The Only Man in the Family
At breakfast, Olivia, the eldest daughter, gazed at her mobile and asked, Dad, have you seen todays date?
No, should I be worried? asked Philip, buttering his toast.
Instead of answering, Olivia spun her phone towards him: the screen displayed row after row of elevens11.11.11, meaning the 11th of November, 2011.
Thats your lucky numbereleven. And look, three of them in a row. Must be your lucky day, Dad!
Oh, if only, Philip smirked, If your words could be turned into honey, Id be the richest beekeeper in Kent.
Dad! The younger one, Alice, joined in, still glued to her own phone. The horoscope says that Scorpios today will make a wonderful acquaintance and receive a gift for life.
Splendid. I suppose some distant relative from Europeprobably a complete strangerhas popped their clogs and naturally, we, his only heirs, are about to become millionaires.
Billionaires, Dad, Olivia joined in the banter, A million would be a bit stingy for your standards.
Yes, I agree, a millions hardly worth the paperwork. What on earth would we do with that much money? Should we get a lovely villa on the Cornish coast, or maybe a private island? Then, of course, a yacht
And a helicopter, Dad! Alice added dreamily, I definitely want my own helicopter.
No problem at all, Alice. A chopper shall be yours! And Olivia, what would you wish for?
I want to be in a film in Hollywood, with Tom Hiddleston.
Oh, piece of cake! Ill give Tom a ringhe owes me a favour, anyway. Right girls, thats enough daydreaming, finish up, or well be late.
Typical. Cant even have a proper fantasy in this house, sighed Alice melodramatically.
No ones stopping you, Alice. In fact, its essential to dream, Philip finished his tea and stood up. But dreams will have to waitschool calls.
That mornings lighthearted nonsense drifted back to Philips mind much, much later, at the supermarket, as he was loading food into bags. The day hadnt been remotely luckywork had piled up, hed stayed at the workshop an extra hour, and he was knackered. There had been neither delightful encounter nor the promise of a life-changing present.
Happiness gets past me like a cheese and onion pasty at a school lunch queue, he muttered ironically, leaving the shop.
By his battered, loyal, decades-old Ford Fiesta, a small boy was loitering. The kid had abandoned written all over him: unkempt, dressed in patchwork rags, odd shoesa muddy green trainer on the left, a shrivelled wellington on the right, fastened with a blue phone cable. His head was crowned with a moth-eaten beanie, a third of one ear clearly singed off.
Mister Im hungry. Can I have a bit of bread? the boy mumbled as Philip approached.
The line was delivered with a hesitance that tickled something in Philips memoryacting lessons at the old community theatre, where they focused on breaking speechthe pauses that separate good actors from phonies. It was a tell. It meant the kid was faking it.
Philips Sixth Senseor perhaps his inner Sherlockkicked in: it was all a performance, put on especially for him. The question was why?
All right, mate, Ill play along, Philip thought, And the girls will be over the moonthey love playing detective.
You cant live on bread alone, son. Bowl of stew, couple of sausage rolls, lovely apple crumble with proper custard. Hows that?
The lad blinked, briefly thrown, but recovered quicklytensed up, narrowed his eyes. Points for effort.
Whats the verdict? Yes or no?
Yes came the reply, barely audible.
Fantastic. Hold these, will you?
This was Philips tried-and-tested method with kids in trouble. Real rough-sleepers, handed a bag of groceries, usually made an instant runner. But after years of hunger and broken sleep, they never got farPhilip would catch up easily enough and give a gentle but firm talking to.
He took his time: found his keys, faffed with his phone, even turned his back. The ragtag urchin stayed rooted, clutching the bag, scuffing the pavement with a battered boot.
Bless you, lad, Philip thought, Im in no mood for a five-minute sprint.
Keys found, groceries in the back seat, Philip dramatically opened the front passenger door: Your carriage awaits. The spuds are almost boiled and the stews on the hob.
With a curious little sigh, the boy slipped into the Fiesta.
The drive home was silent. Philip and his girls lived out in a bucolic village seven miles from the nearest town, where hed worked as a welder for donkeys years. A former foster kid himself, Philip had no family but his beloved girlshe doted on them, and they returned it with interest. Having grown up never knowing Mum or Dad, he was painfully aware of what it meant to be alone. Whenever possible, he helped kids in rotten situationsgiving them a roof, a hot supper, and, most importantly, a taste of what a proper family felt like.
