For an old codger he's not 'alf bad (part 2)

He led the way through a part of the town I had never been to before, between winding streets and alleys that were difficult to navigate in the steadily settling dark. The old man had grabbed a lantern on the way out, but seemed to be holding off on lighting it until it was absolutely necessary.

It occurred to me that, despite literally being accomplices in a crime and co-conspirators of a planned usurpation, I really didn’t know all that much about Arthur. I figured a long walk with no one else around was the perfect time to close that distance.

“So… Eleanor said you stepped up and supported 'er when 'er old man died. That must'a been 'ard to balance, what wi' managin' your own shop and raisin' your own son 'n' all,” I said, breaking the surprisingly non-awkward silence.

“Aye, I cannot say þose wer easy years. þough ‘twas befor my beloved wyfe passed, I still wished to be present in Elis’ childhood, but I had also noen dear Ella’s faþer for myne entyre lyfe, and I owed him a grate deal. To support þe young girl in her endeavours, to keep alyve his legasy of boþ blood and craft, ‘twas þe least I could do to repay myne old friend in deaþ. þey were tyreless days, no dautt, but could I do it all agane, I would nary change a þing.” There was a nostalgic look on his face, a level of contentment with life that so many wish to have by his age. Everything I knew about him suggested he had well earned that contentment.

“Ella was lucky to 'ave someone like you there for 'er. I don’t wants ta downplay 'er achievements or anythin', she’s certainly pretty incredible for managin' to stay afloat in her position, but bein' a parentless child whose only asset is a business she can’t run alone coulda been a death sentence without a good guidin' 'and. I think it’s safe to say she wouldn't be where she is in life without you steppin' up to fill the void left by 'er old dad.”

“If it can be sayd þat I had such an effect, I can dy a happy man noeing I have done what I can to pay back myne old frend. But try as one myte, a surrogatt may never truly replaæs a living parent. þe poor girl never deserved to be orfanned so young, and nautt þat I can do will ever truely fill þat void.”

“I wouldn’t sell yourself so short, y’know. I think she really does love you like a second father, you don’t need blood relation for that to be true. And anyway, sometimes ‘real’ family ain’t all its cracked up to be anyway…” I trailed off as my mind wandered back to Earth, a place it had rarely returned to this past week. I can’t say I exactly have fond memories of the place, after all.

“…such a mindset doþ not com araund wiþout a story to tell. Doþ someþing ale your mynd, my boy?” Arthur asked, his voice a mix of gentle and concerned. “Dost þou have an… uncordial relæshonship wiþ þyne own family?”

“I… guess you could say that…” I trailed off again, before giving a heavy sigh. “Is there a place to the north of Igris that has a sort of separate national identity? Maybe a neighbouring kingdom that unified with Igris at some point?”

“Hmm? Aye, þere be'þ such a place. ‘Tis called Zahairans, an old frend and an even older foe of ours. Wherefore dost þou ask?”

“Back on Earth, that place is called Scotland, and it’s where me family lived when I was a bab. Lovely country, but the job market was squeezed dry and me mum and dad could barely afford a place to live. So me dad convinced me mum to hightail it down to London, the capital of our version of Igris, since 'e could get a better job there. And 'e did, for a while, before the bastard upped and died on us a few years after movin.’” I looked back on those days with a vague sadness. I was very young, so young that the memory is fractured and foggy, but I remembered it all the same. Mum was distraught, and I was just old enough to be distraught too. “…most people in me mum’s position would have moved back in with their parents or summin, but ever the diplomat, the woman had fobbed off most of the family when she left for England, and now none of ‘em wants her back. So there we was, a young lad barely old enough to speak in sentences and a mum wi' no support system. Tryin' ta raise me and provide for me alone was... frustratin' for 'er. Frustration turned to resentment. Resentment turned to anger. By the time I was 15, the two of us could barely stand eachuvva.”

Honestly, just talking about the old mare left a bad taste in my mouth. She was no mother at all, the cow.

“þough I empaþyse wiþ your moþer’s plyte… I cannot imajin resentment for myne own son. I am sorry þou went þrough such hardship.”

“Yeah, it was… bad. For the longest time, I told meself I’d move out the second I turned 18 and never look back. I just needed a job. And, as luck would have it, the bloody job market crashed again, and I was stuck with the old bint for even longer. That just made 'er 'ate me more. Every move I made was criticised, every mistake met with an insult, every good deed ignored. It was obvious: she blamed me for ruinin' 'er life, and she had decided to make it my problem.” I looked up at the now-dark sky, remembering the pissed-off expression she wore on a practically daily basis. “Wish I could say the story has an ‘appy endin’, but the last thing I remember from Earth was leavin' the 'ouse pissed off at her, then gettin' struck by lightnin', then wakin' up here. No closure, no catharsis, nothin'. An unceremonious end to an unhappy family. If there is a god, it’s prob'ly the only joke he’s ever played on me that’s actually pretty funny in a way.”

That was the only way I could describe it. A ridiculous joke, so stupid it was laughable. A lifetime of verbal abuse, and for what? Odds are I’d never see the old bint again. So that was the ending we got? Really? An argument over self raising bloody flour? It was so absurd it was hilarious, and yet I wasn’t laughing.

“…I wish I coud simply give þee a platichude such as ‘family is all one can count on, even wiþ it’s imperfekshons,’ but it doþ not seem as if such sentiment truly applieþ here…” Arthur said, seemingly thinking his next words through carefully. “It truly seemeþ as if þe world haþ been unkind to þee, in ways no child could possibly deserve. But if þis world can be seen as þy ‘second chance,’ it may also be your opportunity for recourse on þis front.”

“Recourse? Whatcha mean b’that?”

“Well, perhaps you will come to have a family of your own here. Perhaps wiþ a young lady of staut hart and single mynded dryve?” He gave me a knowing smile, and I looked away. Damn, was it really that obvious that I was into her? “If such a future comeþ to pass, ‘twill be þy chance. þou hast suffered at þe hands of boþ fate and family, but þou now hast þe opporchunity to brake þat sykle befor 'tis allaud to cause furþer harm. Show þyne own chyld þe love þou wert denyde, and þou may fynd contentment and joy in giving anoþer þe lyfe þou shouldst have been allaud to live þyself. Become þe parent þou deserved but never had. þat is your recourse.”

It was a heavy silence that followed, though not an uncomfortable one. His words began to take root in my heart as I considered them more and more carefully. Break the cycle. Show love where I was shown contempt. Be the parent I never had.

It was… a warm thought. One that I found myself indulging in more and more. One that became more appealing the more I thought about.

Honestly, I had thought very little about the idea of having kids. I had spent most of my time on Earth with a single minded desire to get by until I can get out, so I had never even really dated before. But now that I was here, away from it all, and for the first time experiencing something that felt more and more like love the more I thought about it, the idea took root in my mind.

It was something I had wanted for a long time: a future worth living for.

“Eleanor really was lucky to grow up with someone who can so effortlessly spout out wisdoms like that. No wonder she grew up to 'ave a such an ‘ead on ‘er shoulders,” I said after a long silence.

“Pah! I’m just an old boy who haþ made enuff mistakes in life to have learned a þing or two. Prase me not so hyely.”

“If you don’t want such a high praise you should try bein' one of those old coots that causes problems for fun instead.”

“Ha! Would þat I could!”

He laughed, and I joined him. For a codger, the old lad wasn’t half bad.