#davey smith

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1916

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It was a gorgeous day, all things considered. Had it not been for the shelling all morning and earlier that afternoon—up until twenty minutes beforehand—John could have almost seen it as pleasant. Clear, blue skies, white fluffy clouds in the distance, and Springtime on the Continent—it was just a shame it was being ruined by war. They were in a break now, allowing soldiers on either side some time to clean up the messes and bodies and whatnot that had been piling up for the past week… week and a half… he wasn’t entirely sure anymore how long that particular offensive had been going on. John himself was sitting down, leaning up against the wooden trench wall as he stared off into nothingness, duties far behind him.

“Oi, mate.” A voice snapped him out of his daze; it was a man about his age, holding out a cigarette packet, one already dangling from his lips. “Picked ‘em off a frog who don’t need them no more. Only two in there; might as well not be greedy.”

“You got a match?”

“O’course.” The man crouched down next to John and handed him the box while he searched for his matches. “Where’s your kilt?”

“Pardon?”

“You’re a Scot—where’s your kilt?”

“In my kit bag—prefer trousers when on holiday.”

“Bloody ‘ell; a comedian.” The man found his matchbook and waited until John had the other cigarette in his mouth. He struck one, the both of them using the same flame to light their small stick of paper and tobacco. “Hope it’s not your last.”

“Likewise.”

The other man left, John remaining in his spot. He breathed in, feeling the smoke fill his lungs, and watched as it billowed when he breathed out. Holding it between his fingers, he flicked off some ash from the end, frowning.

When did he first make it out to the Continent? How long had this war been going on? He looked at the cigarette before putting it back between his lips—it reminded him of so much that he had left behind. Late nights in art school, working alongside mates he hadn’t seen in years; the local by his granny’s house, where he would occasionally spend summer mornings as a child cleaning up; leathery old crones haunting the neighborhood and their croaking, ground-up voices. It was the languid, agonizing feel of slowly choking on air, no matter how deeply he breathed in. He took another drag and coughed it all out—there was a reason he never did this often.

“Smith, get your arse over here!” shouted someone. John looked to his right and saw a corporal waving him down. Aching as he stood, he forced himself to comply with the order, hefting his rifle over his shoulder and jogging around the bend. He followed the corporal to where there was a medical bunker, brimming with chaos. “Dump your gear and help me get some of these men over towards the med tent. They’re setting up a couple kilos from here.”

“Yes, sir.”

John looked down at the soldier laying on the nearest litter as he put down his pack and rifle—the lad’s legs had been blasted off and he was shivering severely.

“Here—you need this more than me.” He bent down, took the cigarette from his lips, and placed it between the soldier’s. The lad was barely able to nod appreciatively before John and the corporal began to carry him out of the bunker and through the trench. They got all the way to the Red Cross tent before they realized it was all for naught.

“Shit, he’s dead,” the corporal realized. The French nurse who they were passing the lad off to was shaking her head solemnly as she closed the soldier’s eyes. Ignoring the corporal as he stormed off, John took the final, tiny nub of cigarette back from the dead lad and dropped it to the ground, grinding it out with the heel of his boot—the soldier did not waste his final gift.

“Merci,” the nurse nodded. John silently nodded back and left the tent, looking up at the sky. It was still bright and blue and clear; it was still a near-perfect day. Birds even chirped nearby, a sound he hadn’t heard in weeks.

Life went on.

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1924

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“Alright, everyone, lunch!”

John put down his pen and stretched his arms. Thirty-two was too early to begin getting stiff, in his opinion, and the days he was spending stationary were beginning to get to him. It was only a temporary job, however, and in three weeks he would be back to being a neighborhood handyman. He didn’t think he could handle processing numbers for the rest of his life anyhow—he could do it, but it would drive him mad before long.

Taking the lunch box under the desk, he filed out along with all the other workers. Instead of making his way to the lunch hall, he went up the stairs to the roof. The building’s head caretaker was the older brother of a school mate and he allowed him up there to have a bit of peace and quiet. Few had access, and even fewer took advantage of it due to what most found to be excessive height. He found the bench that faced the Kelvin and sat down, putting his lunch next to him.

“I’ve never seen you up here before.”

John turned his head and saw another man slightly younger than him standing by the door to the stairs. He seemed a bit cautious, as if he’d been caught and didn’t know how to be casual about it.

“I know the caretaker,” John explained. “Have a seat.” He opened his lunchbox, taking out a sandwich and a sketchbook. Balancing the sketchbook on his knee, he pulled a pencil from his pocket and began to rough out the skyline while eating one-handed. The other man sat down next to him, staring.

“You, um… don’t mind me sitting here?”

“It’s a nice view—be a waste to not share it.”

The two sat there for a while eating their respective lunches in silence. John continued to sketch, while the stranger tried his best to not watch.

“Wow…” the other man marveled. “You’re really good.”

“Thanks—good to know my uni days weren’t wasted.”

“You went to university for art? How come you’re working here then?” John gave him a flat look—oh, yeah, art. “Sorry I asked.”

“Better than some.”

“I’m, uh, Max, by the way.”

“John.”

“Then do you keep art up as a hobby, John?”

“No: I used to work as an illustrator for packaging art before the War, but right now I’m trying to get into children’s books. It’s rougher than I’d like to admit.” He added some detail to a window on a far-off building. “What about you?”

“I sound a bit more educated, but it’s because I’ve been running errands around offices since I was fourteen,” Max replied. “Wasn’t made for school.”

“It happens.” He finished off his last sandwich and took the bottle of Irn Bru from his box, popping the cap open with the decorative iron workings of the bench’s armrest. Taking a sip, he tried to come up with conversation that could be general and safe—he wasn’t used to a lunch mate, but he wasn’t mean either. “Got a wife? Kids?”

“Wasn’t made for them, either; the War taught me that.” Max glanced at John, raising an eyebrow. “You…?”

“No. Never.”

“…but I thought you wanted to get into children’s books.”

“It doesn’t mean I have any of my own. Writing is a good way to explore other worlds, let yourself be what you’re not, change how the rules work, and children are the most amenable to that. They’re bright, and receptive, and honest, and if you’re lucky… they might keep that spark in them long enough to make the world a better place.”

Max nodded at that. “You’ve thought about that a lot.”

“I spend a significant amount of time thinking,” John admitted. “It happens when you consider shifting your career goals, or so I imagine.”

“…and here I thought it was just a byproduct of the bachelor lifestyle.”

The two shared a laugh, and then silence. A small flock of birds flew by and landed on the railing around the roof’s wall. John sipped again at his drink and set the bottle down in his lunchbox, keeping it on the even metal bottom instead of balancing it on the bench.

“Am I reading this right?” Max asked.

“Depends on what you’re reading.” John felt Max place his hand on his knee and he looked at the other man, seeing the wary hope in his eyes. “Ah, that… no… you’re not.”

“Damn…” Max cursed. He took his hand back and looked away, face flushing in embarrassment. “Sorry. I… shit. Please forget that ever happened.”

“No, I won’t, but don’t think that means I’m getting you in trouble for it.”

“Wait… really…?”

“I went to art school; do you really think you’re the first man to make a pass at me?”

“Then what was that about changing the rules and being something you’re not?”

John closed his sketchbook and pocketed his pencil, standing up. He walked over to the railing and leaned on it, urging Max to join him, before pointing off in the distance. “Do you see that?”

