Someone Elses Happiness
In a hazy, muddled dawn, Anne fumbled in her garden. Spring, too early this yeara late March that felt like May, and all the frost was gone. She knew the chill would come creeping back, but while the shy sun shivered down, Anne, in a fugue, found herself wandering out: wanted to prop up the crook-backed fence, mend the tumbling woodshed.
Perhaps she ought to keep chickens, a piglet, maybe even a dog or a cat. She smiled at herself, as though scolding a child, Enough, enough, youve played around long enough.
All she truly craved was to shoulder the old spade, turn over the allotment, press her nose to the dark perfume of earth, kick off her boots as she did as a girl, running barefoot, trickling her toes into rich, yielding, sleepy dirt still dreaming of rain. She muttered into the blank sky, Were not done yet, not by a long chalk.
Hello, came a voice, faint and brittle.
Anne, startled, turned to the garden gate: a slender girlhardly more than a childstood there, dressed in a soggy grey mac, those institutional ones from council college, her poor shoes threadbare, her tights like pale nutshells shimmered in the brisk air.
Too soon for tights, Anne found herself thinking, shell catch her death. And those shoeswet through, cardboard soles, an apology for footwear. Anne clucked to herself, shaking her head.
The girl shifted from one spindly leg to the other.
Hello, Anne returned, dry as toast.
Sorry, piped the girl, a peaky voice. Could Icould I use your loo?
Eh? Well, go on then. Straight down, round the left.
Anne watched her skip awayhalf-girl, half-sprite.
Thank you. Youve saved me, cried the girl later, silly with relief. Im looking for a bedsit. You dont have a spare room, do you?
I wasnt planning on it. What dyou want one for? Anne was wary.
The girl nodded, eyes wide as pennies. I want to find a room to rent. I dont want to stay at the hostel. They smoke and drink and boys are always about.
Is that so? And how much have you got to pay?
Five pounds. Thats all I have
Well, dont just stand therecome in, come in.
Oh, can I pop to the loo again? She winced.
Go on, love.
Whats your name? Anne asked as she led her indoors.
Holly, squeaked the girl, a mouselike sound. Holly then. Well what are you here for, Holly? Anne watched her hard.
IIm looking for a room The words fell like broken glass.
Dont lie to me, Holly. Why have you come?
Oh, can I go to the loo againplease
Whats wrong with you, girl?
I dont know, blurted Holly, on the verge of tears. I cant hold on, it hurts
Alright, run along.
Anne followed, frowning.
Is it just the waterworks, or something nastier? she asked, almost gruff.
Itsjust needing a wee. It stings Holly answered, shaking her head. But why are you really here? Anne pressed.
Holly quivered. Silence stretched. Then, a strangled sound: You youre Anne Parsons, arent you?
I am, yes.
You dont know me, do you? Mum? Its me. Holly. Im your daughter.
Anne sat ramrod straight; not a single muscle flickered across her wind-battered, weather-seamed face. Holly she whispered, my girl Holly
Yes, Mum! Its me. They wouldnt give me your address at the childrens homethey said it wasnt allowedbut my teacher, Miss Stephanie, she helped me look, we found your name and then the address so I came, I found you at last.
Anne sat unmoving, warm tears trailing down her cheeks.
Holly, my dear my darling girl
Mummy! Holly shrieked and flung herself into Annes arms. I looked for you for so long. I wrote lettersno one answered; they mocked me, said youd given me away like a thing. But I never believed them, Mummy, never
Anne cradled the crying girl, all rough palms, callused fingers gripping Hollys chunky knitted jumper, holding on, holding tight to her daughter her Holly.
They sat knotted together and there was no need for talk; all was perfectly, silently clear.
Afterwards, Anne bustled about like her Gran had done: boiling kettles, steeping fennel, wrapping Holly the way youd wrap a princess, her Holly, her reason to stay. Perhaps now there was a purposethere was hope. Perhaps the Lord had taken mercy. Not all was lost.
She thought about the allotment, the pig, darning Hollys coat, her little savings squirrelled away. Shed been so ready to fade away, but nowher Holly, her bright, borrowed childhad returned.
***
Mum
Yes, love?
Mummy
Oh, go on, then, sweet-tooth.
