Dads Prediction
The summer of 1978 clung to the air, thick with the scent of the ocean and the distant hum of the waves. For Arthur Langton, it was a typical Saturday, albeit one punctuated by a particularly insistent knock at his front door. Arthur, a man whose hands bore the testament of years spent coaxing life from engines in his modest business, answered. Expecting a customer, he pulled the door open, ready with a polite greeting.
Instead, a broad grin split his face, his jaw dropping for a beat before a booming laugh escaped him. Standing on his porch, impeccably dressed in a tailored suit that hinted at money and success, was a man Arthur hadn’t laid eyes on in thirty years.
“Harry!” Arthur exclaimed, the name a shock of recognition and pure joy.
“Arthur, you old dog!” Harry Thompson roared, pulling his friend into a bear hug that lifted Arthur clean off his feet. They stumbled back into the hallway, two men rediscovering a connection that time had merely stretched, not broken.
Thirty years. It was an age, a lifetime. They’d been just boys then, working side-by-side on the docks, full of dreams and an unshakeable camaraderie. Life, as it often does, had pulled them in different directions. Arthur had found stability, marrying his beloved Jane, building a quiet life in the suburbs, raising their only daughter, Delaney, and nurturing his own small business. Harry, it turned out, had chased a different kind of monster – the music industry. He was now a big-shot record producer in London, a name whispered with respect (and sometimes fear) in the hallowed halls of recording studios.
Harry had been searching for Arthur for months. A recent divorce from his wife, Cathy, had left him feeling adrift, longing for the anchors of an earlier, simpler life. He’d found an old address, made a few calls, and like a detective on a crucial case, tracked Arthur down. The surprise visit was perfectly Harry.
They settled into Arthur’s dining romm , cups of Jane’s strong tea steaming between them. Hours melted away as they talked, catching up on three decades of triumphs and tribulations. Harry spoke of his three sons, pulling out a worn photograph from his wallet, a proud twinkle in his eyes. Arthur, in turn, shared stories of Jane’s unwavering spirit and Delaney’s quiet brilliance.
Jane, a woman of warmth and gentle humour, quickly connected with Harry, charmed by his stories and genuine affection for her husband. Delaney, at fourteen,
with her small frame and dark, intelligent eyes, watched the reunion with a mix of curiosity and shyness. She was a keen observer, often found sketching in a corner or lost in a book.
As the afternoon light began to soften, painting the living room in hues of orange and gold, a sound drifted from the back of the house. It was a voice, pure and clear, carrying a melody that seemed to hang in the air, a bell-like quality to its higher notes, a soulful richness in its lower register. It was a voice that commanded attention, even if its owner, Delaney, didn’t seem to realize it.
Harry, who had been mid-sentence about the changing landscape of London’s music scene, paused, his head cocked. His eyes, usually sharp and business-like, now held a look of professional intrigue.
“Arthur,” he murmured, his voice low, “what is that?”
Arthur chuckled, a fond smile playing on his lips. “Oh, that’s just Delaney. She’s often singing. Gets it from her grandmother, I reckon.”
Harry shook his head slowly, his gaze distant, processing the sound. “Wow. That voice.” He turned to Arthur, his expression serious. “Arthur, that’s not ‘just Delaney’ singing. That… that’s a voice.”
“Yeah, she can sing,” Arthur agreed, still somewhat casually, accustomed to his daughter’s impromptu concerts.
Harry leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, his eyes fixed on Arthur. “She could have a great career in front of her, mate. A really great one.”
Arthur blinked, surprised. “Really? Do you really think so?” He knew his daughter had a good voice, but a career. That was a universe away from their quiet suburban life.
“I know so, Arthur,” Harry affirmed, his tone firm, leaving no room for doubt. “She could have a great future with her voice. It’s not easy, mind you, but with the right people behind her, she could be a star. She’d have to put the work in, of course – it’s a gruelling business. And at fourteen, she may not want to do that. But in the long run, she’s got what it takes. And she’s a pretty girl too, which doesn’t hurt in this game.” He paused, then added, “You need to talk to her.”