If it werent for daft regulations and the parade of red-taped, compassion-phobic council officials, Philip would have adopted every last one of them. But, apparently, lack of housing, single parent, you already have two young childrenblah, blah, blahmeant he was unfit. As if the local childrens homes were a paradise! No one seemed to grasp that lovenot square footage or bank statementsmattered most.
Idiots, Philip thought, glancing at his silent passenger, worried the kid might somehow pick up on his mood.
The boy was hunched, turtle-like, his cap drooping over his face, audibly sniffing now and then. Not orphanage material, Philip suspecteda runaway, probably new at this. Sheepish and uncertain.
Maybe I jumped the gun, thinking he was lying. Poor kids probably still shell-shockednot used to the rough side of life yet. Never mind, lad, well get you home, wash up, fill your belly, shower you with kindness. Youll tell your tale in your own time.
His girls were waiting on the porch and dashed out the moment the car stopped, making straight for the bags.
Whats this? Olivia finally clocked the extra passenger.
This? This is your morning forecast come truea delightful acquaintance and a present for life, Philip grinned.
Brilliant, Dad. Alice ducked down, peering beneath the cap, Now theres a bonus. Are you sure hes ours? Didnt accidentally bring home someone elses?
Not a chance. He clung to my leg wailing, Im your present, I’m yours! Couldnt shake him off.
And whats this present called? Olivia asked, hauling in the shopping.
No label. No price tag, either.
Poor Dadstuck with a defective freebie. Oh well, well just have to throw it out.
The boy looked petrified, about to bolt. Alice seemed to sense this and snugly hooked his shoulder, giving his cap a friendly tap:
Hello, anybody home in there?
He turtled up even more.
Lines dead, Olivia snorted. Maybe the connections better indoors.
She shot a meaningful look at Philip. Years together meant they could communicate with a glance. Olivia suggested their tried-and-true good-cop, bad-cop routine.
Philip answered with a five-finger gesture: Five minutes. No more.
You underestimate us, Olivia smirked. Well crack him in three.
Alice, bring our mystery prize in. Time to see what sort of Unknown Walking Object weve got.
And Alice, with sisterly efficiency, swept the boy off the seat like a knotted bag. He squirmed, muttered something unintelligible.
Dad, I think hes got something rattling inside, Alice quipped, manhandling him.
Loose screw, maybe, or a dodgy wire, Olivia kept the running commentary. Grab some pliers and a soldering iron when youre done in the garage, Dadwell suss him out.
With boy and shopping sandwiched between them, the girls bustled into the house. Philip tackled his usual evening chores: garaging the car, prepping it for the school run, checking fluids. Three rounds of just five more minutes later, he finally finished and was halfway to shutting up shop when Alice came barreling back, eyes bright.
Dad, hes fibbing! Totally!
And how have you deduced this, Sherlock?
Elementary. He doesnt smell like a street kidno way. Properly domestic.
You sniffed him?
Inspector Alice, at your service. And do you know what he smells like?
Lets seeapple crumble? Baby soap? Hot milk?
Out of guesses? Have a whiff of this. She held out her hand, covered in suspicious black smears.
Soot?
Nopesmell it. She pressed her palm under his nose.
Philip sniffed, scratched at one patch.
Stage makeup?
Ding ding ding! Yep, caked it on to look all Dickensian and tragic.
He says his name is Bull Some street nickname. I looked it upmeans, like, pedigree bull. We could fatten him up for market, Dad!
Dont get ahead of yourself, its probably just his nickname. Anyway, this lad deliberately sought you out, Dad. He got dolled up, picked you, and knocked on our door. And were dying to know why. Olivias grilling him as we speakhell spill soon enough.
Right on cue, Olivia swept onto the porch and called out in a stage whisper, Do we still have sulphuric acid?
Yesweve got half a bottle left! Alice bellowed, running into the garage, grabbing a random can. We dissolve them now; saves on chores!
Monsters, Philip muttered.
Monsterettes, Alice corrected, scampering inside.
Dad, wash updinners ready! came the call as Philip stepped into the hallway.
Were starving, like a pair of ravenous wolvesmight have to gnaw on our Bull, Olivia teased.
Id crunch him up happily. Hes all milk and bones, Alice chorused.
Little piglets, Philip grinned as he headed to the washroom. Hes in for it, poor lad.
The Bull, freshly scrubbed, now looked ten years old, carrot-top shining. His actual name, as became clear after Olivias cross-examination, was Scott Bullmana proper certificate to prove it. He had only a day on Alice age-wise. His father had died in a recent war, leaving their oldest sister, Sophia, to look after Scott, his baby sister Lily, and another little one, Grace.
