed still:
Do you even know what youre doing? Sarahs hissed voice returned. You bring her sweetsonce every six months. A caring dad, huh? Is that all? A candy and youre off, ignoring your duties? Do you ever wonder how we get by? Bring any money? No! You only appear now and then so she wont forget dad. A good, kind father who hands a child, who sits alone for days because I cant leave work, a handful of candy!
The argument grew louder. David tried to speak, his words a muffled jumble.
Dont Sarah, well! Emily snapped, Im still paying off your credit! Your failed business! Remember who the loan was in the name of? Me! And youre off gallivanting, free as a bird. Will you ever settle your debts?
A rustle rose.
Im paying what I can, Davids voice softened, Money doesnt sprout from nowhere. I help where I can. I could shower you with goldif I could.
Help? Sarah shouted, You bring a child candy and call that help? Fine suppose you have no cash. Sell the car. Close the loan.
How can I sell the car when I cant survive without it? Thats my only income, David protested.
Then spend time with the child instead of empty promises.
David muttered, Id if I had time, but there is none. Thats life.
Emily pressed her back against the wall, a shiver racing down her spine. At seven she understood enough: Dad had left. Debt was a monster. The business he bragged about was now a burden. All because of him.
The sweets in her hand suddenly tasted bitter. Injustice, perhaps, but where was a just world?
***
Years later.
The red bag and its bitter aftertaste resurfaced.
Emily, now nearly thirty, stood in a modest house with her threeyearold daughter, Lucy, who was probably tearing around the living room with a friend, lost in their own world.
A familiar knock sounded at the door. Again, David. This time, no hallway confrontation. Sarah had long ago stopped paying Davids debts. Shed raised Emily on her own. David, having received a tidy share from the sale of the familys old council flat when Sarah finally sold it to move to a smaller house, still turned up every six months, a habit that no longer amused Emily.
Hello, princess, David smiled, this time holding a bright pink bag. A little something for my granddaughter.
Emily forced a smile.
Good afternoon, Dad. Come in.
She kept the tone neutral, though she wanted to say more.
Lucy, hearing a strange voice, peered from the nursery. Seeing a man she barely remembered, she hesitated, eyes drawn to the pink bag.
Whos that? she asked Emily.
This is Grandpa, love. He visited last year and gave you a Barbie, remember? Emily replied, Grandpa David.
David handed the bag to Lucy.
Hey, sweetie! Look what Ive got!
Lucy opened it to find not candy but a handful of cheap plastic figurines, the sort given away in promotional packs.
You never change, do you? Emily said, halfsmiling.
Why would I? Im perfect as I am, David replied, taking the comment as a compliment.
Emily knew hed never really helped. No money for university tutors, no support when she worked night shifts to buy a new coat. His help had always been token gifts.
So Ive got a son, David said, settling into an old armchair that should have been replaced ages ago. Gosh, from my second marriage.
Emilys stomach tightened. Gosh, a halfbrother shed only ever seen in photographs.
Congratulations, she said curtly. Do you want me to take a loan for his wedding?
Davids bravado faltered.
Id love to invite you
Im not coming.
Come on, Em, familys family. He knows youre there. Just pop in for an hour. Itll distract you.
She wanted to scream, to smash his face with a kitchen board, but she held back. Why had she never told him who she was? Gosh had everythingprivilege, a father who whisked him off to holidays and bought him anything he wanted. And Emily? Shed scraped by, paying the mortgage on her modest flat, a burden Sarah had shouldered for years.
Fine, she said, Ill be there.
***
The wedding was lavishsomething Emily could never afford, even with a partner. She sat at a distant table meant for distant relatives and acquaintances, watching Gosh in his crisp suit, his bride Marina in a delicate white dress. David hovered, eager to please the young couple all evening.
When the toast began, David rose, a document in hand.
My dear Gosh and Marina, he announced, Today I wish you a happy birthdayyour birthday, the day youre born. May you guard each other, remember your parents, build your happiness. And to keep storms away, I have a gift
He handed Gosh a set of keyskeys to a flat.
Emilys vision darkened. Anger flooded her, a hatred shed never felt so intensely. The flatGoshs new homewhile she still struggled to meet the mortgage on her own modest flat, a house Sarah had paid off for years, while Gosh never wanted for anything.
Justice, she whispered, the word tasting like ash.
She left, casting a final, venomous look at David and his newly formed family. In her mind a poisonous thought flickered: May this be your last happy day!
***
A month later, rumors swirled through the family like gossip in a village. Gosh had been assaulted in an alley, beaten badly, left unable to walk or speak. He survived, but lay broken. David hired a nurse. Marina, pregnant, couldnt lift heavy things, yet she lost the baby in the fifth month. David was torn between his bedridden son and his grieving fiancée; a glass of whisky became his only solace.
One evening he shuffled to Emilys flat, barely standing, seeking to unload his soul.
Emily listened, nodding, but inside she felt only a grim satisfaction. Enjoy your happy life, old man, she thought, while we pick up the pieces.
She never inquired further about Davids fate. She returned what little she could claim as a debt.
Time passed.
Emily visited the grave of her paternal grandmother, a woman whod always treated her better than her own father. At the headstone she spotted a fresh grave beside ita recent burial.
Rest in peace, she murmured, seeing her halfbrothers name engraved.
No tears, no angerjust an empty void. She realized the brother she never truly knew was gone.
Later David appeared again, frail, his oncerobust fiftyyearold frame now that of a grandfather.
Emily, he rasped, Do you have a thousand pounds? Ill pay you back soon.
When? she asked.
When I can.
You can keep it, she said. No need to return it.
She agreed without protest, a quiet pleasure at his fall from grace.
Emily never saw David again. Relatives told her hed sold both his flats, poured the money into a dubious cult, and his wife, Goshs mother, had returned to her homeland to mourn.
Emilys life, meanwhile, turned a corner. She and her husband cleared the mortgage, even bought a second flat to let out. She lived, and on rare reflective evenings, she wondered if her own wishes had sparked all the misfortune that befell them.
