My father left when I was two, just disappeared. He’d emptied out the family bank account, left a huge amount of debt behind. Mostly from gambling.
Mama never mention him and I learned not to ask questions. Her family helped out. Hell, his family helped out. They felt so bad about what my father had done. We got by.
Mama went on dates from time to time but never had a long relationship again.
Time moved on, as it does. I went to uni, moved to the big city and started my own independent life.
I seldom thought of my father, what was there to think about? He hadn’t wanted me. The end.
Yesterday I had a knock on my door quite late in the evening. I was not expecting company so I opened the door cautiously, I don’t live in the safest of areas.
A young woman was outside, swaying slightly. She stank of alcohol, whiskey I guessed.
‘Are you David?’ she asked.
‘I’m Rebecca,’ she informed me. ‘Your little sister. You can call me Becky’ I stood silently looking at her. ‘You best invite me in,’ she suggested. ‘I brought a bottle of Teachers.’