Tough times had forced them all to grow up fast. With only one or two distant relatives and a mountain of bureaucracy threatening to separate them, his sister had fought tooth and nail to keep what family they had left. They managed, somehow.
Recently, Sophia had fallen inexplicably quiet, leaving Scott worried sick. It turned out shed fallen in lovethe incurable variety. When Scott got the truth out of her, he learned about the object of her affection: one Philip Barker, a welder, father of two girls, long divorced, non-smoker, teetotaler, decent sort, who occasionally fostered stray kidsin part, because hed been one himself.
Scott, as the only man in the Bullman household, decided hed better check out this Philip himselfjust to be sure Sophia wasnt moving into a nest of villains. Hence, the entire charade: the ragged costume, the epic deceptionall so he could try life with the Barkers and make sure they would accept his sister.
He never counted on being disarmed in three minutes flat by two relentless girls and overwhelming hospitality. Eventually, Scott confessed, red-faced and sincere:
I think youre wonderful, all of you, he said. Olivia, Aliceyoure just brilliant. Mr. Barker, please, would you marry my sister? Shes amazing, honestly She wanted to tell you herself, but she was afraid.
Afraid of what? Olivia asked.
That maybe you wouldnt want her, knowing shes got a handful of children, and all that mess
Oh, for heavens sake! Alice said, exasperated. You need a crash course in romance.
Well give him one, Olivia nodded. Dad, sowhats the verdict? Ready to propose? Or do you need extra encouragement?
Philip chuckled. Feels like a scene from a film, doesnt it? I admit, I noticed Sophia, toothought, heres a wonderful woman
Dad Olivia squeezed his hand.
Its all right, sweetheart. The pasts in the past. The memorys still there, of course, Philip smiled softly. Once, I had a wifeshe tired of motherhood after two kids, left for Australia And now, heres Sophia, with a small army of little ones. Not everyone would be up for it.
Shes twenty-three, Scott piped up, nearly twenty-four.
Dad, youre only ten years older. Absolutely fine, Alice said.
Yeah, youre wise, and youd support her. And we could help, right, Scott? Olivia said.
We would.
So, Dad? Shall we go propose? Both girls clung to his arm, peering at him hopefully.
Yesbut we really should ask the bride first
Sophia says yes! Scott declared, standing and extending his hand solemnly. As the only man in my family, I give you my sisters hand in marriage.
Philip shook Scotts hand, pulling him into a hug, awkwardly wiping away a tear. Olivia sniffled.
See, Dad? Alice said quickly, sensing tears were imminent. You laughed this morning, but I was righttodays brought a wonderful acquaintance: our Bull, and a gift youll keep forevera great big noisy family. Its what you always wanted, Dad. And now youve got it.Philip looked around at his little gathering, a mad mix of grins and shining eyes, and realized he was standing at the center of the life hed once only dared to imagine. No fortune, no villa, no islandjust laughter filling his kitchen, the scent of apple crumble, a Bull blushing red as a beet, and possibility blooming like spring after a bitter winter.
He patted Scotts head, shaking it gently like a prize snow globe. You, my lad, are astonishing. Remind me never to play poker with you.
Olivia giggled. Are we all moving into the same house now? Because, Dad, this one squawks and wakes up before six.
Deal with it, future big-sister, Philip said, ruffling her hair as Alice shrieked, Shotgun introducing everyone at school! The only family with a Bull and a Barker in the same pen!
At that, the front door creakeda small, expectant face peeked from behind the glass. Lily, clinging shyly to Sophias coat.
Sophia, flanked by her brood, hesitated on the threshold. But she didnt get further than a nervous smile before Alice whooped, Theyre here! and Olivia flew down the hallway. The girls hugged Sophia so tightly, she laughed, blinking away tears.
Was your Bull a gentleman? Sophia asked, catching Philips gaze.
That, and more, he replied warmly, then knelt to greet Lily and Grace. He found himself swallowed by a tangle of children, all arms and hope.
For a moment, the world held its breathbefore erupting into a chaos of introductions, giggles, a scramble for pudding, and enough joy to shatter any storybook ending.
Philip, swept up by it all, glanced at Sophia, who squeezed his hand with both certainty and shyness.
This feels terrifying, she whispered.
And perfect, he replied, steady as ever.
Olivia tapped her phone. Its 11:11, Dad.
He grinned, tears threatening again as he looked around at all the facesold, new, borrowed, found. Make a wish, girls.
But as the kitchen erupted with childrens laughter, two hands closed over his, and an embrace cocooned them all, Philip realized: for the first time in his life, he didnt need to wish at all.
He already had everything.