Holly reached for a scone her mother had baked; her cheeks had rounded since she arrived, and Anne had kitted her out like a doll. Anne even felt younger herself.
Muuuum
What now, you minx?
Mum, Im in love.
Whats that?
Yes! Hes wonderful. His names Jack, and he wants to meet you.
I I dont know.
Anne felt a pang, as if joy was a loan that needed paying back. He gave, and now, he would snatch away.
Mum, reallyare you alright?
Im fine, love, just youve grown up so quick. I never really had the chance to enjoy younever quite forgive me, Holly.
Mum! Dont, dont be daft. How could you think such things? Well give you grandkids, Jack and Iyoull see. Ive loved you every day. I searched for youdont you know? Oh, my dear, precious mum!
Meeting Jack went swimmingly. He was a village lad, steady, practical, the sort Anne approved of. If the times were lean, youd never know itthere was always enough for the pets, even if there wasnt much left over for people.
Anne, Holly and Jack did well. Anne was a fine seamstress. After the factory closed, she joined a co-op; the money was better, she dressed Holly up spick and span, Jack as well.
Jack couldnt sit still; he built a new fence, helped replace the houses old beams, fixed the wash house, set up a sty for the piglet. The house felt more alive than it had ever done, and so did Annes heart.
She wanted life now, hungry for it after all those hungry years, those shameful things shed tried to forget, things that still swept her under, left her gasping.
Mummy, whats wrong?
Nothing, love. Off to bed now
Mum, can I sleep with you tonight?
Of course. Anne edged over, letting Holly curl up at her side.
My sweet girl, my heart could crack with love. So this is itthank you, Lord, for letting me feel it.
They celebrated a wedding; the newlyweds stayed on with Anne, who bloomed like a poppy. Even at the co-op, colleagues whispered about Anne Parsons, strict Anne, who suddenly couldnt stop grinning.
I think itll be a grandson, Anne murmured to the girls at tea-break. Im all a-flutter.
Anne Parsonss daughter is so happy, they sighed. Such love, the way she dotes on her.
And then a grandsonCharlie!named for Annes own mother, the fierce and fair grandmother: Handsome little chap, isnt he? Oh, dear, I cant help myself.
Anne had never held a baby, not since Hollya lifetime back. But now, Charlie in her arms, her heart boomed in her ears: this was happiness.
All thoughts now belonged to Charlie. The most beautiful, the besther hearts grandsonnever away from gran.
Jack started an extension, built a house so grand there was space for Anne, as there should be. How could they be without her?
With his brothers, Jack started a building firm, opened a hardware shopthey lived quietly now.
And then good news again: a granddaughter on the way.
Anne sewed every imaginable frock and bonnet. Little Marianne: a beaming, beautiful girl. Laughter and childish squeals filled every room.
For all this, Anne felt a heat in her chest, sometimes burning so fierce she could hardly bear it.
Mum, my darling, why didnt you tell me sooner? Where does it hurt?
Its alright, love, not to worry
***
Im sorryits too late, theres nothing we can do
Doctor but she shes my mum
Im sorry, truly I am.
***
Holly, love my times almost up. Forgive meIve lived longer than I deserved. Theyd given up on me, but you came, loved one
Mum, dont.
No, let me finish dont interrupt, darling, its hard. Holly Im not your real mum. Forgive me
Mum! You must never say that, not ever. Not to me, not to anyone. Youre my mum. Thats all I care about.
Yes, love I understand now. My heart knows. Theres a notebook, my diaryplease, forgive me, darling Holly. I love you.
I love you too, mum Mum Mum
***
Holly, dear, have something to eat, said Jack gently.
In a sec just go on, murmured Holly.
She sat in her mothers room, reading the battered old notebook. It was Annes life between its linesruthless, wonky, sullen and bright.
Her mother, strict old Antonia, father lost in the Great War.
AnneAnnie, NanA fragile fairy of a girl who fell in love with a rogue. Oh, what fun, what danger! Tumbling into crime, love and trouble.
She ran wild, and youth whirled by.
The thief vanished to prison; the world emptied. There might have been a child, but Anne lost all hopecaught chill in the wrong place at the wrong time, reckless and young. Lost it all, all her womanhood.