“I will,” Arthur promised, a flutter of excitement stirring in his chest.
Harry pressed on, already formulating a plan. “I would take her to London, cut a demo. You’d come along as her chaperone, of course. We’d show her the ropes, introduce her to some of the right people. Give her a taste of what it could be. What do you think?”
Arthur was momentarily speechless. London. A demo. His little Delaney, a star? It was dizzying. “I… I’ll talk to her, Harry. I truly will.”
Later that evening, after Harry had left, promising to keep in touch and wait for Arthur’s call, Arthur sat Delaney down. He felt a nervous tremor in his hands as he recounted Harry’s words, the glowing praise, the astonishing offer of a trip to London, a demo recording, the promise of fame and fortune. He expected to see her eyes light up, to hear an excited squeal.
Delaney, small and dark-haired, with an artist’s quiet intensity in her gaze, listened patiently. When her father finished, his voice hushed with the weight of the opportunity, she looked at him, her expression calm, almost distant.
“I don’t want to be a pop star, Dad,” she said simply, her voice soft but resolute.
Arthur stared at her, utterly dumbfounded. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. What young lady, at fourteen, didn’t dream of being a pop star? Of dazzling crowds, of seeing her face on album covers, her songs on the radio. This was a golden ticket, a chance to escape the mundane, to live a life of glamour and excitement.
“Delaney, are you mad?” he spluttered, trying to process her words. “This isn’t just some school play, love! This is Harry Thomson! He’s a big name in London! This is a real chance!”
He tried to change her mind, painting vivid pictures of the two paths laid out before her. On one side, the ordinary: school, maybe a local job, a quiet life much like their own, perhaps even a bit of sketching and singing for herself, never truly realizing her potential. On the other, a glittering adventure: travel, world tours, beautiful clothes, adoring fans, the thrill of creation on a grand stage. He spoke of what her life would be like if she didn’t grab this opportunity with both hands, and what it could be if she did. He told her about the doors that would open, the experiences she would have, the impact she could make with that incredible voice. He even mentioned the money, the security it could bring.
But Delaney wouldn’t budge. She wasn’t interested in the bright lights, the screaming crowds, the relentless pressure. She valued her quiet moments, her notebooks, the simple joy of singing for herself, not for an audience. The idea of being scrutinized, of having her life dictated by managers and schedules, filled her with a peculiar dread, not excitement. At fourteen, the world of pop stardom felt less like an adventure and more like a cage, brilliantly gilded though it might be.
Defeated, Arthur finally told Harry that Delaney didn’t want to do it. Harry was disappointed, of course, but he understood the capricious nature of young artists. “Well, if she changes her mind, Arthur, if she ever changes her mind, you call me. My offer stands.” Arthur, still bewildered by his daughter’s decision, promised he would.
As the years rolled by, the memory of that summer afternoon became a quiet ache in Delaney’s heart. She finished school, went to college, and eventually became a
nursey teacher, a job she was good at, a job that paid the bills. She still sang, sometimes, in the shower or when she thought no one was listening, her voice still rich and clear, though perhaps a little less hopeful.
She watched the music charts, saw other young women rise to stardom, heard their songs on the radio, saw their faces on magazines. Some had voices that were good, but in her deepest, most honest moments, Delaney knew her voice had been better, had possessed a unique quality.
The “adventure” she had turned down haunted her. The idea of traveling the world, experiencing different cultures, creating music that moved people – these were the things she now secretly longed for, the very things that had felt like a burden at fourteen. Where she had once seen a cage, she now saw freedom, a path to self-expression on an epic scale.
Does she regret her silly decision? Yes, she does. Now, it’s too late. Way too late. The music industry had moved on, Harry was long retired, and Delaney’s window of opportunity had slammed shut decades ago. She could kick herself, she truly could. But at fourteen, you think you have all the time in the world, an endless horizon of possibilities stretching before you. In reality, you haven’t. And sometimes, the choices you make in youthful ignorance echo through the rest of your life, a poignant melody of what might have been. and a stark reminder that some adventures, once declined, may never return.
The names have been changed
But this a true story
Thank You for Reading
Deborah C Langley
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