The Prodigal Son

Staring up at the office block of Harper and Sons, I feel the weight of its shadow beating down on me. It takes all I have within me to cross the threshold. The clerk at reception looks as if someone has just held a gun to her head, "Mr Harper" she spews out.


"I'm here to see my father,"the well-rehearsed line spills from my mouth. Avoiding her gaze I look around me. Nothing has changed.


"I'm sorry Mr Harper he's -"


"In staff briefing," I finish for her, "I will wait in his office."


I head straight for the elevator, press the button, think better of it and turn to take the stairs. The eight flights seem like a necessary punishment for my audacity in showing up here. I've picked this particular time in order to avoid prying eyes and gossiping whispers. I know the office's schedule as if it was my own.


It once was.


Entering my father's office overwhelms my senses with a holistic homecoming. I sink down into my father's reading chair and bury my head in my hands, as the realisation of the scale of my betrayal strangles my heart.


A general buzz of activity outside the office door tells me that staff meeting is over. I stand, knees weak, heart bursting out of my chest in an attempt to wrestle free from the hands of regret. The door opens, "Dad..." is the only sound I can muster.


His arms are wrapped tightly around me. Chest to chest the beat of his heart calms mine. An eternity of relief passes before he gently offers, "I'm sorry it didn't work out for you son - I heard you went into administration. I hoped you'd come back."


His grace breaks me and a loud sob escapes my lips. "Dad I know I have no right to be here, I'm a fool to even ask, but take me on as a cleaner, a night security guard, anything, I'll do anything."


"Nonsense, my son. You'll be reinstated as a partner at once."


Another sob breaks forth. I am not worthy.


My father has pressed the intercom, "Julia, I'm taking the rest of the week off. My son has come back to me, we have a lot of catching up to do. Clear my diary and sort out the necessaries for re-instating him as a full partner in the firm."


His arms are around me once again. "Let's get you home and cleaned up," he says leading me towards the door. For the first time in days I am awake to the stench of my body odour and the scruffy mess of a beard that scratches at my face, the grubbiness of my shirt and the weight of the bags under my eyes. The touch of my father's arm around my shoulders bats off the shame that attempts to keep a hold of me.


As my father opens the door my gaze is met by the fury of my brother. "I thought they were joking," he spits. "How dare you?! You made your bed, you ought to lie in it." He turns to our father, "Dad, see sense! How much has the firm struggled since he took his share and set up in competition? I've stuck by you, I've put in the extra graft to get us back on track and he shows up here looking like a tramp and you drop everything to play catch up?! When was the last time you gave me even five minutes in your schedule?"


I feel myself shrinking. He's right. This is when the bubble bursts.


"You've been with me all this time, but your brother was lost and he has come back. Come and celebrate with us," our father invites.


Silence. Stillness. Then my brother turns and walks away, slamming the door as he hides himself in his office. My father turns to me, he cups my face in his hands. "Come on son, let's go," he says and parades me through the office and into the waiting elevator. With his arm firmly around me, he leads me home.