A Borrowed Happiness
March 25th
I was out digging in my little garden patch today. The springs come early this year, hardly a trace of frost left even though March isnt quite through yet. I know the chilly winds will probably return before long, but while the suns shining warmly I cant help but get busypropping up the old fence, mending the woodshed roof, losing myself in the satisfying ache of honest work.
I keep thinking I ought to get a few hens, maybe even a piglet, and of course a dog and a cat to keep me company. Enough, I scold myselfand let out a wry chuckleenough walking down memory lane. Still, I cant wait to drag out the rotavator, turn the fresh earth, and get my hands dirty like I did as a boy. I want to kick off my wellies and run barefoot across the newly-tilled garden, sinking in up to my ankles in the soft, warm, peat-rich soil. I long for the smell of home, the earthy scent that stirs up old memories from my childhood.
Weve plenty of life left yet, I told the hedgerows, feeling hopeful.
Suddenly a voice called out, making me jump. There, at the garden gate, stood a girla young teenager, really, hardly more than a child. Dressed in a drab raincoat that I recognised as the sort government colleges hand out, thin nylon tights, scuffed flimsy shoes.
Far too early in the season for those tights, I thought. Shell catch her death of cold dressed like that, with those shoes that wouldnt last a walk to the post office, let alone a march through the mud of the English countryside.
She shifted nervously on her feet. Hello, I greeted her, perhaps a little gruffly.
Excuse me, could I use your loo? she asked softly.
Well now, thats a first. Go aheadstraight down there round the back, I nodded.
I watched as she hurried off, a fleeting figure in the spring sunlight. When she returned, she gave me a grateful nod. Thank you, you saved me there. Actually, Im looking for a place to live. You wouldnt happen to have a room to let?
Never thought about it. Why do you ask?
Dont want to live in the college hostel, sir. They drink and smoke there, lads sneaking about at all hours. Id rather be somewhere quieter.
Right. And what could you afford, then?
Five pounds a week, sir. Thats all I have.
Come on inside, then. Lets have a chat.
Before I could close the door, she piped up, Sorry, might I go to the bathroom again, please?
Go on, then. Dont be shy.
I watched her anxiously. Whats your name? I asked as she came back inside.
Im Pippa, she squeaked out, voice as tiny as a mouse.
So, Pippa, why are you really here? I tried gently, curiosity refusing to budge.
She hesitated. Its just Imay I use the loo once more?
My word! Whatevers the matter, girl?
With tears in her eyes she whispered, Sorry, I can hardly bear it, I
All right, off you go.
Once shed dashed away again, I followed. Youre not, by any chance, running off for a, ernumber one? Or number two?
She shook her head vigorously, Just a number one, sir. It stings so much
Well sort that out. But first, tell me why youre really here.
She stood there, gathering courage, and finally blurted out, I came on my own, sir. Youre you must be Mr. Arthur Bennett?
I am, yes, thats me. Why?
She bit her lip. You didnt recognise me Dad? Its me, Pippa. Your daughter.
I sat bolt upright, every inch the stoic Englishman, not a muscle twitching as the words hit me.
Pippa I managed, so softly. My daughtermy sweet, lost girl.
Yes, Dad, its me They didnt let me have your address in the childrens home, you know, they said it wasn’t allowed. But my teacher at college, Miss Susan Matthews, shes wonderful, she helped me track you down. We found your name, your address, andso here I am.
I was frozen, but tears ran down my face, unstoppable.
Pippa, my darling daughter
With a little cry, she flung herself around my neck, sobbing, I searched so hard for you, Dad. They always laughed at me, told me youd thrown me away, given me up like an old coat. But I never stopped believing, Dad. Never
I clumsily hugged her back, my callused hands clutching at the nubby wool of her cardigan, unable to believe my luck, yet terrified of waking from the dream. There we stayed, locked in the quietest embraceno need for words.
Later that day, memory drifting between snatches of old advice and my own hard-won lessons, I made tea, ran her a hot bath, fussed with chervil and warm water, clucking like an old mother hen over my long-lost chick.
Pippa, my lifes meaning. After everything, Id been shown mercy. Not all is lost.
Id put away dreams of piglets and chickens. Now there was something else to live for. Id stashed money aside, never expecting joy to knock on my door so unexpectedly.
*
April 7th
Mum?
Yes, love?
She stole a warm scone from the table, cheeks round and rosy these days, looking every bit the doll Id always wanted to dress up. She made me feel years younger.
Go on, little charmer.
DadIm in love.
Well I never!
She giggled. Yes! His names Jack. Hes wonderful. Oh, Dad, hed like to meet you
Inside, my heart pinched. So soon? I thought the happy days were being packed away once again, just as theyd come.
Nothing, darling, nothing, I said softly. Youve grown up so fast, I hardly had the time to enjoy you. Forgive me.
Oh no, Dad! Dont you dare. Dont you realise how much I love you? How long I searched for you? Youre the best dad anyone couldve dreamed for!
The first meeting went well. Jack was a country lad, sensible and hardworkingthe sort any father might wish for his daughter.
