Chapter 9: Epilogue

March. Just less than three years after meeting Dora. I was on my way north, riding Oscar; it would almost certainly have been better if I’d used the company car, but, damnit, I like riding my bike and I get little enough opportunity these days. Two hundred and fifty odd miles at fifty to sixty miles an hour. There was a customer who rated a personal visit from a senior representative of the company to discuss their systems, and it needed to be a technician as well. I took the chance. Two days – Thursday and Friday – satisfied the client and my ostensible reason for being there, but I didn’t return home on Saturday.

Zsófia answered the door. “Come in, Steve. You are well? My grand-daughter and daughter, they are well?”

“Yes, though it’s been three days since I left them. I’ve been selling my company’s services to one of your local businesses and took the opportunity to visit you.”

“Perhaps you’d like to leave...” she waved a hand at my motorcycle gear, “in the hall?”

“Certainly! Otherwise I’d definitely overheat indoors.” I began to divest myself of the layers of clothing necessary to protect me from the elements on board Oscar. Once down to slacks and polo-neck, Zsófia showed me into the lounge where Dora’s father waited. He stood as I entered and I hoped that was a good sign. “Mister Bock.”

“Steven Thompson. The man who married my wayward daughter and took on her ... baby.”

I watched him hesitate over what word to use. At least it was not a pejorative. “Yes, sir. I married a beautiful, intelligent and very talented young woman. That she had a history mattered less to me than her character, her personality and her gift.” His expression was – I suppose neutral is the best term – and I went on, “She’s completed a Bachelor of Arts degree with distinction; it’s not official yet, but the faculty assure us it’s certain. She,” I paused, “she still loves her family and it would mean a lot if you could attend her graduation ceremony.” He didn’t say anything, and I went on, “Mister Bock, expecting D...” I caught and corrected myself, “Panna to marry and become a model housewife would have been like, I don’t know, using a Formula One racing car to do your shopping, or wearing your best suit to mow your lawn or clean your car, perhaps.”

He took a deep breath and let it out with a sigh. “I have tried to convince myself that I was right. But Zsófia, she has kept telling me about Panna. Shown me pictures ... she looks happy...”

“I hope she is. I think she is.”

“And the baby?”

“Emma is very well. She will start Nursery School in September. Of course she’s had to be in day-care, but there is a very good one just round the corner from us. My parents have been involved, too.”

“Zsófia, she is upset she doesn’t get to see her much.”

“I understand that.”

“Don’t you mind that ... Emma ... is obviously not your child by blood?”

I shrugged. “I love her and I love her mother. I am her Daddy, and that’s the most important thing.” I hesitated, but went on, “If there are any problems about coming to Sheffield, we’d be glad to help. There is plenty of room in our house.”

“I will think about it. Will you stay with us tonight? I think Zsófia has something good for lunch. I ... would like to talk to you some more...”

“Thank you, sir. I will stay. Dora ... Panna is expecting me tomorrow afternoon. I told her I would visit some of the museums and galleries.”

“You did not say you were coming here?”

“No. She may suspect, but I didn’t want to raise false hopes.”

July rolled round and the summer graduation. I was disappointed that I hadn’t heard anything from the Bocks; I’d expected that Zsófia at least would come. I got Dora to the Octagon in good time to collect her robes and get her seated, then I took Emma to the park to kill some time, where we met my parents who were, of course, coming along to the ceremony. Emma had no idea what was happening, but she did recognise Mummy on the stage (when she was pointed out). She did really well, actually.

Afterwards, I waited with Emma and my parents outside the Octagon with the crowd of other relatives or students. Dora appeared, still in her hood and gown, her eyes searching the mob until she caught sight of Emma, who I’d sat on my shoulders, and, not without difficulty, threaded her way through. We kissed, and she took my hand.

“Congratulations, Sweetheart. I’m proud of you.”

Mum and Dad added their own congratulations

“I’m only here now, like this, because of you, Steve.” She turned to my parents, “And of course your help, Mum, Dad.”

Someone cleared their throat behind us. “Panna?” A male voice with a slight accent.

Dora swung round sharply. “Apu? Múmia!” Her father and she faced each other in silence for a moment.

“Bébi lány, drágám.” Her father cleared his throat. “Panna ... I ... I’m sorry.”

There was an eternal pause, then Dora was clinging to her father and they were both crying as Zsófia, my parents and I ... and Emma ... watched.

“Dada.” Emma was leaning forward and making my neck ache. I lifted her down. “Dada, why Mummy crying?”

I squatted. “Sometimes when someone is very happy, they cry,” I told her.

She trotted over to Dora and tugged on the skirt of the academic gown. “Mummy?”

I caught up and handed Dora a handkerchief as she released her father. She mopped up, then dipped to pick Emma up. Holding our daughter in her left arm, she turned back to her father. “Apu, this is my daughter, Emma Jazmin. Emma, this is your nagyapa. That’s ‘grandad’ in Hungarian.”

“Szia, Emma,” her father said, gently.

To my complete astonishment, Emma twisted in her mother’s arms and held her arms out to Mister Bock. He glanced at Dora, who nodded, and he took Emma out of her mother’s arms. Emma’s arms went round his neck in a stranglehold I knew only too well, and she buried her face against his neck. The tears he’d only just dealt with were renewed as we all looked on.

I introduced my parents and hands were shaken all round.

Zsófia broke the silence. “I find that I am hungry,” she announced. “I believe the Students’ Union are offering food.” She caught my eye, and her eyes flicked at her husband.

I glanced at Dora who nodded. “Let’s go and see,” I agreed. “Emma,” I looked at my daughter, snuggled in her ‘new’ grandfather’s arms, thinking she’d want to come back to me, or Dora, or walk on her own as she was often independent that way.

“Na’pa...” she said firmly, her voice a little muffled by Mister Bock’s coat, but clear enough.

“Okay.”

As we walked towards the Union, Mister Bock caught up with me. “Steve ... if I may?”

“Of course!”

“I would like if you would call me Ervin. Or Apa. Or Dad.” His voice was very quiet and, almost, pleading.

It didn’t take much thought. I smiled. “I’d like that, Ervin.”

A wide range of meals were available in the Union. In the end we settled on chicken paprikas; Dora had cooked that for me and I knew Emma would be okay with it. And Emma? She stayed fastened to Ervin’s neck until our food arrived and only then was persuaded to sit in a high chair, though it had to be next to ‘Na’pa’.

Although we were all quite full, we made space for a fruit strudel with ice cream. Emma just had the ice cream. Eventually – not without several interruptions from Dora’s fellow graduates – we tottered off home.

We had an hour or so before Dora had to head off back to Firth Hall. Among the assorted events to celebrate their graduation was an evening of ‘crossover’ music. Dora would be there with her precious violin and her flute. We didn’t have to work too hard to persuade her parents to come along.