London: 1976.
“Why don’t you get some sleep, Ma.” Ricky rearranged an errant silver lock.
“You need sleep too, Richard. Why keep touring instead of settling down and having children?”
“I do it for you, mum,” he said, “I want you to be proud.”
“When dad died, you held it together. I couldn’t be prouder of my boy?”
“Boys, mum,” Ricky said, thinking of his late brother.
He went to give her a peck, but she was already asleep. “See you on Sunday, Ma.”
***
The next day, George, Ricky’s manager, was in his office. “We got trouble.”
“What kind?”
“Not the good kind.” He handed him a bundle with “Paternity Suit,” on it. “See your brief.”
His barrister cut straight to the point. “They have photographic evidence and want a blood test. They’re confident.”
“Can I see the photo?”
He passed it over. “I recognise you and Jimi. Who’s the other chap?”
“That’s my late brother.”
“Your brother?” He peered at the photograph with interest.
***
The weeks to the hearing went quickly and Ricky felt a shiver of anticipation as Sheila’s brief got to her feet. “I call Sheila Miles.”
She was in a wheelchair. Alongside her was a girl with curly hair just like Ricky’s.
“Miss Miles, please explain the wheelchair?”
Sheila cleared her throat. “I have bone cancer and only about twelve months left. That’s why I brought this case. Rikki needs a parent.”
Ricky’s brief was next. “My learned friend produced a photograph of you, my client, and four others. Do you remember the others?”
“I remember the girls. Everyone knows Jimi.”
“The other man is my client’s brother. Were you intoxicated?”
“Yes, we all were. That’s why I asked for a blood test.”
“About that,” the barrister said, “as Your Honour is aware, Lord Denning ruled in Bater-vs-Bater they are admissible. But ONLY if it doesn’t involve close relatives. Given my client’s similarity to his brother, there MAY be a case of mistaken identity. I move to dismiss.”
The judge looked up. “A compelling argument, counsel.”
Ricky felt a lump in his throat as the girl’s face crumpled. “Your Honour, may I say something?”
“You may, Mr Styles.”
“I lost my father. Life was hard, and that made me determined not to have kids.”
“Go on.”
“My mum’s fondest wish is to have a grandchild. So, I’ve decided, I’ll stop touring and settle down. I guess what I’m trying to say is there is an adage you can’t choose your family. But sometimes I think you can, and I choose to have Rikki as my daughter.”
“Very well, Mr Styles, we can proceed on this understanding.”
“Thank you, Your Honour. I’ll give them my number to make arrangements.”
He grabbed a notepad from a table and scribbled his number.
“Don’t lose it,” he said.
Rikki jumped up and wrapped her arms around him. “Daddy!”
Ricky looked at her, smiling, as he resolved to never say anything about his vasectomy.
