The mother was released on parole after serving time in place of her son, who had sold the house and wouldnt even let her inside.
Vera Whitmore paused before the little garden gate, leaning against the wicker fence. Shed run from the bus like a woman possessed, her strength spent. Seeing the pale blue-grey smoke curling from the chimney, she pressed a hand to her chesther heart hammered as if trying to crack her ribs. Despite the crisp air, sweat beaded on her forehead. She wiped it away with a quick motion, then pushed open the gate with resolve.
Her practiced eye noticed the shed had been patched up. Her son hadnt written in years, but at least he hadnt liedthe old house was kept up, just as hed promised. She bounded up the porch steps, ready to embrace her dear little Eddie.
But the door swung open to reveal a stranger, sullen, with a tea towel slung over his shoulder.
“You looking for someone?” he rasped, studying her.
Vera stood frozen.
“Wheres Eddie?”
The man scratched his chin, eyeing her without courtesy. She shrank under his gaze, aware of her worn-out quilted jacket, scuffed boots, and stained bagthe uniform of the poor. But you dont stroll back fromwell, theyd taken her in summer, and now it was late autumn. She had nothing but prison clothes.
“Eddies my son. Where is he? Is he all right?”
The stranger shrugged indifferently. “Dunno. Shouldnt you know?” He started to close the door, then hesitated. “Eddie Whitmore?”
She nodded quickly. His expression softened.
“Sold me this place four years back. You can come in if”
“No, no!” Vera flapped her hands, nearly stumbling off the steps. “Can you tell me where to find him?”
He shook his head. She turned back toward the gate. She could go to her old friend Martha, but Martha had a sharp tongueshed drown her in curses. And a mothers heart knew something terrible had happened to her boy.
Trudging toward the bus stop, she sank into dark thoughts. What had gone wrong? Eddie had been so trusting Four years ago, hed listened to a “mate” and wound up tangled in fraud. If Vera hadnt taken the blame, hed have served a much longer sentence. They gave her, an old woman, just five years. Three days ago, theyd let her out early for good behavior, even bought her bus ticket.
Perched on a concrete bench, she whispered, “Where do I look for you, my love?”
Tears welled up. Her heart had lurched when, three years earlier, Eddies letters stopped. Now her worst fears seemed confirmedhed even sold the house. She dabbed her cheeks with a handkerchief.
Suddenly, a black car pulled up beside her. The sullen stranger, the houses new owner, held out a slip of paper.
“Found this address in the old paperwork. If you like, Ill drive you into town.”
She took it like a lifeline. “Thank you, my dear, but dont trouble yourself. Ill manage.” Heartened, she hurried toward the approaching bus.
Half an hour of jolts and dread later, she stood before a crumbling tenements third-floor door. She jabbed the buzzer, holding her breath. Theyd open it to deliver some awful news. Tears streamed freely.
When the door swung wide, her joy knew no boundsthere he stood, dishevelled, a bit drunk, but alive! Her Eddie! She burst into sobs, reaching for him, but he didnt seem glad at all. He stepped back, keeping the door half-shut.
“Howd you find me?”
Stunned by his cold welcome, she faltered. He turned her around, nudging her toward the stairs.
“Sorry, Mum. Cant have you in. My missus hates ex-cons. Sort yourself outIm skint.”
Vera tried to mention the house sale, but the door slammedlike a gunshot to the heart. She didnt cry anymore. Head down, she descended the steps. Martha had been rightshed raised a rotter. Shed have to admit it and endure the scolding, homeless as she was.
Back in the village, fate twisted the knifeMartha had died six months prior; her house now belonged to distant nephews. In a light drizzle, Vera huddled at the bus stop, pondering the future.
Headlights startled herthe same man, the houses new owner, leaned out.
“Get in, youre soaked!”
She refused, sobbingshe had nowhere to go, and this stranger was too kind. He practically bundled her into the car.
They talked. Vera told her bitter tale, omitting only the visit to Eddie out of shame. The driver, Andrew, offered her a place to stay, just for a while. So Vera Whitmore returned to her old home, now Andrews, and stayed.
Andrew worked dawn till duskhe owned a thriving timber yard. She took charge of the house: cooking, laundry, chores. Easy with modern appliances. Andrew, young and divorced, wasnt looking for a new family.
Her presence was just what he neededan orphan raised in care, he finally knew a mothers warmth. When she spoke of leaving, hed say, “Whered you go? This is your home!”
Little by little, her heart thawed. A blood son couldnt be replaced, but Andrew proved kinder than mostalmost a true son. As winter neared, she brought lunch to the timber yardjust down the lane, and sometimes he was too busy to come home.
One day, she carried a steaming thermos of soup and meat pies. She shooed a stranger from the office, spread a clean cloth. Andrew laughed.
“Whitmore, youre a sergeant majorno arguing! What if hes offended?”
She scowled. “You hiring him as foreman? Look at his facea right villain. Trust my gut; prison taught me to read folks.”
He shook his head. “Come on, Mum! His CVs solid. Cant go by first impressions.”
She was righta month later, the yard took heavy losses; the man had been smuggling timber and vanished with a lorry-load. Glum, Andrew admitted his mistake.
Hiring a new crew, he decided: since “Gran” had the knack, shed help. From then on, Vera sat in on interviewsAndrew asked questions, she observed, scribbled a verdict. Whole pages: “quarrelsome drunk,” “proven thief,” “lazy sot”short and sharp.
She spotted good workers too, even scruffy ones. But one candidate gave her pauseshe stared at the form, hands trembling.
Andrew eyed the visitorit was the man whod sold the house! Eddie stood stunned, staring at his mother beside the boss, fidgeting with his cap. His wife had sent himthe yard paid well. He hadnt expected to find her here; hed thought her lost.
In silence, Andrew took the verdict slip. Vera wrote two words, then fled. Eddie smirkedof course theyd hire him. His mum would vouch for him.
Andrew read aloud:
“No-good wretch.” He shooed Eddie like a fly. “Out! I trust Mums judgment.”
