I worked as a carpenter in the days when furniture didn't arrive in flat packs. Betty, my wife, stood beside me, did the accounts, kept the house tidy and garden neat. 'Happy couple,' some often say, but beneath that veneer of contented married life, a shield of unspoken resentment kept us emotionally apart.

Through the years, we've skirted around the subject, talked about everday matters. Now, well into retirement, instead of work, I chat to her about inconsequential matters or what's going on in and around our small seaside town.

Betty doesn't cry anymore but in the past, when those occasions occured, I'd ask her what was wrong. She'd bluster make some banal excuse and in return, I pretended to believe her.

When we got married, after a six month courtship, we thought our mutual love would extend into eternity. Plans for children, were uppermost in our minds but sadly, we had none. But now, having lost good friends and family, I've faced reality and the reality is that our paths are narrowing towards a dead end.

Over these latter years, I'm aware that the shield btween us has solidified but I don't discuss my feelings with Betty. She'd tell my I was going gaga. Accuse me of exaggerating.

I've my hobbies. She has her television. I enjoy going out meeting friends. Betty leads a solitary life, won't put a step outside our home. But on this summer's evening, the pattern of our mundane existence veered off course, taking me back to the past and one year of my life I thought I'd forgotten.

He introduced himself as David Shelton when I answered his knock on the front door. Instinct told me, "Don't listen to the man." But I stood there, in silence, trying to figure out where I'd seen him before.

'Am I disturbing you?' he asked. I shook my head. 'I should've given you prior warning,' he wennt on to apolgise but I could only stare, sudden tension twisting a knot in my stomach.

'Who's that?' Betty called from the kitchen. 'Your dinner's on the table.'
'Won't be a tick,' I called back, my voice croaking like I had a cold.
'Maybe I should come back later,' this David said.
'No,' I told him. 'Just spit it out.'
Then he drew in a deep breath and said, 'My mother asked me to come.'
'Why is that?' I managed to ask, instantly remembering a pretty girl lying in my arms beside a brook tumbling over rocks close to Apple Garth Farm. And that memory conjued up the image of her father, a widower, seated at the sturdy kitchen table and him saying, 'One day, my Janet will make someone a good wife.'

Forty years ago, a lucrative building contract took me to West Wales where I found lodgings at the farm, but, once a fortnight, I returned home for the weekend and during those visits, Betty never once asked about my work or the family I lodged with.

'How's Janet?' I asked, stirring from those memories.
'She died last September,' he told me like it was a fact not a sad occasion.
'I'm sorry,' I said. Then puzzled, I enquired, 'But you said she'd sent you.'
He nodded as Betty called impatiently from the kitchen. 'Your dinner's getting cold!'
I should've invited him in but etiquette was out of the question and, noticing my discomfort, he suggested we meet at a more convenient place. Agreeing, I told him to head for The Lamb and Flag, a pub overlooking the promendade.
'Who was that?' Betty demanded, frowning at her beef gravy and the skin now forming with the wait.
'Dave. Our Bowls captain,' I replied.
Satisfied, Betty ploughed into her dinner but mine stuck in my throat and when we'd finished and after clearing away the dishes, she went into the sitting room to watch TV and I told her I was popping out for a pint.

Arriving at The Lamb and Flag, I spotted David Shelton sitting by the window. On the table before him stood a pint of Guiness. Steve, the landlord, a genial gossip, already pulling my usual pint of Best Bitter, nodded in David Shelton's direction telling me my drink had been paid for.

Taking my pint over to the table, I sat down and David Shelton, lost in thought, sensed my presence. Turning his blonde head, he said, 'Glad you could make it.'
Wary, I sipped at my beer and he, picking up his glass, drank like a man long deprived of liquid. Then he said, 'I'm not here to cause trouble,' and held out his hand for me to shake.

I shook that strong hand, asking what he wanted but as I asked, I feared his reply. Then, as he withdrew his hand, I noticed a wide scar peeking out from under the cuff of his white shirt. He saw that I'd noticed and muttered, Iraq.

Glancing away, feeling an ache tugging at my heart, I drank more beer, aware of the landlord staring over at us. It seemed by his expression that he was comparing our features as if linking all the pieces of the human jigsaw together.

'She told you everything,' I said, my beer now half gone.
'Only before she died,' he replied.
'I did love your mother,' I told him in an undertone.
'I know.' He drained his own glass, got up and walked past me up to the bar and as I waited I heard Steve asking if we were related but he got no answers and when David returned, he put another pint of best Bitter down in front of me.

'You weren't no ordinary soldier,' I said as soon as he was seated.
'I was based in Hereford,' he told me.
Then I said, 'Your mother sent me home after the building contract ended.' I stopped, remembering the parting and how we cried. 'Janet wasn't happy with the fact that I was married,' I continued. 'I would've left Betty, everything to be with your mother. But Janet wouldn't listen. Couldn't be persuaded.'
And as I explaind, I noticed his cool exterior soften. 'Mum said you'd given her a wonderful gift. A son.'
I wanted to cry. Wanted to shout out about how unfair life could be. But I hid my emotions and asked, 'Did your mother ever marry?'
He shook his head. 'After grandfather died, she sold the farm.' Sadness overwhelmed me. Then I heard him ask if he had any half brothers or sisters.
'No lad.' My voice sounded heavy. 'Afraid the wife puts the blame on me.'
'I'm divorced,' he said. 'Got one child. A girl, Lucy. She's twelve.'
'Really?' A surge of joy surged through me. 'What's she like?'
He laughed. 'Pretty. Mad about pop music.'
Shaking my head, I said, 'I've missed so much.'
It must've have been my tone of regret that had him saying, 'I won't come again.'
Panic hit me. 'Why not?'
'You've a life to lead. I only came out of curiosity.'
'God, I wish I'd known your mother was pregant,' I told him. 'I would've stayed. Refused to leave.'
'She was an obstinate woman,' he commented with a smile. Then, changing the subject, we chatted about our past and present lives and I was pleased to learn David, after leaving the army, had made a successful career within the security industry.
Then I told him I wanted to meet up with him again and he, staring at me as if seeking sincerity, finally agreed. So he gave me his mobile number and I gave him mine.
Then he was getting to his feet.'It's early yet,' I said.
'I know,' David replied, 'But both of us have a lot to think about.' And his hand reched down gently gripping my wrist.

Now, through the window, I can see David walking, with a slight limp, towards a blue car parked across the road and a voice enquires close beside me, 'Relative?'

A long silence follows his question while I think about Betty and our future, but ready to face the consequencies, I tell the landlord that David is my son.