I often think back to those days when Anne, my dear friend, would sigh wearily and tell me, Take whatever you like, darling. The worlds yours. Id grin back, It feels more like a storybook than a life! and wed part with a cheeky wink, stepping out of Clares flat on a chilly London morning.
The moment Anne slipped into her car, the smile faded. She stared at her reflection in the rearview mirror and muttered, What luck Id rather be juggling four children like you, Clare. To the outside, Anne seemed to have it all a respectable job, a sleek sedan, a cosy flat in Kensington, and a father who ran a successful import firm. Yet beneath her perpetual cheerfulness lay a hollow ache.
Anne had always yearned for a family, a bustling household filled with laughter, but fate never granted her that wish. By the time she turned thirtytwo, desperation had settled in. She tried every remedy folk cures, modern doctors, even yoga and herbal teas but nothing brought a child into her life.
I dont understand why, she would whisper into her pillow after another fruitless attempt, tears staining the sheets. It seemed cruel that some men, even those with the worst habits, could father five or six children, while she remained childless. The pain was raw and baffling.
She learned early to hide this sorrow, despising pity and gossip. Even Clare knew little of Annes secret. Whenever the topic of children arose, Anne would laugh, I just want to live for myself, then retreat to her flat and weep in solitude.
Anne never married. Her last boyfriend, George, left her over their opposing views on parenthood. Dont worry, love. Live for yourself and be happy, he had said. I cant wait three more years to have a child, so Ill adopt, Anne replied, hoping to fill the void. George, however, cared more for Annes allowance and her fathers business than for any child. Why would you take on anothers kid? What if he inherits a flaw? He might turn out foolish, or worse, like his parents who drank and deserted him, he argued. Not every child is doomed, Anne retorted. Some lose their parents early; that can be checked, cant it?
Their heated argument led to a split. The disagreement over values was too great, and Anne felt a strange relief when George cleared out his belongings from her flat.
Driving home from Clares, Anne realized shed run out of eggs and needed something for tea. Maybe Ill treat myself to a new handbag, she mused, veering toward the shopping centre. She planned a leisurely stroll through the stores, a quick grab of groceries on the ground floor, then the journey back to an empty flat she wasnt eager to return to.
A sudden thought of buying shoes turned her mind to Clares daughter, Violet, who had once burst into their living room asking, Mum, can you buy me a dress for New Years? Anne had replied, I dont have the money right now. Violets pleading face lingered in Annes memory, prompting her to head for the childrens department. She knew Violets size, having bought little things for Clares kids before, so the purchase wouldnt surprise anyone.
Inside, Anne sighed. She had often imagined buying a dress for her own child, but now she denied herself that fantasy. Yet she examined the racks with genuine enthusiasm, checking prices and picturing how a dress would look on a little girl, pondering colour and cut.
From a nearby aisle came a muffled dispute. A young voice pleaded, Dad, please, lets keep looking! I havent found what I want! The father, clearly pressed for time, replied, Polly, we have to go, Im late. The little girls tears grew louder. Anne stepped closer and asked, What dress are you after?
The man turned, a stranger to the shop staff, his face softening. Three years earlier his wife had died, and hed been grateful for any assistance. He confessed he knew nothing about childrens clothing. The girl, Sophie, clutched a memory of a blue dress shed spotted with a friend. I need a blue dress, kneelength, with ruffles and a little flower brooch on the chest, she recited in one breath, hopeful that this stranger might help.
Anne, without needing to recall the exact location, led Sophie to the right rack. The dress gleamed, exactly as Sophie described. The father, Martin, watched with a mixed expression of relief and gratitude as his sevenyearold daughter followed Annes guidance.
Thank you so much! I dont know what Id have done without you, Martin said, introducing himself. Im Anne. He asked if she was buying for her own child. No, Im alone, no children of my own. He mentioned his two youngsters Violet and little Tommy, three years old, who was already waiting for her.
Im glad you could help, Anne replied, smiling at Martins son, who was now feeling better after a brief spell of fever. If you ever need a hand again, just call.
Martin hesitated, then suggested, How about coffee tomorrow, as a thankyou? Anne, still healing from her recent breakup, felt a flicker of curiosity. Your wife? she asked. She passed three years ago, Martin answered softly. Im sorry. He added, So, shall we meet tomorrow? Anne agreed, swapping numbers.
Later that night, as she drove through the dim streets of London, Anne reflected on the brief encounter. She hadnt intended to make any plans with Martin, knowing how daunting it was to raise two kids alone, yet something about his gentle demeanor lingered. The next morning, as she prepared for an evening out, her phone rang.
Hello Martin? Anne answered. Good day, his voice sounded weary. Im sorry, I cant make it to the café today. He explained that Tommy had fallen ill again and Sophies school concert loomed, leaving him frazzled.
Do you need any help? Anne asked without hesitation. Im not sure, Martin admitted, a hint of embarrassment in his tone. I could use a few extra hands with Tommy, if youre willing. Anne, who often looked after Clares children, agreed, swapping her dress for comfortable jeans.
She arrived at Martins modest house to find toys strewn about, a familiar chaos shed seen in Clares flat countless times. Tommys in the next room, not sleeping yet, Martin said, ushering her in. The boy, feverish but bright-eyed, welcomed her with a shy smile.
For three hours Anne tended to him changing compresses, offering water, brewing lemon tea, and finally reading a bedtime story. When Martin and a beaming Sophie returned, they found Annes voice gently narrating the tale. Martin whispered his thanks, his eyes softening as he watched his son listen intently.
Will you come again? Tommy asked drowsily. Anne felt a pang of tenderness and replied, Ill try, sweetheart. You promised to show me your drawings, didnt you? Tommy nodded, his eyes sparkling. Anne rose, feeling an unexpected peace settle within her.
Martin murmured, Youve charmed him, Anne. She laughed, You have a wonderful son. Its a pity the café didnt work out. He asked, Do you love children? The question hung heavy, but before she could answer, Sophie burst out, singing a tune from her concert, her dress dazzling in the soft light.
The night ended with Martin escorting Anne to the door. He suggested a walk in the park once Tommy recovered, noting how few people could look after his children. Anne blushed, admitting, Im not trying to impose; I just think youre a nice man and the kids are lovely. Martin, eyes bright, replied, Then lets meet again. Id be delighted.
Anne left with a warm glow, her heart lighter despite the tangled thoughts about what lie ahead. She knew life with Martin and his two children would be far from simple, but for the first time in years, she felt a quiet hope settle deep within her.
