**A Mother for Annie**
“Paulie, come and eat,” said the kind-hearted carer, Miss Tilly.
“No,” he muttered, staring out the window. “No.”
“Paul, love, come on.”
“Nooo!” he shrieked, stomping his thin legs in brown tights. “No, Mummy’s there!”
“She’ll come later, come on now.”
“What’s all this racket? Miss Smith, what’s going on here? March to the dining room!”
The harsh woman grabbed wailing Paul by the collar and dragged him to the table, forcing cold, grey pasta into his mouth as he screamed and writhed.
“Eat it, you little brat, eat!”
The other children tapped their spoons nervously against their metal bowls.
“Why must you be so cruel, Miss Elaine? They’re just children,” whispered Miss Tilly, voice trembling.
“Children?” sneered the woman. “Little future criminals, just like their mums—thieves, killers, scum.”
“Aaaaah!” Paul collapsed, red-faced, wailing. “Want Mummy! Mummy!”
“Shut your mouth, you little pest!”
“What’s all this noise?” Another stern woman appeared, and even Paul fell silent.
“That one’s kicking off again, won’t eat.”
“Who’s his mum?”
“Annie Davis.”
“That wild girl? Get him out. His mum’s here.”
Paul shrieked and bolted past the carer, throwing himself against his mother’s sharp, bony knees.
“Mummy, Mummy…”
Mum sank to the floor, kissing Paul’s thin little body, clutching him with stick-thin arms. Whispering words only they understood.
“Oh, I can’t bear it,” wept old Nanny Doris, who’d seen enough heartache for ten novels. “Love like that—mad as she is, other mums could learn from her.”
“Pfft, love? She loves the easy life,” muttered Elaine. “Soon as they take him, she’ll have another, mark my words.”
“You’re a hard woman, Elaine.”
“And you’re too soft, Doris. No kids of your own—you wouldn’t understand.”
Tilly walked home lost in thought. Was Elaine right? Harsh, but truthful? She’d grown fond of little Paul and his mother, bright-eyed Annie Davis, locked away for something serious.
Tilly had spent years caring for inmates’ kids, never getting attached—until Paul.
Now, at the window, he waited. Somehow, he always knew—Mummy was coming.
“Mummy!”
“Paulie.”
They clung to each other, weeping.
“Annie,” Tilly called. The girl turned, sharp-eyed, smile vanishing. “Annie, we need to talk.”
She didn’t trust anyone.
“Why’d you help me?” she asked later, head tilted.
“Not for you. For me. I’ve grown to love Paul like a grandson. And you… could’ve been my daughter. Not forcing it—just want to help. It’ll be hard when Paul’s taken.”
Annie thought two days and nights.
“You mean it?” she finally asked.
“Yes. If it fails, I’ll follow Paul to the home. I’ll stay as long as needed.”
“Why?”
“Paul’s love is payment enough.”
“Fine. Let’s try.”
No smile, no thanks.
Tilly pulled every string—and it worked. Paul stayed with her.
“Thanks,” Annie whispered.
“Mummy, I go with Gran on train, then come back!”
Annie wiped tears, forcing a smile.
The days dragged, greyer than ever. Was this the life she’d wanted?
Then—an unexpected visitation.
“Davis, long visit.”
Her heart stopped—him? No.
“Your mum. Go on.”
“No! Tell ’em I’m ill—dead!”
“Move it, wild girl!”
Shoved inside, she froze—
“Paulie! My boy!”
Three days together, and slowly, Annie talked.
“Lived with Gran. Mum had her own life. When Gran died, Mum sold our house—my house, really. Took me in. At first, it was fun—no rules.”
Then came the man. Kind at first. Then fists.
At sixteen, she met Mark. He stopped the worst of it—but not before the law caught up.
“You took the blame for him?” Tilly whispered.
Annie wiped her eyes.
Mum had disowned her.
They never spoke of it again.
Tilly visited when she could. Annie thawed slightly, but Tilly knew—once free, she’d take Paul and vanish.
On her next visit, former colleagues praised Tilly’s glow.
“Marine air suits you!”
“Or my Paulie,” she laughed.
“You’re a fool, Tilly,” Elaine scoffed. “She’ll rob you, dump the boy, and bolt.”
“Hard heart, Elaine.”
“Not a soft head, though.”
Letters flew between them—Annie bold on paper, shy in person.
Then—release.
But no word.
Tilly wept, holding Paul.
“Gran, is Mummy okay?”
“Of course, love. She’ll write soon.”
“Gran… look.”
And there stood Annie, smiling.
“Mummy!”
“Paulie!”
They clung, sobbing.
Then Annie straightened, met Tilly’s eyes.
“Hello… Mum.”
“Annie… my girl.”
***
“Just started school, and now he’s getting married!”
“Mum, I’m nervous!”
“Don’t fuss, you two,” Paul laughed. “You’re the prettiest ladies here!”
“Annie,” Tilly murmured. “You ever think of marrying?”
“No, Mum. I’ve got you. Grandkids next.”
Tilly knew there was a man—flowers sometimes, never introduced. She didn’t pry.
They’d survived—Tilly’s love pulling Annie from despair.
Now, Annie Davis ran a fabric shop, life steady.
Tilly thanked heaven for her daughter and grandson.
Annie thanked her mum.
“Mum… if you hadn’t found us…”
“Hush, love. Don’t think on it.”