Times were hard then; some barely had bread, yet others pampered their pets as if they were royalty. Pippa, Jack, and I lived modestly, but we werent starving. I was handy with a needle, and when the old factory shut down I joined a cooperative. The pay was decent, so Pippa was dressed head to toe from the best catalogue, and I even kitted out Jack.
Jack was no layabout either: he knocked up a new fence, replaced two rotten beams on the house with his brothers, fixed the bath-house, built a pen for piglets. The old place positively sang with life, livelier than it had been since my clever, beautiful Pippa came home.
My heart thawed; after years of numbed regret, life seemed worth the trouble again. The past would never quite leave me, and sometimes at night Id wake with chest tight, struggling for breath, but by day joy pressed out the memories.
Mum, are you all right? Are you hurting?
No, darling, go back to sleep
Dad, can I stay here with you tonight?
Of course! I moved over, making room. I clung to her warmth. My little one, my whole world. Such is the love of a parentthank you, Lord, I whispered. Thank you for letting me know this happiness.
When the wedding came, the young couple stayed on with me. I bloomed with them. Even my workmates noticed that the usually dour Arthur Bennett couldnt keep a smile off his lips.
Boy or girl, do you think? the ladies whispered during tea break, delighted for me. Hes positively glowing!
A grandson arrivedTommy. Named for my own late mum, Thomasina, stern but always fair. Hes a fine one, isnt he! Id beam proudly. Id forgot what it was to hold a baby, not since Pippa. Now with Tommy in my arms, life felt full.
All my thoughts revolved around little Tommy. He was the cleverest, dearest boy, always by his grandfathers side.
Jack got ambitious, built a proper homebig enough for all of us. He and his brothers even started a building firm, opened a hardware shop. Life, finally, was gentle.
Then came the blessed news: a granddaughter, a little girl for me to spoil. I sewed all sorts of dresses and bonnets for sweet Millie. Her laughter filled every room, sunlight never seemed to leave us.
All was wellexcept a burning sensation in my chest began to trouble me; more and more, it hurt terribly.
Mum, why didnt you tell me?
Its nothing, love, really
But it wasnt. The doctors said there was nothing they could do.
*
September 18th
Pippa, its time. Forgive me, darling, Ive lingered long enough. They wrote me off years ago, but you saved meyou came, my own girl.
Dont say that, Dad
I have to, please let me. Its hard, butplease, let me finish. Pippa, loveIm not really your father. Im so sorry
Dad! Dont you dare say that ever again. You are my father, and nothing in this world will change that. Dont you ever doubt it, not for a second!
Yes, all right, sweetheart Theres my journal in the trunk. Forgive me. I love you with all my heart.
And I love you, Dad. I always will Dad Dad!
*
October 2nd
Have you eaten, Pip?
I will in a minute, Jack, go on.
Alone, Pippa sat in Dads old study, reading his battered notebook. His life, in black and white: unkind, awkward, troubledbut sometimes cheerful.
His own mother, Thomasina. Father gone in the war. Arthur, called Art, called Arty, sometimes our flower, by the old women in the village.
Hed fallen in with the wrong crowda thief, excitement, recklessness. The thief disappeared to prison, leaving Art alone, childless, rootless. Hed ruined it all during a mad winter, lost everything. Only his mothers small house was left.
The doctors told him to wait, to hope for a miracle. He went to church, lit candles, asked forgiveness, and then, out of nowhere, joy arrived in the form of Pippa. Hed never let go of the chance, not even when he doubted he deserved it. Eventually, he stopped worrying about whether Pippa would learn the truth. He had lived an ordinary, honest life, at last.
Forgive me, Pippa, he wrote, for stealing you from your real mum. My borrowed happiness
Dad Pippa wept. Oh, Dad, my dearest one, I so hope you can hear me now. I knew, or almost guessed early on. At the home, they said the info didnt add upher name was Ivy Bennett. I even tracked her down out of curiosity. Shed remarried, wanted nothing to do with me. She tried to give me money, Dad. But I only wanted you. I remember falling ill as a child, you caring for me. Thank God I found you. Maybe it was fate, maybe it was a mistake, but someone up there mustve meant for us to be together. How can I carry on without you, Dad
Oh, Pippa, leave her be, Jacklet her mourn. Shes just buried her father.
*
July 8th
Granny, was Grandpa Arthur kind?
The kindest, darling.
And handsome?
The handsomest, Millie.
Who gave him his name?
Maybe his mum or his dad, love.
And am I named for Granny Thomasina, too?
You are, your granddad loved his mum very much.
Can he see me up in heaven?
Of course he can. Hell always watch over you, always help you.
I love you, Great-Grandpa Art, Millie murmured, laying a daisy chain on his headstone.
And I love you, darling, the old birch tree rustled in the breeze, and my heart answered, swept up in the wind.
Personal Lesson: The heart has room for more love than we imagine, and family can be foundsometimes where we least expectif were only brave enough to claim that happiness, even when it feels borrowed.