“See what?”

“On the other side of the Clyde, there’s the mouth of another river.”

“…barely…”

“…but you can see it…”

“Yeah. Why?”

“Just like the River Kelvin meets the Clyde opposite Govan, the River Cart is opposite a town called Clydebank. It’s a mess of buildings, and the people who live there are mostly factory and shipyard folk—machinists, riveters, operators, toolmakers—working in their trades nearby. There’s dirt and grime and depression; children have little hope of doing anything of note there, because as soon as they are able, they have all that brightness and honesty worked out of them until they’re another husk of an adult.”

“Are those the children you write for?”

“Yes, because I used to be one of them.” John folded his arms on the railing and rested on them, staring out over the city. “I still live there, in my Granny’s house, because it’s a place to stay, meaning I see my old school mates and what life has done to them. The light they used to have is now in their children’s eyes, and I want to write and illustrate stories so they might keep that light just a bit longer than their parents.”

“You could have gotten out though,” Max noted. “You made it to university and could have went anywhere. Why go back?”

“I’m bad at being a shipbuilder’s son, that’s true, but that doesn’t mean that I’m above the people I ran with… the children who have no say.”

“I guess that just means you’re good at being a person.” Max dug in his pocket and dug out a packet of cigarettes and a lighter. “Fag?”

“Sure, thanks.” John took a cigarette and the lighter from Max, lighting his before passing the device back. “Can I ask a question?”

“Since we’re sharing? Yeah.”

“How did the War teach you that you weren’t made to have a wife and kids, as you put it?”

Max snorted, almost letting his cigarette drop to the street below. “Grew up not knowing why I was bored by all the girls, but stick me in those trenches with a bunch of other filthy, desperate, randy blokes and I found my true calling.”

“Secret company girlfriend?”

“Secret company boyfriend; you’re missing out on being treated like the Adonis you are.”

“I’m flattered, truly,” John chuckled. He took a deep breath and blew out smoke, watching it dissipate in the wind. “There’s a lass out there for me—there’s just so many I don’t know where to look.”

“She’ll come to you,” Max said. “At least, I hope she does.”

“Thanks, mate. I hope likewise for you.”

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

Late August 1940

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It was dark as John stumbled his way home. The lack of street lamps made it so that he was going by the light of the partial moon and stars, the likes of which did not illuminate the pavement quite the same. He tried to not trip and fall, failing as he caught himself on a fence and one of the unlit aforementioned lampposts, making it back home to Wissforn without too many tumbles.

“Clara…?” he called out blearily as he entered the house. “You here?”

“Sitting room,” she replied. He found her working at the coffee table, settled down on the rug so as to work somewhat more comfortably. One look at him and she chuckled. “Have a good time tonight?”

“The only way I could have had a better time was if I was with you,” he claimed.

“Oh, you really must be drunk then,” she laughed. She watched as he made his way around the table and over to her side, almost tripping over himself in the process. He did knock his knee on the couch arm, but after a moment of cursing inwardly he sat down next to her, leaning over so that he could place his head on her shoulder.

“Do you know where you’re going to write next?” he asked.

“Kinlochleven.” She picked up a map and held it so that he could see, pointing to a dot located in the western Highlands. “There’s a sea loch, fresh mountain air, everyone has electric, post is regular… it’ll be perfect.”

“Not as perfect as you.”

“Flatterer,” she said. She put down the map and continued to go over the potential mailing list. “Did you give Richard my regrets for missing his retirement party?”

“He understands—you do important work getting those wee rascals out of harm’s way. It’s another full-time job itself.”

“Glad you all understand.” A foul odor reached her nose and she sniffed, crinkling her nose. “Ugh… what were they smoking at the pub…?”

“Travis brought in Cuban cigars he got before the War—wanted to get rid of them before they got too tempting and decided this was just the occasion.”

“Too tempting?” Clara turned her head and John pressed a kiss to her lips, the smell and taste of what she now knew to be cigar on his breath. She gagged and coughed as she scurried away, able to escape her inebriated husband’s grasp easily. Standing by the door, she was ready to dash upstairs should he catch a second wind. “That is gross, John. No wonder the stink on you is stronger tonight.”

“Have you ever been offered a Cuban cigar? You can’t turn it down!”

“Uh, yes. You can.”

“No, you can’t.”

“Yes, you can. Now wash out your mouth or you’re sleeping on the couch tonight.”

“You wouldn’t do that to me.” John held his arms open, silently begging for a cuddle. Instead of complying, Clara quickly gathered her work and walked out of the sitting room, headed immediately up the stairs.

“Good night, John Smith. I hope the night chill keeps you company.”

“Clara, wait…!” John flailed about as he tried to stand up, yet couldn’t due to his drunken state. By the time he was finished crawling up the stairs, he saw Clara’s arms dropping his pajamas to the floor and disappearing as she shut the door. He went to go open it, finding that the knob wouldn’t even turn.

She locked him out.

“Clara…” he whined. “Clara, please…”

“No,” she replied from behind the wooden barrier. “Maybe this will teach you to not smoke and then expect to come home to a warm bed.”

“It’s not like I’m always smoking… that’s just the lads on break or at the pub… you even sit in the smoke at the pub…”

“…and even I have to step out often if it’s thick enough in there, just so I don’t pass out from asphyxiation,” she reminded him. “Now good night.”

“Clara…”

No answer.

“Claaaaraaa…”

Still nothing.

Groaning dejectedly, John gathered his clothes from the floor and nearly fell down the stairs as he went towards the sitting room. Once he was certain the drapes were firmly closed, he stripped down and changed into his pajamas, piling his pub-worn clothes in a pile in the corner, figuring it was just his luck that he married a woman who was ready to deny his rare social vice. After eating a sandwich, he piled cushions on one end of the couch and pulled the large-stitched crocheted blanket from the back, doubling it over so he had a chance of possibly staying warm. Who the hell made a blanket with holes on purpose? It was confusing and slightly infuriating, but then again… it wasn’t like he had much of a choice.

Ah, it was probably better in the long-run for him to not smoke anyhow, he groggily thought as he drifted off towards sleep. Clara was right—it was plenty of wasted money and trouble in the long-run. He wasn’t about to admit it anytime soon, however, as the last thing he wanted to do was fuel her ego.

Wait… did he want to fuel her ego? It was a lovely sight when the thing was fed. She’d get this look in her eyes, so attractive, that it made him aroused as he imagined that glint, the way her mouth would turn upwards just so, how her lashes would flutter in smugness.

John Smith fell asleep to the thought of his wife that night, and as stimulating a thought it was, it was no match for the woman in question, sitting up in bed as she finished her work for the evening. Clara Smith knew she was being drastic, though it was a point she was more than willing to be drastic about.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

October 1948

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“I’ve been meaning to tell you, by the way: congratulations.”

John glanced up from the notes he was taking and saw Mr. Brown opening his cigar box. They had been in the middle of an editorial meeting, where Teatime with Timmy was being gone over with a fine-toothed comb so as to make certain it would be as big of a hit as Kittens Come Home.

“Pardon?”

“Elizabeth told me your wife had her baby—congratulations. Have a cigar.”

“Why thank you.” John hesitated for a second, then took a cigar. They lit them, enjoying the calm yet celebratory moment, two middle-aged men who now both knew what fatherhood was like. “I never thought I’d get here.”

