The husband drove her out of the house
Traitor! Begone!
I
I will not listen to your lies! I see right through you now.
Look at me! What have you become? she stared into his eyes. What? You cant see yourself from the outside!
Yet I can see you clearly!
***
Arthur Bennett was thirtyfive, but inside him still lived the little boy who had grown up without a father.
It wasnt that his father had vanished completely. In Arthurs earliest years his dad, Harold Bennett, was still a presence, though he had left his mother when Arthur was about eight to twelve. Occasionally Harold would bring a modest present a simple wooden toy, a battered football and Arthur treasured each of those gifts for years. He kept every memory of his fathers visits, as long as there was something to cling to. Then the presents stopped, the letters dwindled, and Harold ceased appearing at the old address that was no longer his home.
In effect, Harold was gone.
What was, what isnt nothing really changed.
But Arthur could not abandon the idea of finding him.
Arthur, how long will this go on? Poppy, his wife, sighed, watching him hunched over yet another faded dossier. She had no idea how weary it had made her. I may sound harsh, but if a man does not want to be seen, why keep looking? Its time to let go.
Let go? Arthur pushed his wheeled chair back so Poppy could sit beside him. Look at this photograph, love. This was the one weekend Dad took me to the cottage. Just once. Ill never forget it. And who is this in the picture? Its me, on my seventh birthday; Dad gave me a building set. How could I let that go? He is my father, Poppy. My own. Mother always said he wanted to see me, but he had his own problems. He could have raised me, been there
Mother said that just to spare you the pain, Poppy thought, irritated.
Poppy, Arthur snatched the photo from her grasp and hid it, Your mother told you that so the hurt of a father leaving wouldnt scar you too badly. She hoped youd grow up and put the ache behind you. Yet you carry it still. Do you think finding him will make everything right? Are you ready for him to be nothing like the man you imagine?
Im ready for anything! He never abandoned me! Arthur hissed, sliding photographs and documents into a clear folder.
And so his search became an obsession. He rifled through old journals, called former colleagues of his mother, dug through dusty albums filled with strangers faces. Poppy, resigned, watched her husband slip further into madness.
One day, perhaps as a reward for his endless suffering, a chance telephone call to an old acquaintance of his mother yielded a longsought address.
A council flat, eight rooms, on the outskirts of Manchester.
Yes, Harold Bennett said the voice. My soninlaw and his daughter bought a flat nearby, so I met him, we talked. I cant say youll be pleased, Arthur, but thats the place.
Fearing his father might need help, Arthur didnt delay. He hailed a cab at once.
When the vehicle stopped before a shabby entrance, a bad foreboding settled over him.
The council block greeted him with a narrow hallway lined with peeling plaster, neighbours casting wary glances. At home he was used to smiles.
Excuse me, where does Mr. Harold Bennett live? he asked a woman who seemed the kindest.
Why do you want him? she snapped. He has no friends.
I need him, thats why!
Its the fourth door on the left. Whats your name, lad?
She lingered a moment, then turned away.
Arthur knocked on the fourth door as instructed.
A woman peered out, then, finding nothing of interest, closed the door again.
Inside, Harold looked nothing like Arthur remembered. He was older, his hair thin and grey, his face lined as if the years had stripped it raw. He stared at Arthur as if trying to recall a forgotten dream. He had not thought of a son for ten years.
Im not buying anything, I have no money, and I dont need your junk, he rasped.
Im not selling, Arthur said.
Then why are you here in daylight? Come to collect a debt? When did I owe you? Harold grumbled. Money, as always, none.
In a way, yes, Arthur had come for a debt, but not a monetary one.
I came to my father, Arthur whispered, ignoring the harshness.
Recognition flickered in Harolds eyes and his tone softened to an overfriendly lilt.
Bennett? he smiled. My God youve grown! I never imagined it was you. Ive missed you terribly. Ive tried to find you
Arthur, taken aback, asked why Harold had never looked for him.
Harold told a sad tale of a misstep that landed him in prison for a petty theft, after which a court order barred him from contacting Arthur, allegedly to keep the boy from a bad influence.
I tried, I really did, he said, after three long hours of reminiscing. Your mother said she would take you far away, never let us meet again. I should have found another way…
The inconsistencies in his story mattered little to Arthur; each minute made him happier. He finally had a father again. All the years of orphanhood, the aching doubt, dissolved in an instant. He saw before him a man who, though changed, was eager to see him, to love him, to have him back.
I have been looking for you all my life, Father, Arthur said.
Forgive me I let my hands fall, Harold replied. I thought a man with my past didnt deserve a son. I sold the flat I had, bought this one not a palace, but a roof.
Arthurs gaze fell on an empty vase on the table, once used for fruit. It seemed to embody the emptiness of a life where even food was scarce.
You shouldnt live in such a place, Father, Arthur murmured, eyeing the cramped room piled with old belongings, a window draped in dusty cloth. Come with me. Come to my home. Poppy will be glad Ive finally found you.
Harold hesitated.
I dont know. Im my own master here, and Id be a burden elsewhere
You wont be, Arthur insisted. Ive spent so long searching for you; the best thing you can do is move in, even temporarily, while we figure out how to get you proper accommodation.
Poppy, lounging with a clay mask over her face, had not been expecting guests, certainly not ones who might stay forever. In the stairwell, a commotion grew as she crept to the peephole and saw a couple of battered suitcases placed near the front door.
