He waited. No noise, no shouting, arguing, banging on the bathroom door, still asleep he guessed. Rolling over he glanced at his alarm clock, 9.15 another hour to The Archers omnibus. He could get up and do some work, there were reports to finish, but deep down he knew they would wait till Monday.

 

Sunday mornings in bed were a special time, a lie in, making love 'Don't wake the kids', 'Don't make so much noise', 'Why not I'm enjoying it', he smiled at the memory then looking at the empty pillow next to him switched on the radio. The Sunday morning service, he grimaced and switched it off. Feeling a little guilty it was The Lords Day after all. More than that though to-day was Fathers Day. 'And when is Fathers Day ' he asked aloud ?  'Nine months after Fathers Night'  he repeated the old joke and smiled. His two fathers nights had given birth to James and Emma two years apart and following his divorce now living with him.

 

Unusual as this was, their mother being a career woman, had decided that they would be better off with their father, and it suited all parties though he knew they both missed a female presence in the home. He did his best and could cook moderately well and no it wasn't TV dinners, and had managed to install a rota for household chores, though somehow he ended up doing 75% of the work. He often mused on this and thought it strange that he managed a company with hundreds of employees that hit targets for production and service yet somehow couldn't get a ten and twelve year old to do their fair share of the washing up.

 

He picked up his latest read from his bedside, John Grisham ' The Runaway Jury' and began to read, but somehow Nicholas Easter and his attempts to rig the jury trial did not engage his mind. He knew why, before she had left Fathers Day and Mothers Day as well had always meant breakfast in bed served by the kids. OK so the kids were cajoled into serving it by the other parent who had supervised the tea and toast and sometimes a very over-boiled egg, but which was always pronounced delicious by the recipient. Not today it seemed. His first Fathers Day without his partner of  20 years.

 

Of course he,well both of them , had dismissed Fathers Day and Mothers Day as a cynical money grabbing opportunity foisted on society by the manufacturers of greetings cards and the restaurateurs. That was then. Now it was somehow; different. He wanted his kids to show that they remembered and cared enough. 10.15 time for The Archers. He switched on the radio and the familiar signiture tune issued forth and he allowed ' An everyday tale of country folk'  to take him far from the reality of his own life.

When it finished with the usual cliff hanger he got up showered and dressed. Making breakfast for all of them was always his Sunday chore and one he delighted in. A full English breakfast, murder on the calorie intake but so satisfying.

 

The children were up and doing now and he called them to take their plates off to their rooms as they always did as if frightened that someone would steal their provender. No Fathers Day greetings, no card, nothing. He had dropped the odd little hint the previous week but obviously to no avail. They returned their plates to the sink and rushed off before he ask whose turn it was to wash up. Silly question. It was his, again. Having disposed of the breakfast things he set about preparing dinner. Naturally he had, as so often before, forgotten to get the meat out of the deep freeze, so that had to go in the microwave. Having done so he decided to look at those reports.

 

Sitting at his computer he decided that he would have one go at his blood and guts alien bashing computer game, so for the next hour it was 'DOOM'. Having saved the planet for the umpteenth time he went and prepared dinner. Sunday dinner was the only meal eaten at the table. It had been that way since they had been a complete family and he wanted it to continue. After the meal was over he bargained with the children; ice cream and baked apples for dessert if they washed up. The long faces glowered at him as they reluctantly accepted his terms. However they did so with the least grace they could muster. Something snapped and he shouted ' Well it is Fathers Day the least you could do is wash up without looking so bloody miserable about it ! '

 

The look on their faces said it all. They had forgotten; of course they had forgotten. They were so wrapped up in their own little worlds things like Fathers Day were very small beer compared with England's progress in the European Cup or texting messages to one's best friend. Angrily he went and got the dessert from the kitchen, His eyes stung with tears. Was it so much to ask ? Obviously it was.

Loading a tray he returned to the dining room and there on his place mat was a card and small packet. The children looked flushed and embarrassed, 'Sorry Dad, we forgot to give you these earlier', they said.

He opened the packet first, ' Thanks kids', he said , 'And here was me thinking you had forgotten'. The children looked away as his eyes misted over and he unwrapped a packet of his favourite cigars. He then opened the card, it showed an alligator with a pompadour hair style playing a guitar and read ' To The Coolest Dad We Know'. His love of Rock 'n 'Roll was a source of much derision to his kids, 'All the people you like are dead, Dad'. Smiling he opened the card and read the familiar names and the great big X.

 

The writing was familiar too, but it wasn't theirs. He heard a car start and glancing out of the window he saw her familiar BMW starting to pull away. 'I'll just put these in my den he said', and left the dining room before the bitter sweet tears began to fall. He placed the card on his desk, and lit one of the cigars whilst selecting a record from his vast collection and still crying but smiling also he laid back in his chair and listened to Jerry Lee Lewis singing ,  'She Still Comes Round (To Love What's Left Of Me)  ' .