“That’s a loaded statement.”

“It’s a true one though. I still now have Clara and the baby, and that’s what matters.”

“Boy or girl?”

“Boy: David James.”

“You must be proud, getting a son on the first try.”

“I would have been proud to have gotten a healthy child our first time. Davey is healthy though, and Clara and I are both glad for that.”

Mr. Brown puffed on his cigar as he processed John’s words and nodded. “What was it? Measles? Croup? Pneumonia?”

“Born too early.” John looked at the cigar in his hand, pensive. “She would have started school this year.”

“Just wait until your son does—you’ll be so caught up in everything he’s doing that the bittersweet feeling shall… well… not necessarily fade, but at least be blunted.”

“It might, it might not… all I know is that we’ve been very lucky I have a job I mostly do at home so we can both get some sleep now and then.”

“I don’t know what possessed you to do it, Smith,” Mr. Brown chuckled, shaking his head. “Your wife is young and pretty; don’t you want to enjoy that without the threat of being walked in on by a sleepy child afraid of a shadow on the wall?”

“Mr. Brown, I’m a children’s author. Don’t you think that if I didn’t have kids already, that I might want kids now, especially since I do have a wife young enough to have them?”

“Writing for children and having them running all around your house, getting into everything and interrupting at any and every occasion, are two completely different things.”

“While this is true, this doesn’t take away from the fact I write children’s books, Clara is a schoolteacher by profession and worked as such the entire time we were in Glasgow, and now we are in an environment that is much safer when it comes to having and raising children with less risk of war and want.”

Nodding, Mr. Brown took a couple puffs on his cigar. He considered the other man’s rationale and shrugged. “If I were in your position, I would do different, but I’m not you.”

“This is also true. I can’t see you remarrying for anything other than companionship, unless there’s a side to you that’s hiding outside work hours.” John watched as the tips of his editor’s ears grew red—he was no good at being called out, Samuel Brown was, and he made note of that for the future.

The two men then continued their meeting, finishing up their cigars as they completed the nitpicking and bantering over the concept of a tiger and a boy being pen pals and bonding over nature and tea. They were able to finish mostly on-time and John vacated the office before it was actual teatime. Seeing the electricity in the air when Mr. Brown was in the same room as his secretary was too much for him to stomach, and was instead rather happy to haul his portfolio bag out to the car and drive back to Grynden Street.

When he arrived home, however, John noticed that the house was intensely quiet. There was nothing making noise in the wash, no radio was left on, not even the cry of his son or the melodic sound of his wife’s voice reached his ears. Going up the stairs and poking his head in the bedroom, he saw that Clara had fallen fast asleep—exhaustion for which he could not fault her. Instead of waking her, he padded over to the nursery, seeing that Davey was awake and looking around curiously to the best of his ability.

“There you are, lad,” John beamed. “I survived another meeting with the editor—it looks like Timmy is going to Scotland for certain now. Your cousin Donny is going to be thrilled.” The infant scrunched his face and began to cry and flail his tiny fists in protest, worrying his father greatly as he tried to bounce the bairn back to contentment. He kissed his brow and paced around the nursery to no avail. None of his usual methods to get Davey to calm were working and it was beginning to make him worry.

“Oh, you’re home.”

John glanced out the doorway to see Clara sleepily shuffling out of their bedroom over towards the nursery. His heart skipped a beat in panic—he was caught. She popped up on her tiptoes as he bent down to kiss her, after which she glared at him, unimpressed.

“You’ve been smoking.”

“A celebratory cigar with my editor, nothing more,” he claimed. “We had one back when I first signed too. Declining would have been rude.”

“Uh-huh, but I wasn’t around for that one, nor was our son,” she said. Clara took the wailing infant from his father’s arms and went towards the window, opening it with one hand to let in fresh air. Davey was calmed within seconds and John’s shoulders sank dejectedly. “Just what I thought. Change your clothes and brush your teeth—this is a smoke-free house and I would like to keep it that way.”

“Agreed.”

John curled his lip in disgust as he stared out Wynn’sbedroom window. A thick, dense fog had settled over London, causing there to bevirtually no visibility in the quiet cul-de-sac. There was no wind, littletraffic to move the air, and a dark, yellowish color to the clouds that madehis stomach lurch.

In her bed, Wynn coughed and pulled John’s attention awayfrom the outdoors. He sat down at the edge of her mattress and felt herforehead, noting that it was hot to the touch.

“Daddy, I don’t feel very good,” she whined, clutching herbear.

“I know, sweetling,” he replied. He took a washcloth andsoaked it in the basin on the nightstand, wringing out the excess and placingit on her forehead. “Mam will be back from the chemist before you know it.” Hisdaughter squeaked and his heart shattered for her.

“Daddy, tea’s ready!” Davey shouted up the stairs. Johndidn’t hear, as he was too engrossed in making sure Wynn was alright. Soon, hisson appeared at his side, holding out a mug of tea for him. “Daddy, I said thattea’s ready.”

“Oh, thank you, son,” he said, taking the cuppa gratefully.“The timer for brewing went off, I take it?”

“Yup, and I poured you one just how you like it,” Daveynodded. He went to the head of the bed and stared at his sister in worry. “Doyou want some tea too, Wynnie? I can make it extra-sweet for you.”

“Please,” she coughed.

“…and no milk,” John added. “Milk tastes funny when you’resick and that only makes things worse.” He watched as Davey bounced out of theroom before setting his mug down and removing the cloth from Wynn’s forehead tocheck it again—it was cooler, though barely. Wetting the cloth and replacingit, he began to mutter the children’s favorite lullaby under his breath. Tearswelled in the corners of his eyes as Wynn whimpered from underneath the duvet,a sniffly, coughing mess. There was so much he wanted to do for her, yetunfortunately, his title of Doctor was only a pen name, not any sort of medicaltraining.

“Daddy?” Davey said, appearing at his side. “Can you sitWynnie up please? She can’t have her tea laying down.”

“Of course, son,” he said. John put the washcloth back inthe basin and shuffled daughter and pillows so that she was sitting up enoughto drink. He took the cuppa from Davey’s hands and held it by her chin. “Smellthe steam, sweetling; it’ll help your nose clear a little.”

“Mmm… tea smells good,” she hummed. Wynn stuck her nosealmost inside the mug itself, taking deep breaths. “Thank you Daddy, thank youDavey.”

“John! I’m back!” Clara shouted from downstairs. John carefullyhanded Wynn her tea and told Davey to watch over her before going down to greethis wife. She was in the foyer, placing her coat on its peg. “It is terrible out there; Davey is not going outside to play until this foglifts.”

“That bad?”

“I could barely see two feet in front of me, and I doubt itwas because of the mask,” she said. Clara passed her husband the gas mask thathe had uncovered from the attic and frowned. “I didn’t think that keeping thesewould end up being useful…”

“Soon as the weather clears up, we can put this thing backwhere it belongs,” John assured her. “The chemist have the medicine?”

“He did, and he was nearly out too. Better go get the sugar,or she’s never going to take it.”

“Right,” he agreed before kissing her cheek and walking intothe kitchen. He rummaged around for the sugar cubes and brought the boxupstairs, where Clara was already spooning out some medicine into a spoon.

“Look at that—the cavalry has arrived,” she said at thesight of her husband. Clara took a sugar cube from John and let it melt insidethe spoon of medicine, sweetening the concoction considerably.