No baby, not even a kitten. She was left only with the mothers old house; she settled, thawed again a little in her shell.
Doctors told her to wait, pray, whatever would be would be. She fasted, begged for forgiveness; it was hard to go on.
And thenunexpected, undeserved happiness arrived out of nowhere. She couldnt let it slip away.
She just wanted to be mum for a bit, to know what it felt like.
Her darling Holly, all the light and reason in her life. Anne wrote, third person, hoping she could last a little while longer, just to godmother her Jack, help her daughter.
She relaxed, stopped fearing her secret would be discoveredthat she wasnt really Hollys mother, just someone with the same name by a cosmic mistake.
With time, fear faded. She began to live a plain, human sort of life, and at last, believed she deserved it.
Forgive me, dearshe wroteif I snatched you from your true mum. Such is my pilfered happiness.
***
Mummy, sobbed Holly, dear Mummy. Oh, how I hope you hear me now
I knew. I almost knew right away. When I lived with you, they said the records were wrong, that my real mother was Anne Iverson. I found her, just to see.
She didnt want meshed married, I was in the way. She had a family, didnt care for me, Mum.
She was afraidafraid people would see us together, afraid theyd know. She tried to give me money, Mum.
But I left, ran away.
Remember when I was so ill, the fever? You, my real mum I thank God we met. I searched for you for so long. You are my mother.
How lucky I am, how right it was, whatever the heavens arranged for us. You are my Mum, and Ill never let you go.
How do I go on without you?
***
Holly, love
Jack, let me cry. Ive lost my Mum
***
Grandma, was Granny Anne kind?
She was, sweetest.
And pretty?
The very prettiest, Annie.
Who named her?
Im not sure Maybe her mum or dad.
Your daddy, or your mummy?
Yes, my granddad, or my grandma.
Did you name me after your gran, your mum?
Yes, me and Daddy. He loved his granny so much.
Can she see me?
Course she can, shes watching over. Shell always look out for you.
I love you, Great-Granny Annie, whispers the child, laying a wreath of buttercups on the grave.
And so do I, sweet pea, rustles the ash tree, and the wind sighs, We all do, we all doThe little girls tiny fingers lingered on the carved letters. Jack watched from behind, his rough builders hands resting gently on Hollys shoulders, steady as ever. The sky brimmed with the promise of rain, but for now a soft gold poured over the graveyard grass, turning everything briefly magical. Beside them, Charlie, older and mischievous, kicked shyly at daisies, then stooped and picked a handful, tucking them carefully along the edge of the wreath.
Holly wiped her cheeks. She breathed, and for once her chest didnt ache so fiercely. Instead, she felt an odd, weightless warmthas if years of sadness had shrunk to a bright little stone, light enough to carry.
She used to say, Holly whisperedalmost a laugh in her throattheres no such thing as too many flowers in spring. Gran would pinch foxgloves from old Mr. Beales verge, shed say, Better in a childs hand than just for the bees.
Gran Annies flowers, Charlie said, and set another daisy down, solemn as a bishop.
A lark broke free from the hedges, scattering notes skyward. Holly closed her eyes, breathed in the scent of earththe delicate rot of last years leaves, the sweetness of grass just waking. She saw the knot of memory: her mothers arms around her the day she first arrived, holding so tight, never asking where shed come from, loving her as if all the lost years before had been nothing but a dream.
I miss you, Mum, Holly murmured to the stone.
She felt a small hand reach for hersAnnies, already warm from sunlight and love. Jack joined his, a family chain in the late springtime hush.
Behind them, the village lay dozing beneath pink-blossomed trees, unmoved as ever. But here, at the edge of the world, Holly finally understood: happiness was never something you found carved in stone, never something you stole and kept hidden. It was something you grew, between the fingernails and the heart, passed on like a smile, a pie cooling on a window ledge, or a childs laughter spilling across a garden.
As rain began to fallsoft, glad, and promisinglittle Annie looked up and beamed.
Dont worry, Granny Anne, she announced, well bring more flowers. Every week. Forever.
And in that brightening, drizzle-blurred moment, Holly believed her: that love, misplaced or mended, had never left at all. It only changed hands, like seeds in spring.