Whos there? she called, not opening.
Its me, Poppy! Open up, please! My hands are full!
Her voice trembled with surprise. She opened the door to find not Arthur, but a man in a yellow jacket and a black cap, a relic of a bygone era.
Arthur are you trying to help a homeless man? Poppy gasped at the sight.
Poppy! he snapped. Hes not homeless, hes my father, Harold. Hell live with us. Good grief, how did all this fit into your tiny room?
Its generous, but forgive the term homeless, Poppy said, Yet doesnt this feel sudden?
Sudden? Ive spent years looking for him!
Poppy wiped her mask, uneasy.
I get that, but living together? she asked. Arthur, we never
They had never spoken of it. Arthur saw no need for discussion.
Poppy, hell be better with us, he argued. You saw the conditions in that council block! Its no place to stay. Who else will help him? Hes alone, utterly alone.
Harold, standing nearby, gave Poppy a look that bordered on disdain. They simply did not like each other at first glance.
Good day, he said politely, though his tone carried an edge.
Poppy, feeling that shouting or throwing dishes would achieve nothing, merely nodded.
After dinner, Arthur set Harold up in the spare room that had once been for guests. He fussed over his father as he never had over Poppy, even during the period when he had courted her with great romantic flair. He brought fresh clothing, stocked the fridge with all sorts of provisions, and even gifted his father ten massage sessions.
Poppy, bearing a pile of linens for Arthur to make the guest bed, felt her temper flare.
When Harold had a little drink and dozed off, Poppy approached Arthur, who was browsing a marketplace for something for his father. Her eyes were wild.
Youve brought a stranger into our home, Arthur, she said, standing in the doorway. Do you understand the implications?
Hes my father! Arthur flared.
The father who, as you said yourself, ignored you for ten years! The father who chose to disappear rather than stay! she snapped.
He didnt want to! Mother forbade him, saying he would corrupt me! Arthur defended.
And you believed that nonsense? she huffed. Fine Another question. Do you truly think he, out of nowhere, has become the perfect dad who now wants to live next door, rather than merely finding a warm roof?
I believe it! Arthur insisted. And youll help him. Now go see if he needs anything.
Hes asleep!
Perhaps hell wake?
Maybe you should call a doctor? Youre delirious.
How would you act if you suddenly found parents you hadnt seen for years?
Poppy sighed.
Harold settled in, and on surprisingly favorable terms. Arthur hovered over him like a sentinel. It soon seemed less a father moving in and more a child cradling an infant. Poppy rolled her eyes while Harold watched her with growing interest.
One afternoon, while Arthur was out briefly, Harold began his own little game.
You know, Poppy, he said softly, you work so hard. Dont you ever get tired?
Better than living on someone elses tab, she replied wryly.
It seems youre staying later at the office, coming home looking satisfied, he continued, hinting.
My work is what it is, Poppy snapped.
Moments when Arthur left Harold in Poppys care were the ones she loathed most. She had to warm his dinner, converse with him, entertain him she was no nanny. Yet if she refused, Arthur would brood for days.
Well, well, Harold purred, you know, son, Im a trusting man. Ive seen a lot. And when a lady isnt quite faithful
Poppy felt an overwhelming urge to fling him out and hurl his bags down the stairs. She understood where his mind was heading; he was being blunt.
Father, Arthur returned, whats happening here?
Nothing, lad, Harold softened again, just me and Poppy chatting about life, about how women can get bored.
Arthur glanced at his wife with suspicion. Poppy clenched her teeth.
And that was that.
Harold soon realized gentle hints failed. Arthur never questioned his loyalty, Poppy gave no answers, and arguments never flared. His tricks fell flat.
He then tried a different approach. While Arthur was at work, he waited for the moment when Arthur was about to return home. When Poppy sat down on the sofa, he slipped close.
Poppy, he whispered, youre so beautiful, so thoughtful Are you interested in Arthur? I dont think so.
He placed a hand on her shoulder.
Mr. Bennett, what are you doing? she snapped, pulling him away. If this is what I think it is, I can stop being nice.
Let me comfort you he pressed nearer, ignoring her protests.
Poppy tried to stand, but he pushed her back. At that instant Arthur burst in.
Whats going on here? he shouted.
Harold, feigning outrage, stepped back.
Look at her, Arthur! he cried, pointing at his wife. See what shes doing! In broad daylight, shes crawling into my lap!
Poppy, about to speak, was left speechless.
Explain yourselves! Arthur roared.
Ive long noticed, son, Harold said, playing the angry man, that she winks at me, sits nearer. I never wanted to tell you, but your wife is a sh
If Poppy had steadied herself then, perhaps their marriage might have survived. It did not. She flung her phone at him; Harold covered his bruised eye with his hand.
Repeat how you called me, Arthur? Who are you listening to? she screamed. I need him a hundred years later, but not you! Hes just crawling onto me now!
Shut up! Arthur bellowed, Im listening to my father! I believe my father! Traitor! Begone!
I
I will not hear your lies! Ive seen through you.
Look at me! What have you become? she asked, eyes locked on his. What? You cant see yourself from the outside!
Yet I see you clearly!
Harold had finally gotten his way.
Poppy could not beg him to believe; it was absurd for a wife to plead with her husband to trust him.
***
Years later, Arthur woke from a haze when his father attempted to forge documents to sell the council flat in Arthurs name. He remembered Poppy, wanted to apologise, but she would not listen.