“I don’t wanna take medicines, Mummy,” Wynn sniffled. “Ijust wanna have tea.”

“Medicine first, then tea,” Clara said. She gave herdaughter a look that made her open her mouth reluctantly, allowing her to pourthe spoon contents down her throat. Wynn scrunched her face up in disgust anddrank a few large gulps of tea, nearly finishing it off.

“I’ll get you more,” Davey said, holding out his hands. Wynnpassed him the mug and he took it down the stairs.

“Why don’t I feel good, Mummy?” Wynn asked. “What did thechemist-man say?”

“He said that he’s seen a lot of people come in lately, andthat you should stay indoors, windows shut, and get plenty of rest.”

“What if Daddy farts on accident?”

“We’ll have to deal with smelly Daddy-farts for a while,unfortunately,” Clara frowned. She shot a glare towards John, who feignedinnocence. “We can only open the windows when the sky clears—too much fog canstick to your lungs and then you’d only get worse.”

“Really…?”

“Heard it from Nanna Ellie herself—‘fog doesn’t hurt when you’re well, but stay in the house when you’reill’. She was very good with those sorts of things. You’ll listen to NannaEllie, yeah?” Wynn nodded and Clara kissed her forehead. “Good; oh, look who’sreturned… your caring big brother with more tea.”

“Hold these, please, Mummy,” Davey requested. He passedClara the mugs and grabbed a picture book from the shelf before crawling intobed with his sister. Opening the book across their laps, he held out his handsand Clara passed the children their tea.

“Be good now,” she said, kissing the tops of their heads.She then turned towards John and took his hand, leading him out of the bedroomand towards the stairs. “Chicken soup for dinner tonight instead of tomorrow’s lunch, I think. We are going to nipthis right in the bud.”

“I’ve never heard her cough like that,” John said, worried.“It can’t be the flu that’s been going around; both the kids caught it lastmonth and their coughs sounded different.”

“We are just going to have to keep an eye on her,” Clarasaid. Once they were at the bottom of the stairs, she picked up the basket withthe rest of her shopping and brought it into the kitchen, her husband followingclose behind. “Oswynne and David are staying in the house until this foglifts—I don’t like it.”

“I don’t either, and I doubt there are any more gas masksfor sale in their size,” he replied.

“There was a box for masks that they said were made for fog,but they were all out.”

“Wouldn’t trust them—it’s bad enough I don’t feel good aboutthe stuff getting in through cracks in the windows and doors.” He helped herunload the basket and put things away, working immediately on washing the vegthat was going to go into the soup while she took the chicken out of thesimmering pot atop the stove, which she put on a plate and began to shred intopieces. John took a knife from a drawer and began to peel potatoes and carrots.“Maybe we should think about moving.”

“…and where would we move to that could keep you within asane commuting distance to the publisher’s?” Clara asked. “We’re not moving.”

“It’s not even this bad up in Glasgow…”

“…and we’re not going to let a little bit of bad weather stopus from letting you support us how you always wanted,” she insisted. “Maybethis means the government will do something—bring us back to horses orsomething.”

“Horses…?”

“I don’t know… the Queen just lost her father to smoke, sothis might be the push she needs to think about ways to clean up the air, maybeget some scientists on it if she can’t come up with anything. Science is movingalong, after all.”

“You’re right about that,” he nodded. He was about to openhis mouth to say something else when a tiny voice hollered from the top of thestairs.

“Daddy!” Wynn called. “Davey threw up all over my bed!”

John set the knife and a half-peeled potato down, kissingClara on his way out. “Guess my work isn’t done yet, after all.”

“Go, you silly man,” she teased, “and be a doctor… or adecent nurse at the very least.”

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

February

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Clara was positively livid as she got off the train andhailed a taxi that could take her straight to where she needed to go withoutworrying about navigating a bus schedule she hadn’t needed looking at in years.There were plenty of things that were angering her at this point, yet none ofthem were nearly to the degree of why she was currently in Blackpool, makingher way through the city of her youth, exiting the taxi in front of thehospital and storming her way up to the front desk. She found where her fatherwas located and immediately went there, finding that Dave was sleeping. Therewere stitches on his forehead where he had cracked his head open on the countertop,which made things look all the more grisly. Sitting down in the chair next tohis bed, she waited for him to wake up, a scowl on her face.

“Clara…?” he marveled as he floated back into consciousness.“You didn’t come all the way here from London, did you?”

“You lied to me,” she frowned. The words made him flinch.“You said you were taking your medication, that you were keeping up on things,that I shouldn’t worry, and that was only twomonths ago. How long have you not been doing what you’re supposed to?”

“Clara…”

“Don’t you ‘Clara’me, not after laying on the kitchen floor for two days.”

Dave sighed heavily in defeat. “I haven’t taken it atall—I’ve been doing well without it… for the most part.”

“Heart medicine is nothing to ignore,” she scolded. “You hada heart attack, as in you almost died,and less than a month before Wynn’s wedding. I thought you said you wanted tosee that, let alone when she and Davey graduate at term’s end.”

“I do, but…”

“But what?! Dad, you’re turning seventy-eight this year andaren’t in the best of shape for your age… you need to take care of yourself nowmore than ever if you want to make it to these things! We were lucky that itwas just a heart attack and that thepostman found you!”

“I’m fine though…”

“No, you’re not; it’s ridiculous that we are even having thisconversation.”

“It’s my life, Clara…”

“…and I am not losing both my parents before I’m ready!”

Silence fell upon the room, with no noise between them asidefrom the steady beep of the heart monitor. Father and daughter avoided oneanother’s gaze as the beeping slightly sped up, then calmed again.

“Clara,” Dave saidwearily. He reached out and took his daughter’s hand in his, attempting to keephis composure. “I know it was hard when your mum died, but Ellie was more thanjust your mum to me.”

“Yeah, I know—you nearly walked into the street in front ofa car, which you weren’t used to watching out for at the time, and she savedyou.”

“…and I couldn’t save her when she needed me most. I justwant to see her again…”

“Dad, Mum died of tuberculosis,not anything you could have helped,” Clara replied quietly. “We’re just luckythat we didn’t catch it… I’m lucky that youdidn’t catch it and follow her. Fifteen and alone? I wouldn’t be where I amright now, that’s for certain.”

“You’re not fifteen anymore… your daughter isn’t even fifteen anymore…”

“No, but I am old enough to know that what you’re doing isreckless, not to mention even more selfish than me wanting to keep you alive.”

“I’m not so sure about that,” he sighed.

“Sarah Jane passed last year and John has considered himselfon ‘borrowed time’ for over two—not onlywould he lose it, but the kids wouldas well,” she scolded. She squeezed his hands a little tighter, careful not toput pressure on the IV. “Just know you have other options, okay? For nowthough, you need to take your medicine, you stubborn old fool.”

“Yeah, watch out—I hear that sort of thing doesn’t skip ageneration.”

At least that was something they could both laugh at.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

July

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

It had been an intense few months as Claraand her father figured out what they were going to do. The two had argued backand forth, neither budging on their stance. Dave did not want to move out ofhis house and into an old folks’ home, nor did he want someone barging in everyday in order to tell him what to do. Meanwhile, Clara was firm on the fact thathe needed someone watching over him, telling him what to do because she nowlived in London and a move would have been disastrous for her. It went ‘roundand ‘round and ‘round over a couple different phone calls, and even during histime in town for Wynn’s wedding, until John had picked up the kitchen phonewhile Clara was in the sitting room, bringing the argument to a dead halt.

