From her pension, Doris Anne, besides the usual utility bills and buying groceries at the wholesale sale, allowed herself a small treat – a packet of coffee beans.
The beans were already roasted, and when she snipped a corner of the packet, they released an astonishing aroma. Inhaling with closed eyes, detaching from all senses except smell, brought about a miracle! Along with the exquisite scent, a sense of strength seemed to flow into her, and memories of girlhood dreams about distant lands would surface. She imagined the ocean waves, the sound of tropical rain, the mysterious rustling in the heart of the jungle, and the wild cries of monkeys swinging on vines…
She had never seen any of it, but she remembered her father’s stories, always away on research expeditions in South America. When he was home, he loved to tell young Doris of his adventures in the Amazon Valley, sipping strongly brewed coffee. The aroma always reminded her of him – a lean, sinewy, sunburnt traveler.
She always knew her parents weren’t her biological ones. She remembered how, at the start of the war, she, a three-year-old girl who lost her family, was taken in by a woman who became her mother for life. Then life went on like everyone else’s: school, further education, work, marriage, the birth of her son, and ultimately, loneliness. Her son, about twenty years ago, persuaded by his wife, settled abroad and thrived with his family in the city of Bristol. He had only visited his hometown once in all that time. They spoke on the phone, and her son sent her money monthly, but she didn’t spend it. She saved it in a special account. After twenty years, a tidy sum had accumulated, to be returned to her son eventually…
Lately, she couldn’t shake the thought that she had lived a good life, full of care and love, but a life that wasn’t hers. If it hadn’t been for the war, she would have a different family, different parents, a different home. Her fate would have been different. She hardly remembered her biological parents, but she often recalled a girl of her age who was always by her side in those early years. Her name was Mary. Sometimes, she could almost hear someone calling them: “Mary, Doris!” Who was she to her? A friend, a sister?
Her reflections were interrupted by a text alert on her mobile phone. She looked at the screen – her pension had been credited to her card! How wonderful, just in time! She could stroll to the shop and buy some coffee – her last brew was yesterday morning. Carefully tapping the pavement with her cane, stepping around the autumn puddles, she approached the shop entrance.
A gray-striped cat sat by the door, casting wary glances at the passersby and the glass doors alike. Compassion stirred in her heart: “Poor thing must be cold and hungry. I’d take you home, but who would you have after I’m gone? Not today, but maybe soon.” Yet, out of pity, she bought a modest packet of food for the cat.
She carefully squeezed the jelly-like contents into a plastic dish, and the cat waited patiently, gazing up at her with grateful eyes. The shop doors swung open, and a stout woman whose expression spelled trouble stepped out. Without a word, she kicked the dish so that the food scattered across the pavement.
“You tell them, you tell them, and it’s no use!” she barked. “Don’t feed them here!” And with that, she turned and left nervously.
The cat, cautiously looking around, began picking up the food bits off the ground, and Doris Anne, short of breath from outrage, felt the onset of an attack. She hurried to the bus stop – only there were benches. Sitting on one, she frantically searched her pockets for her pills, but in vain.
Pain relentlessly surged over her in waves, her head felt in a vice, her vision darkened, and a moan escaped her chest. Someone touched her shoulder. She struggled to open her eyes – a young woman looked at her with concern.
“Are you all right, grandma? How can I help?”
“In the bag,” Doris Anne weakly gestured. “There’s a packet of coffee. Open it.”
She leaned over the packet and inhaled the aroma of the roasted beans once, twice. The pain didn’t vanish but eased.
“Thank you, my dear,” Doris Anne said weakly.
“My name’s Polly, but thank the cat,” the girl smiled. “She was with you and meowed so loudly!”
“And thank you too, my dear,” Doris Anne said, petting the cat, which was sitting beside her on the bench, the same striped one.
“What happened to you?” the girl inquired with genuine concern.
“An attack, my dear, just a migraine,” Doris Anne admitted. “I got too upset, it happens…”
“I’ll walk you home; it might be hard for you on your own…”
“… My granny gets migraines too,” Polly shared while they sipped light coffee with milk and biscuits in Doris Anne’s flat. “Actually, she’s my great-grandmother, but I call her ‘granny.’ She lives in a village with my grandma, mum, and dad. I’m studying here at the medical college to be a paramedic. Granny calls me ‘my dear’ just like you do. And you resemble her so much that at first, I thought you were her! Have you ever tried finding your relatives, the real ones?”
“My dear Polly, how would I find them? I almost don’t remember them. Not my surname, nor where I’m from,” Doris Anne said, stroking the cat that had settled on her lap. “I remember the bombing when we rode in a cart, then tanks…”
“I ran and ran until I couldn’t remember myself! A nightmare! A lifetime nightmare! Then a woman took me in, and I called her mom my whole life, and she still is my mum to me. After the war, her husband returned and became the best dad in the world! The only thing left from my past is my name. My real family, most likely, perished there under the bombs. Both mother and Mary…”
She didn’t notice how Polly flinched at these words and looked at her with large, blue eyes.
“Doris Anne, do you have a birthmark on your right shoulder shaped like a leaf?”
Surprised, the woman choked on her coffee, and the cat stared at her intently.
“How do you know this, my dear?”
“Granny has the same one,” Polly said softly. “Her name is Mary. Even now, she can’t hold back tears when she remembers her twin sister – Doris. She went missing in the bombing during evacuation. When the enemy cut off the road, they had to return home and endure the occupation there. But Doris went missing. They never found her, no matter how hard they searched…”
From the morning, Doris Anne couldn’t find peace. She moved from the window to the door, expecting guests. The gray-striped cat stayed by her side, watching her face intently with worry.
“Don’t worry, Margie, I’m fine,” she reassured the cat. “Just that my heart beats fast…”
Finally, the doorbell rang. Doris Anne opened the door nervously.
Two elderly women stood silently, gazing at each other with eyes full of hope. As if seeing a mirror image, they saw not the faded blue of the eyes, the silver curls of the hair, nor the sorrowful wrinkles at the corners of their lips.
Finally, the guest exhaled with relief, smiled, stepped forward, and embraced the hostess.
“Hello, Doris!”
And standing on the doorstep, wiping away tears of joy, were family…
