‘I don’t know what to think, this is all just a bloody mess. I’ve a son I didn’t know existed up to a few months ago. He’s been living without a father and now he needs me I… I—’

‘Look at me, Tom.’

Slowly his head turns to face me. Tears gathering in his eyes.

‘This cannot happen. You will find a way to help the boy but he is not coming to live in this house. Do you understand?’ Placing my hands on his cheeks I rub Tom’s face and look into his eyes. A little boy stares back at me. He does not know what to do.

‘We’re not going to ruin this family, we need to be strong here, we need to tell that social worker we cannot have that kid in this house. There has to be another option, Tom. What if he’d never discovered you were his father, they’d look after him then, wouldn’t they? They’d have to find another alternative then.’

Lifting my hands from his face, he stares at me.

‘But I am his father, Sally. He did find me.’ Tom walks out the door.

There’s a tightness across my chest that the doctor called anxiety, my gift from Tom. When it happens, Sally, take a few deep breaths and try to relax. The first time it paid me a visit was two days after Tom lost all our money. I went to the A and E believing I was having a heart attack. We might lose the house, be out on the street, or living with Ellen. Even worse, my father. It was just too much for me to bear. All I could feel was terror. All I could see was clouded in darkness. I panicked. My body panicked. It felt like someone was tightening a vice around my chest. When the ECG came back clear, I felt like a fool because I was a fool. I was diagnosed a fool.

Tom’s footsteps pace the floorboards in the bedroom above my head. He’s on the phone to someone, probably the social worker, filling her in on how the little wife took the news or maybe it’s him, the boy. I wonder does Tom want the boy to come and live here? How close has he become to the kid in the past two months? If it is only two months. He could be lying about that too.

The following minutes are spent sitting on the sofa waiting for my body to relax. When I finally have control over my breathing, I go to the kitchen to get a glass of cold water. If Tom wants the boy to live here with us, what will I do? Do I have any rights?

I’m about to refill a glass with more cold water when Tom arrives into the kitchen. His face is grey, his hair standing on end.