“Move in with us—we’ve got the room—and thenwe can gang up on her and she’ll have two old men to boss around.”

That sealed the deal.

A couple hours each day, John conscriptedDavey into helping him with the formal sitting room’s transformation intoDave’s new living quarters. The young man helped his father haul old furnituredown the stairs into the basement, got up on ladders to reach stubbornwallpaper bits, and even had to learn how to install a new light fixture whilestanding precariously on the top of a ladder. He nearly failed his finalportfolio because of the home improvement projects, but every time he expressedworry over his grades, his father scoffed at the idea.

“Your stuffy professors in their ivorytowers probably don’t even know what good art is anyhow—not to mention you’regoing to be working for me, and I say you’re more than talented enough.”

With that, they continued on, with Daveybarely scraping together a portfolio worthy of his newfound degree and Johnreveling in fact that his son was now his ultimate assistant. While Dave wasscheduled to begin moving his things in when he arrived to watch hisgrandchildren graduate university, it wasn’t until late into July before heactually began the process. Davey picked the figurative short straw and endedup being the one to head to the train station the afternoon his grandfathercame in, greeting the man on the platform.

“It’s good to see you,” he said, takingthe suitcases from his grandfather. “The ride wasn’t too terrible, was it?”

“Dreadful, but I’m sure you know that bynow,” Dave nodded. He grabbed onto Davey’s arm so as to not lose him andallowed his grandson to lead the way through the crowded station and into thecarpark. “I still think this is ridiculous—I shouldn’t have to be here.”

“You know you do, Granddad,” Daveyreplied. They reached his father’s junker old car and he put the suitcases inthe boot before they both got into in the car. “I thought you wanted to dothis.”

“I did, but now I don’t know anymore.”

“Come on—I did not have Dad order mearound for three months for you to get cold feet. You’re being silly.” Daveystarted up the cart and drove out of the carpark, headed towards Grynden.

“We’ll see how you like it when you haveto abandon the house you lived in for decades, only to be shoved in with familythat has their own lives to live,” Dave grumbled. “Wynn’s kid might give you nochoice; it could even be a court order.”

“Hey, I’m not that pessimistic,” Daveylaughed. “It could be my own kid that orders me to move in with them one day.Just because Wynn can’t keep her hands off Orson while I don’t even have agirlfriend doesn’t mean that I’m never going to have a family of my own.”

“It’s still going to be interesting thatvisiting Gran and Granddad will also include Granddave and Uncle Davey,” theolder man snarked. He glanced over at his namesake and saw the frown on hisface. “Oh, come on… I remembered what you said after graduation: build up fundsfirst, then head off on your own.Could be a while before that becomes a reality—you could be an uncle two orthree times over, bless Orson.”

“Yeah,” Davey muttered lowly.

“Going by your father’s timeline, youhave until, what, 1996? Is that math right?”

“It is, because I’ve done it before, andI don’t like thinking that if I do attempt something like Mum and Dad did, thenI’d have three years before I start searching the cradles.”

“Maybe Wynn’s kid can introduce you to aclassmate? You never know.”

“I’m going to need you to shut up now,Granddad, or you’ll be attempting to navigate an unfamiliar bus system in a fewminutes,” Davey deadpanned. Most of the remaining ride was quiet and they turneddown Grynden without much fuss. “Here we are: home.”

“Home is still in Blackpool for me—it’lltake a while.”

“Hey, beats living with a bunch of oldcodgers.”

“No—that’ll be you in two minutes,” Davechuckled as his grandson pulled into the driveway. John and Clara must havebeen watching for them, because they both came out to greet him immediately.

“Glad you made it safe, Dad,” Clara said.She gave him a hug that she had a difficult time ending, breaking it to helphim into the house. “Here; let’s get you settled in.”

“I’m old, not an invalid,” her father scowled.

“Some people think that’s one in thesame.”

“Don’t remind m—”

Dave stopped and stared at the set ofdouble doors that were blocking off what he had known as the formal dining roomfrom the rest of the house. He opened one of the doors cautiously, peeking intohis new room. There was a bed, a chair, a chest of drawers, and even thewardrobe that he had shipped over two weeks prior. Fresh paint replacedwallpaper and there was a new rug sitting on the floor.

“Do you like it?” Clara asked.

“Roomier than I expected,” he replied.

“What were you expecting?” John wonderedas he and Davey brought in the suitcases.

“Not sure, but it’s better than beingalone in that old house,” Dave shrugged. He went over to the bed and unzipped asuitcase that had been placed atop it. “When are we going back next?”

“Late next month—want you to get somerest first before heading all that way again,” Clara said. She allowed a kissfrom her husband before going to her father’s side. “We’ll figure out the restof the stuff at the house, don’t worry.”

It was early on a Sunday morning, just before the brink ofdawn, when Clara felt her husband’s scratchy beard ghost along her skin whilehe planted kisses along her neck. She wriggled in his grasp, turning around sothat she could at least face him, discovering that it did not stop hisaffections.

“John, behave,”she insisted. “It’s not even light out yet.”

“It’s the gloamin’,” he replied into her neck. “Still yourbirthday, and one I never thought I’d see either.”

“…and I’ve been hearing that for nine birthdays already,”she said. Clara kissed the tip of his nose and giggled. “Let’s get up beforeDad does—enjoy the quiet.”

“I’ll agree to that.”

The two of them got out of bed and went down the stairs,John more shuffling than walking, and crept past Dave’s room to get to thekitchen. They closed the door before putting together tea and a light breakfastof toast with jam and marmalade. Sitting next to one another, the couple heldhands while they ate.

“You know, I’ve been giving more thought into taking the earlyretirement package the school offered,” Clara mentioned. “We can find the timefor more quiet breakfasts like this.”

“I thought you weren’t leaving as long as Danny wasn’t,”John frowned. “No one wants you to leave, do they?”

“No; it’s just I’ve been reexamining my priorities. Penny issix and Liz and Rita are three—they’re growing up faster than Davey and Wynndid.” She took a sip of tea and sighed softly. “Then there’s Dad, who’s gettingto be too much a handful for just you during the day…”

“Dave’s not a problem—”

“You’re older thanhim, John,” she reminded him. “It doesn’t matter when it comes to us—you’ve known that almost forty years now—butI don’t want you getting accidentally on the wrong end of things just becauseyou were the only other one in the house.”

“…and if things are really that bad, I can call Nydia…”

“…who still lives fifteen minutes away, and wants to have another baby, in case you’ve forgotten theconversation from your birthdayalready. Those are not good things to throw into the mix of an emergency.”

“Can we not fight on your birthday?”

“We are not fighting, we are discussing, and I am ending thediscussion by saying that I am more than likely going to take that package so Ican spend more time with you and Dad and our granddaughters. You’re not soinsecure you don’t want to be married to a pensioner, are you?”

“No,” he replied. John quietly chewed on some toast, reminiscing.“You remember when we were living in your office?”

“Too vividly,” Clara half-scoffed. “Why?”

“Remember when I got into that fight at the pub while wewere there? The one where Collette brought me back?”

