The Price of Happiness
Dennis lay on the sofa, eyes half-closed, listening to the sounds of the house and beyond the window. Muffled car horns, distant sirens—police or ambulance—drifted through the double glazing. Down the hall, neighbours argued, a phone rang, a door slammed.
He used to love lying like this, guessing which flat had the telly on too loud, which couple was fighting, which floor the lift would stop at.
“Daydreaming again? Did you do your homework?”
He could’ve sworn it wasn’t his imagination—his mother’s voice, distant but alive. He flinched, eyes snapping open. The room was empty, the hallway door ajar. If she’d stepped out of the darkness right then, he wouldn’t have been surprised. He’d have been overjoyed. But she’d never walk through that door again. She’d died a week ago. That voice? Just phantom pain.
He sat up, feet brushing the plush carpet. “I’ll lose my mind if I stay here. Should’ve booked the return ticket for the day after the funeral, or at least the next.” Elbows on knees, he cradled his head, swaying slightly.
A sudden ringtone jerked him upright, his elbow slipping, head lurching forward. He grabbed the phone without glancing at the screen. His gaze landed on a note on the table: *”Son, my darling…”*
“Dennis, it’s Auntie Martha. How are you holding up? It must be awful there alone. Why don’t you come stay with me?”
“No, I’m fine.” He set the phone down, folded the letter, tucked it into the sideboard.
He couldn’t stay alone. Not when he was hearing things. He scrolled through his contacts. *Mike. Old uni mate. That’s who I need.*
“Mike, hey!” Dennis said when his friend answered.
“Hey! Wait—who—?”
“Don’t recognise me? Hurtful, mate. Didn’t expect that from you.”
“Hang on. Dennis?! You’re back? Where are you?” Mike’s voice boomed down the line.
“At home,” Dennis said, sobering.
Mike caught the shift instantly. “Your mum?”
“Gone. Buried her a week ago. Nine days now.”
“Christ. I saw her six months back. She looked rough, lost weight. Barely recognised her. How long you staying?”
“Three days.”
“Want me to come over? No—better yet, come to ours. You’ll go spare there by yourself.”
“Ours?” Dennis echoed.
“Yeah, I’m married. To Alice. Can you believe it? She’s here, sends her love, says you should come. Now. You’ll make lunch. Oh—new address. Got a flat with a mortgage.”
“Go on,” Dennis said briskly.
*Married. Alice fancied Mike rotten in first year, but he was too busy chasing Stacy or Emma till I set him straight…* He packed quickly, called a cab.
En route, he stopped at a shop. Bought Mike some whisky, wine for Alice, a box of chocolates, and sliced meats.
Didn’t wait for the lift—took the stairs to the sixth floor. After two days indoors, the movement felt good. Passing the third-floor flat, he heard a faint whimper—a child? A puppy? He paused.
“Hey, you alright?” he asked, ear to the door.
The sound stopped. He waited, about to leave, when a soft, monotone hum resumed.
“Who’s crying in there?”
“Not crying. Singing,” a small voice replied.
“Why by the door?”
“Waiting for Mum.”
“Where is she? You alone?”
“She went to Gran’s in hospital. Locked me in. I’m poorly.”
“Locked you in? How old are you?”
“Five. Who’re you?”
“Dennis. Heard your song walking past.”
“I’m Theo. Want a poem about Father Christmas?”
“Go on,” Dennis said, smiling. He’d learned one like that as a kid. Forgotten it now.
“Poems earn presents. But how do I give it? You’re locked in. I’ll pop to my mate’s, then come back. Alright?”
“What present? You Father Christmas?”
“No. Wait,” Dennis said, heading upstairs.
Mike answered, hauling him into a bear hug.
“Look what the cat dragged in! Been ages.”
“Let the man breathe,” a woman’s voice chided.
Alice stood in the doorway. She’d grown prettier.
“Come in. Place is a mess—still settling,” Mike said, chest puffed with pride.
Dennis whistled. “Blimey. You’ve done alright.”
“Mortgaged to the eyeballs, but ours. Planning a sprog.” Mike beamed.
“Food’s ready,” Alice announced.
They ate, drank, caught up.
“You married? Kids?” Alice asked.
Then Dennis remembered the boy.
“Listen, hate to ask, but got any sweets or oranges? Kid on the third floor told me a poem. Promised him a present. Tough little bloke, home alone.”
“Course.” Alice packed a bag with treats.
Dennis rang the third-floor bell. No crying now. The door opened. A pretty young woman—familiar, though her name escaped him.
“You?” She recognised him too.
The boy appeared beside her—bright-eyed, just as Dennis pictured.
“Promised you a present. No toys, sorry.” He handed over the bag.
Theo studied him gravely.
“Can I come in?” Dennis asked the woman.
“Why?”
“Just… talk. Been years. Yours?” He nodded at the boy.
*Alina!* The name came to him.
“Didn’t plan this,” Dennis explained, gesturing upstairs. “Mike lives here. Alice too. Know them?”
Alina shrugged.
“Theo’s dad?”
“Your mates are waiting,” she reminded him.
“I’ll go. Good seeing you.”
Climbing the stairs, he marvelled at the coincidence. Mike moving into Alina’s building. Theo crying just as he passed. They might never have met. And she’d changed…
Final year, New Year’s Eve. Alina had been there—tagging along with someone. He’d noticed her at uni, caught her glances. They’d drunk, danced. She’d asked him to walk her home. He barely recalled the conversation, if there was one. Somehow ended up in her flat. Cosy. Her, soft beside him… She’d woken him—*”Go, Mum’s due back.”*
At uni, he’d waved, pretended nothing happened. Twice she’d tried to talk. He’d bolted—*”Busy.”*
*Wait.* Sweat pricked his neck. He halted outside Mike’s door. *Theo said he’s five. Five years ago was that New Year’s. Six months later, I left for Newcastle. So Theo’s… No. Can’t be. She invited me that night…*
He rang the bell.
“About time! We were coming to drag you in,” Mike said.
“Sorry. I’ve got to go.” Dennis grabbed his coat.
“What’s wrong? You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” Mike said, sharp as ever.
“Pretty much. Sorry, both. I’ll come by tomorrow.”
“Want me to call a cab?”
“Nah. Need air.”
Walking, the world blurred. The booze faded. The truth bit harder. *What if…? But she wasn’t like that. No one else. She fancied me. Obvious. So I used her and forgot?*
Home, he face-planted the sofa, howling into a cushion.
Next day, he returned to Alina with toys for Theo. The boy gleefully tore into them. They sat in the kitchen.
“Alina, when’s Theo’s birthday? He said soon.”
“Why?”
“September. So he’s mine. I was a prat. Ignored you. Thought I had all the time in the world. Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Who says he’s yours?”
“Then whose?”
She faltered. “I tried. You weren’t listening.”
“How was I to know? Alina, I’ll fix this. Theo needs a dad. My dad left at eight. Mum never moved on. I don’t want that for you two. I’m not asking for a fling—I’m offering a family.”
“You’ll leave. Theo already asks about you.”
“One word, and I stay. Well, I’ll go to quit my job, sort the flat. But I’ll come back. I swear!”
“Go. You promised Mike.”
At Mike’s, he spilled everything.
“Bloody hell. You lectured me, then pulled this? A son. What now?”
“I asked her to try. What else?”
“ActionsDennis fumbled in his pocket, pulled out the ring, and with a shaky breath, whispered, “Marry me, Alina, and let’s raise our son together—no more running, no more regrets.”
