He had not expected it to feel as though he had been punched in the gut. As he walked out into the Airport and saw them, England looking frumpy and nervous in an oversized sweater, Matty with an open grin on his face and Alfred torn between excitement and suspicion he was suddenly struck with every mile and every second between the last time he had seen them. A month only, but in that moment it seemed an eternity. He could not remember the last time he’d walked from a plane to find someone waiting for him. To stand here now, facing his family. It was quite special.
When they spotted him Al ran forward a little before remembering himself and turning to grab hold of his mother's trouser leg. Matty waited until Francis was closer and it was safer to walk over, arms raised for a hug. Francis happily dropped his case and bent down to scoop the boy into his arms.
"Ah, Matty," he sighed, squeezing him, "It is quite wonderful to see you again."
"You too, papa," Matty mumbled, hugging him tightly. Al's desire for attention quickly overcame his desire to let Francis know that he was an interloper and he ran over to stand at Francis' side, arms raised impatiently for inclusion in the hug. Francis knelt and wrapped an arm around his other son, smiling a most content smile.
"I have missed you too, Alfred." He still felt a surge of awe every time he looked at these children, to think that they were his. It seemed preposterous that something so wonderful could be a result of something that he had done.
"Come on," England said, her tone buisness like. "I hate airports, let's get out of here quickly." Francis looked up and noted the faint flush on her cheeks. It was quite endearing. He would happily have embraced her also but he was not at all certain how she would take that.
"Ok, mum," Al said quickly, wriggling from Francis’ arms and running to take her hand. It seemed the boy was capable of doing as he was told when it was in his favour. Matty held to Francis’ neck a few seconds longer before letting go long enough for Francis to straighten and collect his luggage then quickly slipping his hand into Francis’.
It was wonderful, the feel of that little hand in his. His son. This was his son. He beautiful, intelligent son who wished to hold his hand. What more could a man wish for that this?
He was glad that on the drive to the house it seemed that some of the tension which had marked his last visit had eased. Presumably by staying in touch for this past month, phoning his sons, jumping at the chance to see them, he had won a little of her respect at least. And she was not a woman who gave it easily.
Through the ride Alfred filled the car with his chapter about their adventures in preparing for school, Matty’s soft corrections hovering behind the story. As he listened to tales of uniforms and books he could not help but wish he had been able to be here with his sons earlier. However, in order to be there on the Monday morning to see them for their first morning of school he had worked through the Saturday. Every second of that work was more that worth it to see them.
Once they reached the house and had unloaded themselves from the car England slammed away to make dinner, Al running after her shouting about helping and making hamburgers. Francis let himself fall onto the couch and was not surprised when Matty approached him clutching a book. It was strangely nostalgic to sit there with his son on his lap reading. Of course he had not done this before, but his own father had done the same for him. Thinking of Matty’s stumbling attempts to learn French he resolved that next time he should bring his son some French children’s books.
"Life can be difficult" 3.1/?
He had not expected it to feel as though he had been punched in the gut. As he walked out into the Airport and saw them, England looking frumpy and nervous in an oversized sweater, Matty with an open grin on his face and Alfred torn between excitement and suspicion he was suddenly struck with every mile and every second between the last time he had seen them. A month only, but in that moment it seemed an eternity. He could not remember the last time he’d walked from a plane to find someone waiting for him. To stand here now, facing his family. It was quite special.
When they spotted him Al ran forward a little before remembering himself and turning to grab hold of his mother's trouser leg. Matty waited until Francis was closer and it was safer to walk over, arms raised for a hug. Francis happily dropped his case and bent down to scoop the boy into his arms.
"Ah, Matty," he sighed, squeezing him, "It is quite wonderful to see you again."
"You too, papa," Matty mumbled, hugging him tightly. Al's desire for attention quickly overcame his desire to let Francis know that he was an interloper and he ran over to stand at Francis' side, arms raised impatiently for inclusion in the hug. Francis knelt and wrapped an arm around his other son, smiling a most content smile.
"I have missed you too, Alfred." He still felt a surge of awe every time he looked at these children, to think that they were his. It seemed preposterous that something so wonderful could be a result of something that he had done.
"Come on," England said, her tone buisness like. "I hate airports, let's get out of here quickly." Francis looked up and noted the faint flush on her cheeks. It was quite endearing. He would happily have embraced her also but he was not at all certain how she would take that.
"Ok, mum," Al said quickly, wriggling from Francis’ arms and running to take her hand. It seemed the boy was capable of doing as he was told when it was in his favour. Matty held to Francis’ neck a few seconds longer before letting go long enough for Francis to straighten and collect his luggage then quickly slipping his hand into Francis’.
It was wonderful, the feel of that little hand in his. His son. This was his son. He beautiful, intelligent son who wished to hold his hand. What more could a man wish for that this?
He was glad that on the drive to the house it seemed that some of the tension which had marked his last visit had eased. Presumably by staying in touch for this past month, phoning his sons, jumping at the chance to see them, he had won a little of her respect at least. And she was not a woman who gave it easily.
Through the ride Alfred filled the car with his chapter about their adventures in preparing for school, Matty’s soft corrections hovering behind the story. As he listened to tales of uniforms and books he could not help but wish he had been able to be here with his sons earlier. However, in order to be there on the Monday morning to see them for their first morning of school he had worked through the Saturday. Every second of that work was more that worth it to see them.
Once they reached the house and had unloaded themselves from the car England slammed away to make dinner, Al running after her shouting about helping and making hamburgers. Francis let himself fall onto the couch and was not surprised when Matty approached him clutching a book. It was strangely nostalgic to sit there with his son on his lap reading. Of course he had not done this before, but his own father had done the same for him. Thinking of Matty’s stumbling attempts to learn French he resolved that next time he should bring his son some French children’s books.