“I thought you swore up and down the next day you didn’tremember much of it.”

“Well, I do remember this much: I told you that if I made itto your sixtieth, that I would be more in love with you than I saw then, andthat wasn’t a lie.” He squeezed her hand in his and gave her a smile, eyesglassy and grey. “Don’t take that pension package unless you really, truly want to, because we will make dowhether you stay at work or don’t. I know how much you love teaching, and ifyou still had more classroom years in you but gave them up to take care of whatI still can…”

“You silly old man,” Clara chuckled. She stood and sat downin his lap, draping her arms around his neck and kissing him gently. “My silly old man—I’ve never been or feltforced to do anything when it comes to this place, so why would I start now?”

“Good,” he murmured. He put his hands on her waist and startedkissing her back, slow and deliberate, ignoring everything else until the soundof someone specifically not their housemate interrupted them.

“Christ you two, give it a rest,” Davey grimaced. Liz wasstanding next to him, giggling into her hands, while Nydia had just appeared inthe kitchen.

“Granddad must have slept in again,” she said, backing outas soon as she saw the scene.

“Did you just break into my house?” John asked his son.

“Dad, I have a key—and besides, Granddad was supposed to letus in so we could decorate before you two got up. Instead we get this…”

“You are thirty years old, David,” Clara scolded. “I shouldhope you’d be comfortable with how your father and I are around one another bynow.”

“Yes, and my daughter is three;behave yourselves.”

“We are adults,” John said. He pressed his nose into Clara’shair, just to see his son squirm. “Besides, it’ll be good for Liz to see thather grandparents still love each other.”

“Dirty old man,” Davey grumbled as he left the room to seewhere his wife went. Liz stayed, however, bouncing up to her grandparents agiggly ball of energy.

“Happy birthday, Gran!” she beamed, holding her arms up andwide. Clara picked the girl up and gave her a hug and a kiss, which she bothreturned and gave to John as well.

“Did you eat breakfast yet, sweetling?” he wondered.

“Daddy said we were gonna make you breakfast!”

“I think that maybe, if you and Gran get off my lap, I cansee what we’ve got in the fridge to make.”

“Okay!” Liz replied. She slid off Clara’s lap and took herhand as she stood. “Can we have tea?”

“I think there’s still some in the pot,” Clara nodded. She broughtLiz over to a chair before getting her a small mug. No sooner had she pouredthe last drops from the pot into her granddaughter’s mug did Davey and Nydiareappear, ushering a sleepy-looking Dave into the room.

“They’re acting like I had a heart attack and fell, notoverslept,” Dave grumbled sourly.

“Can’t be too careful with these things,” John said, gladhis back was turned in order to hide his smirk.

“You’re the oldest one in the house—don’t give me that crap.”Liz giggled at that, knowing precisely what word her great-grandfather usedthat would get her a mouth full of soap. “Hey, where’s Wynn and Orson? Weren’tthey supposed to be here too?”

“Not until the afternoon, now don’t change the subje—Dad! Stop it; I was going to do that!”

“You scrape Granddave off the floor, you lose your precious spotin front of the stove,” John snarked. He continued mixing pancake batter asClara stood next to him refilling the kettle in the sink. “Isn’t that right,dear?”

“Precisely,” she agreed. She went on the other side of himand put the kettle on the stove. “We are adults,this is our house, and you are our guest, which means that we can makebreakfast or make out wherever and whenever we please and you get to deal withit.”

“Doesn’t mean we can’t do something for you every once in awhile that doesn’t involve Christmas dishes,” Davey frowned.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

May 1970

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

“…you what?!”Davey hissed. His eyes nearly bugged as he stared at Wynn and Orson in front ofhim, all three glad that his roommate was in class at the moment, which meantthat the three of them were completely alone. “Not that I disapprove of the two of you, but you’ve barely been dating a monththis time around!”

“Yeah, well sometimes this stuff happens whether we like it or not,” his sister growled back, goingon the defensive. “Then again, it’s not like you’d have any experience in thesematters; I don’t know why I’m talking to you…”

“…because I’m your brother and of course I have experience…just not in this specific situation… damn it, you two are still in school!”

“I’m a work-study and Orson still has his delivery job, so we can and will manage,” Wynn snapped.“Now, are you going to be a witness or am I going to have to hit you hardenough to where you don’t remember this entire conversation?”

“What are you going to tell our families, hmm?” Davey asked,beginning to pace over every available inch of the tiny sitting room. “Okay, itcould be a false alarm and you never have to tell anyone else about having asneaking courthouse wedding until your church service, but what if it isn’t?! ‘Oh sorry but we were being too hormonal tothink about condoms; when do you want it to be your turn to babysit?’You’re mental!”

“Should I, um, leave?” Orson asked.

“No, what you should do is find a DARSIT and go back in timeto stop yourself from buying her Dilly,” Davey said.

“Dilly’s just a rabbit…”

“…and the catalyst to this entire situation.”

“Admit it: I’ll make a better brother-in-law than Haroldever could have,” Orson said.

“Can’t argue there.” He then froze mid-step and spun around,heading for the kitchenette. “I need tea.”

“What you need is a girl,” Wynn scoffed. Her brother flasheda rude hand gesture, which only made her laugh.

“Was it imprinting? Did the two of you accidentally imprinton one another when you were sharing a cot as babies?”

“Would you like to know what I figure?” Orson asked. Daveymade a noise and his friend continued. “My boss was reminiscing one day about whenhe was young that he and his wife were legally married a whole year beforetheir church service, because they couldn’t afford both at the time and it thengave them all that extra time of being married on paper. Depending on whathappens down the line, a house or flat might go better to a couple that’s beenmarried five years compared to three.”

“…and if I have a niece or nephew by this time next year?”

“We slipped up, which would be the truth, but when would be the lie… for at least alittle while… until after the time our parents would be cross with us.” Orsonfrowned as Davey brought the battered tea tray with old mugs into the sittingroom for them, feeling guilty for his friend. “We don’t even know for certain—wejust want to be safe. You know I wouldn’t lie to Dad unless it was absolutelynecessary.”

“Yeah, I know; there’s only one problem with your planthough… none of us are particularly religious, so why would we be fussing overa church service?”

“…because it’s romantic,”Wynn insisted. “Besides, Mum is, a bit—no one with fond memories of Sunday Schoolisn’t at least a little bit—and if I asked Dad to walk me down the aisle hewould in a heartbeat.”

“They never had a church service though, and Audrey nevereven gave Mr. Pink the chance to marry her—a legal union is the best of ourparents’ generation, and if we go with grandparents, shit, then that’s judgingtoday’s society on the habits of Victorians and flappers.”

“Alright, so what if Dad never got to do the whole marriagething? I think he’d want better for me, and part of that would be a chance at achurch service, if we can afford to wait it out.” Orson held Wynn’s hand as hesipped his tea, both acts comforting. “At least I know it’s Wynn I’m supposedto be with—that’s not changing.”

“No, I didn’t think it was,” Davey nodded. “At least I’m havingthis conversation with you; you always were the closest thing I had to abrother, and now it’ll be official.”

“Does this mean you’re coming along tomorrow?” Wynn asked.

“I have to, don’t I?” he sighed. “Siblings keep one another’ssecrets, or so I’m told. Do you remember when we ate Dad’s birthday soufflé?”

“Probably the only good one Mum’s ever made,” she snorted. “Sheprobably still thinks it was Strax.”

“…and Strax she shall think it was forevermore,” her brotherinsisted. He held out his mug and they all clinked theirs together in a toast,hoping that things were going to go well despite not going as planned in theslightest.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

March 1972

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

The small church was teeming with excitement as the music becameprogressively cheerier. While Davey was making sure Orson stayed calm in thefront of the church, Wynn was in the back making sure her father didn’t sobhimself into a coma.

“Dad, please, relax,” she insisted. “Orson and I are alreadymarried—you don’t need to be like this.”

“I will be like this if I damn well please,” he saidstubbornly. “I’m eighty, older than any of the men in my family that came beforeme, and I think I deserve to cry at my daughter’s wedding ceremony.”

“…and what would Aunt Sarah Jane say?”

“I think she would have backed me on this.” Despite thetears leaking from his eyes, he pretended nothing was wrong. “Don’t deny an oldman something he didn’t think would happen.”

“You and Mum have been married over thirty years—don’t giveme that.”

“But forty years ago I would have laughed off the entireidea.” He then grew quiet as he silently recalled math he had gone overcountless times in his head. “Nearly thirty years ago and I don’t know what Iwould have done.”

“Victorias happen, Dad,” Wynn said, putting a hand on his shoulder.She hesitated, yet decided to go through with it anyhow. “You know, Orson and Imight’ve had a Victoria of our own. We don’t know for certain, but… it’spossible we did.”

“Your mam and I figured as much, given how quickly you twodecided to marry,” he replied. His voice was tiny and hoarse from the morningof crying that hadn’t yet stopped despite it being the afternoon. “Even if wegot cross, we wouldn’t have stayed so for long… you know that, right?”

“What I know is that Orson and I have some of the bestparents in the world looking after us, and when we do have kids, they’ll besome of the best grandparents. Shit, Granddad should be a pro at accepting oddsituations when it comes to this stuff.”

“Oswynne, language.” The organ switched songs and he heldout his arm. “That’s our cue, sweetling.”

Wynn silently took hold of his arm and they walked into themain of the church. John tried to keep it together, but began to crack onceagain when he saw the look on Orson’s face when Wynn was finally in full view.He lifted his daughter’s veil and allowed her to make the final steps towardsher husband alone, going to Clara’s side a veritable mess.

She held his hand through the entire service—it was going tobe alright.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

December 1974

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

It was the Friday after Christmas and things were quiet onGrynden Street. Many homes were still in a sort of post-Christmas haze, theSmith-Oswald Household being one of them. Penny was over, as her parents werevisiting friends with a child-unfriendly flat, and the toddler was making thebest of it.

“Aunt Nyssa, wanna play?” she asked. Davey and Nydia werecurled up on the couch together while watching some television, which was not withinthe child’s current parameters of fun.

“It’s a rerun, so I think we can,” Nydia replied. She hadbeen over at the house a lot since the offices closed for the holiday thanks tonot having anywhere else to go, though she also knew she had been putting offplaying with the girl for a while in lieu of helping with dinner and such. Standing,she pecked Davey on the cheek and allowed Penny to take her hand and lead herover towards the stairs. The young man waited until he could hear them havingsafely made it up the stairs before turning off the television with aresounding sigh. He leaned back into the couch, tilting his head back andtaking deep, calming breaths.

“Is something the matter, son?”

Davey looked and saw his father standing in the doorway tothe sitting room, staring at him with concern. Other than Nydia and Penny, theywere the only two people in the house, thanks to Clara taking her father to runsome errands before dinner.

“It’s… just me being me,” Davey replied sourly.

“In what way?” John entered the room and sat down next tohis son, giving him a comforting pat on the knee. “Come on; tell your old da.”

Davey paused, wondering if he should really say anything. “Howdid you propose to Mum?”

“Are you thinking about asking Nydia?”

“Just, please, how did you do it?”

“If you must know: I decided, pretty much on a whim becauseyour Auntie Collie was being cranky—don’t ask me how that mattered—to take offat lunch and run over to the school your mam worked at. I got down on one kneein front of all the little ones, but they thought I merely had to tell hersomething they couldn’t hear, and we went that afternoon into town for thepaperwork. She moved in the following day and I don’t know who thought what,but the neighbors were pretty evenly split between thinking we were conning oneanother or that she was up the duff. That’s the only regret I have, becauseeverything else was cosmetic. Your mam deserved better than that sort of talk,but I don’t know how else it could have happened, considering the times.” Helooked at his son, whose gaze was glazed and elsewhere, and nodded once. “Now,tell me what’s the matter.”

Davey shifted to one side and took a small ring box out of aback trouser pocket, holding it up for his father to see. “I was planning ongiving her this on Christmas, but something in me… froze, and I haven’t beenable to work up the nerves since.”

“Are you unsure of her answer?”

“I… I don’t know… I had thought about it and thought aboutit, but it just didn’t feel like the right time anymore.” The younger man ranhis hand through his hair and exhaled heavily. “What do I do?”

“Whatever you decide to do, I’m sure it will be the rightthing,” John said. “You’re not a fool, even if you feel foolish right now, andNydia is no fool either. The two of you will be fine. All you need to do now isask.”

A weight dropped in Davey’s stomach and he knew it was true.He shakily stood and pocketed the box again before going up the stairs.  In Wynn’s old room, now the place where Pennystayed overnight, he found his girlfriend playing with his niece, the two quietlyplaying with old animal figurines. Nydia caught sight of Davey before he had achance to open his mouth, quickly going to her feet.

“Oh, good—I’ve got to use the loo,” she explained quickly. Aquick kiss to his lips and she vanished down the stairs.

“Do you wanna play, Uncle Davey?” Penny wondered. She heldup her stuffed owl proudly. “Lix and Randall can be the leader-owls of the zoo!”

“Actually, I have a job for you Penny Laney, if you’re up toit,” Davey said. He sat down next to his niece and took the ring box out of hispocket. “You see this?”

“Yeah?”

“It’s a very special ring I want to give Nyssa, but I’mscared.”

“Why?”

“Honestly? I don’t know. You know how your mummy and daddywear rings, and Gran and Granddad, and even Granddave? It means they’remarried, or in Granddave’s case wasmarried to Gran’s mum, because they’re in love.”

“You wanna wear rings with Aunt Nyssa?”

“Yeah, and make her your Aunt Nyssa for always, but it’sscary. I guess… I guess it’s the fear of guessing her answer incorrectly, ofher not being who I think she is.”

“That’s silly, Uncle Davey,” Penny giggled. She took the boxfrom him, unprompted, and scurried out the door. He tried to dive after her,but she was too quick.

“Penny! No! That wasn’t…!” He scrambled to get up and chaseafter her, but he was too late. By the time he caught up to her downstairs, thepreschooler was standing in front of the open bathroom door, giving Nydia thevelvet box. He froze, watching the scene stricken in terror.

“Davey, what’s this?” Nydia wondered, walking towards him. “Didshe get into your mum’s things when we weren’t looking?”

“No, erm… that’s for you,” he replied. “I just wanted Pennyto distract you for me, but…” Davey stopped as she opened the box and her eyeswent wide.

“Really?”

“Yeah, really.”

“Oh, David!” She threw her arms around her blushingboyfriend, now fiancé, and kissed him happily. They held each other close,despite the noises of disgust coming from Penny, who didn’t realize how much ofa catalyst she was for their relationship.

“Hey,” Davey chuckled, “now we’ve got no choice but to watchInspector Spacetime together tomorrow.”

Sitting at his desk at the publisher’s, John sorted throughhis mail, hoping to get things done before he was caught up in any sort ofextended coworker encounter. The last thing he needed was for him to get distractedand then be there well past what he had planned; he and Clara had plans to goout that night and he did not want to either cancel or put it off for too long.He was so concentrated on a letter that he did not notice Mr. Brown’s secretaryuntil she tapped him on the shoulder.

“Mr. Smith?” He jumped in surprise, which spooked her aswell. “Oh! I’m sorry!”

“Please don’t do that—I’m not a young man anymore.”

“I just wanted to tell you that Mr. Brown wants you to stopby his office on your way out.”

“I can do that,” he replied. He waited until she was out ofearshot to grumble obscenities under his breath, cursing the fact that he wascaught. As John grew older, he found he had less patience for the offices andimpromptu meetings. He had been talking with Clara here and there for yearsabout his eventual retirement, yet as the years went by he felt the urge tomake good on the threats to cut the cord and become a full-time old codger.

Instead of attempting to dodge the various secretaries thathe was sure would catch him on the way out, John went and bit the bullet andwent straight to Mr. Brown’s office when he was done. He went through since thesanctum was unguarded and found his editor standing there talking with a youngman the illustrator had never seen before. Mr. Brown noticed John almostimmediately, cutting off his other conversation short.

“Smith, glad you made it; I’d like you to meet the newestmember of the editorial staff,” he said. The young man stepped forward andshook John’s hand. “Turlough here is prepping to take on some of my authorswhen I retire.”

“Are you interested in children’s literature, Mr. Turlough?”John asked politely.

“Possibly,” he replied. His posh voice seemed almost jarringcompared to John’s broad Glasgow and Mr. Brown’s middle-class London. “I didn’trealize that our prized catch is as close to retirement age as our Brown.”

“My kids are finishing up their second term at uni as wespeak, so I’m not as old as I look,” John snarked in an attempt to keep thingsprofessional.

“Oh really? Studying what?”

“My daughter is sitting classes in maths and computers sincethat’s not only what she loves but where she excels, though my son is seeing ifart is his calling.”

“If that works out, then you could have bred yourself atailor-made replacement for when your hands get a bit too shaky… that is, ifart is his calling and not his hobby.”

“I want him to get a year in under someone other than mebefore we make that sort of decision,” John frowned. “He’s my son andeverything he’s ever drawn has been perfect, but that’s what happens whenyou’re a father. Some stepping back and letting others work with him will helpwith that.”

“Whether he ends up taking over your position or not, I’mstill disappointed in the current state of legacy positions in the nation,”Turlough sighed. “Very few are trained properly these days; it’s not a badthing for one to take over their father’s job.”

“I wouldn’t be standing here right now if a boy taking theirfather’s job was still the norm,” John said. “If David wants to do what I do,that’s fine, but if he doesn’t then there’s nothing I can do to stop him.”

“Did I touch a nerve?”

“Old men’s nerves are too numb to get upset when a boy freshout of public school says something insensitive.”

“Alright, enough of that,” Mr. Brown said, stepping betweenhis coworkers. “That was all I wanted you for; you can go back to whatever youwere doing.”

“I was on my way out—see you both later,” John said. He leftthe office as quickly as he could, glad for the reprieve. A younger him mighthave been able to deal with the new editor, but too much time around the ladnow and things were liable to go sour at breakneck speeds.

Except, when he found his car in the carpark, he thoughtabout the one thing he took away that wasn’t enraging: the idea that Daveymight take over for him. He was a patient lad when it came to people like Mr.Turlough, and it wasn’t as though he had started off going into the programwith no skills whatsoever. It was definitely a possibility, though it also madehim think about when he was young and his father wanted him to take over theforeman position at the shipyard. Davey hadn’t gone into the art programbecause he was forced to by any means, but it was also a delicate subject, onethat could change the teen’s career path in an instant. John didn’t want toruin anything on accident and he knew first-hand that it would be incrediblyeasy to do. It would have to be delicately handled… except there was theglaring fact that he was less subtle than Strax when chasing the neighborhoodstray cat out of the garden.

What was he going to do?

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

A couple weeks later and the run-in withMr. Turlough was still on his mind. His children had been home from school fora few days at that point, the summer holiday finally upon them. It was naggingJohn so much that he put down his pencil and left his studio, headed over toDavey’s open bedroom. He could still hear the sound of Wynn’s recordsdownstairs, which meant that he would very likely be undisturbed… key wordbeing likely. Knocking on the door,he grabbed his son’s attention from the magazine he was reading on his bed.

“How’s it going?”

“Not bad—getting used to not being inclasses almost every day is weird.”

“I’m sure.” John glanced at Davey’s deskand saw the small pile of sketchbooks sitting atop it. He stepped into the roomand casually pointed them out. “Mind if I have a look?”

“Sure, go ahead,” the young man said. Hepanicked, however, when he saw his father take the one second from the top.“No, not that one!”

“Let me guess: Life Drawing?” Johnchuckled. “I was in art school once too, as ancient history books prove; nakedpeople aren’t a shock.”

“It’s, um, not that,” Davey admitted,face going red. John opened the sketchbook and saw that it was filled withcartoony sketches of people and characters, some of which were very familiar.

“You drew Sir Spoon… and Timmy the Tiger…and your sister,” he observed. “I’m a bit impressed, to be honest. Do they havecopies of the books at the school library?”

“I dunno—those are from memory mostly,”the teen said. “They’re not nearly as good as yours, but I figured I might aswell start trying some character stuff and be ahead of the game for when thatclass rolls around in Autumn.”

“If that’s true, then I’d say you’re inthe correct program,” his father nodded. “I wasn’t sure when you started, beingI’m your da and all, but this proves it.” He closed the book and placed it backdown on the desk, giving his son a smile. “I won’t give it to you unless youdeserve it, but would you like my job?”

Davey’s eyes bugged. “What…?”

“I already know I won’t last much longerat the publishing house—I’ve been staring down the barrel of retirement foryears now—and I’ve been thinking about leaving being ‘the Doctor’ to someoneelse… someone who I can trust to keep up the name well.”

“…do you think I can do it just bylooking at my sketchbooks?”

“This is you under proper instruction;what I see is a definite improvement from summer if you ask me. Prove yourselfin school and I imagine I can convince Mr. Brown to hire you on as myassistant, and you can take over more and more until it’s all your show.” Johnshrugged and picked up another sketchbook, this one being the nudes from lifedrawing. “If books aren’t your thing, I can put in a good word with theadvertising department, or even somewhere different entirely. No child of minehas a brain of pudding, and even if it takes them a little while to figure outwhere they’re meant to be, I want to help them.”

“Thanks, Dad,” Davey said quietly. Hetook his sketchbook from his father, unable to look him straight-on. “I’llconsider it… but what if I don’t want to go into art after all?”

“Are you considering changing your major?”

“I don’t know—it’s been a rough semester.”

“Whether you do or don’t, I’ll be therefor you. I’m there for your sister, aren’t I?”

Davey considered that and smiledslightly. “It’s not the same, but it kinda is, isn’t it?”