Stepping out of St. Georges Hospital, Florence nearly collided with a man at the glass doors.
Sorry, he said, pausing just long enough to meet her gaze.
An instant later, his eyes cooled to a dismissive, condescending flicker, and he turned away as if shed vanished. Florence had seen so many eyes like his eyes that looked at slender, long-legged girls with spark and hunger, but passed over her like she was part of the pavement. The injustice of it burned in her chest. Was it really her fault shed been born this way?
When Florence was tiny, everyone doted on her rosy cheeks and soft, pudgy limbs. At school, theyd line up by height in PE, and Florence was always the first in the girls row. Shed been teased: fatty, chubby, Peppa Pig, pumpkin. Those were the gentle nicknames; the worst ones she wouldnt repeat. Children can be so cruel. Teachers saw her classmates taunts, but never intervened.
Florence tried endless diets, but hunger gnawed at her, and every lost stone crept back in. Her features were pleasing, but what did it matter? Her weight spoiled everything.
She once dreamt of being a teacher, but abandoned the hope, fearing children would give her cruel names behind her back. After school, she enrolled in a nursing college. When people are ill, she reasoned, they dont care who soothes their pain, so long as its eased.
There were no boys in her group, and the girls kept to themselves, falling in love and marrying while Florence remained perennially alone. In class, theyd politely ask Florence to sit at the front; theyd hide behind her wide frame, dodging the lecturers questions.
Shed gaze mournfully at beautiful dresses in Marylebone shop windows, knowing shed never wear anything so lovely. She dressed in billowy cardigans and loose skirts, hiding her shape, her perceived flaws. She studied hard and gave injections deftly and gently; elderly patients adored her for it.
Once, Florence went ice skating with the girls. Teenagers lobbed jibes her way. Look, shes off to the meat market, boys snickered. Their laughter hurt her deeper than a tumble on the ice.
Her mother tried setting her up with sons of friends. Florence went on a date or two. One lad, catching sight of her, pretended indifference and turned away ostentatiously. Another, without even a greeting, groped her she pushed him hard and he landed in a puddle. Whats your problem? You should be grateful! No one else will want you! he shouted as she fought back tears. After that, Florence stopped dating altogether.
On her social media profile, her avatar was Fiona from Shrek. When a boy once asked how she really looked, Florence replied that the avatar was pretty accurate if less green. He took it as a joke: Bet you just want to chase off pushy admirers! he messaged, suggesting they meet anyway. Florence promptly stopped replying.
One day, a little boy of about six ran into her in the ward.
Careful, you cant run in here. People are sick, she said, gently grabbing his arm.
I wanted to slide on the floor, he admitted.
Who are you here with?
My dad, visiting Granny. Wheres the loo?
Florence led him down the corridor, Can you manage on your own?
The boy shot her a noble, miniature-man glance, and she didnt mind. When the splash of water sounded behind the door, he emerged.
All right, show me which bed is your grans, she said.
He trailed beside her, sighing, stopping at a door and thoughtfully pressing his finger to his lip.
This one, I think, pointing at Room Four.
You arent sure? Didnt you check the number? Or do you not know numbers? asked Florence, eyeing him, since Room Four was for men.
I know them, Im not a baby. I even know letters. Grannys is over there. He indicated Door Five.
Naughty boy, Florence pretended to scold.
The boy laughed brightly. Whats your name?
Jack, he replied just as the door opened and a tall, kind-faced man appeared.
He shot Jack a stern look. Jack, whats taking so long? He then noticed Florence assessed her in a heartbeat, lost interest, and asked, Was he misbehaving?
Florence had seen so many indifferent, contemptuous glances like that.
He wasnt. Please dont scold him, she chided softly and went on her way.
As she left, she heard the man urging Jack, Come on now, say bye to Granny, its time to go.
The next day Jack was back with his father. The man brushed past Florence without a glance. Florence stuck her tongue out at his back. Just then, Jack spun round and gave her a beaming thumbs-up. Florence grinned and waved.
After nap hour, Florence entered Room Five.
Youre looking lovely today, Mrs. Abernathy. Did your grandson visit? she asked.
You met him? Hes a marvellous boy. I just want to live long enough to see what he grows up to be.
Youve ages left yet youll be running after great-grandchildren soon, Florence said cheerfully.
God willing. Its just, my heart aches for him. Hes growing up without a mum.
His mother
Shes not dead, just left him with us. My son married a beauty, and only after did she admit she had a child. You cant start a marriage with lies. My husband nearly had a heart attack. Now here I am, in hospital. Two years back, Jacks mum got a lucrative modelling offer abroad and bolted. The boy was in her way. My son only seems to date beautiful, selfish women. Jack never takes to them.
Florence mulled over Mrs. Abernathys story all day. Later, giving her a jab, she found her patient sniffling quietly.
Mrs. Abernathy, you mustnt get worked up, remember?
Im not, look. The old lady handed her a scrap of paper.
Jack had drawn a little boy, holding hands with a mum and dad. Obviously Jack and his parents.
Jacks looking for a mum. I think he drew you, Florence.
No, he drew his own mum, Florence protested gently.
He cant remember her. She was slim, and in the picture, the mum is bigger than the dad. Thats you. Just look.
Florence immediately noticed that in the picture, the mum was indeed taller and softer-looking. Even a child knows Im large,” she thought bleakly. “A handsome man like Jacks dad would never fancy me. Not for the likes of me.
Still, every time Florence gave Mrs. Abernathy an injection, they traded soft words. Next time Jack visited, he made straight for Florence.
Morning! Do you have safe hands? he asked.
Er, I think so.
Granny says shes in safe hands with you. Shell be home soon, right? And my birthdays in a week.
I really think Granny will be home soon. How old will you be?
Six! said Jack proudly. Will you come to my birthday party?
Id love to, but you need to ask your dads permission, Florence replied.
Ill go now! And Jack darted off.
Florence was busy and didnt notice the two of them leave. But the next day, she found Jack and his father waiting by the nurses station.
Dad, you promised! Jack tugged his fathers hand as Florence approached.
I remember, he said, glancing up at her. Please, come to Jacks birthday. Heres the address and my number Saturday at one, if youre free.
Your details are already in our records, Florence flushed. Ive nothing else planned.
Good. It would break Jacks heart if you didnt come and Mums too. You said she cant get upset.
A whole week! I must try to lose just a little more weight, Florence thought.
That evening she told her mum about Jack.
You must go boys understand more than grown men do. Maybe something could happen with his father? Dont be cross, dear, the boy just needs a mum.
He barely notices me, Florence said helplessly.
You dont know that. If all he cared about was appearances, hed have married another model long ago.
Saturday arrived. Florence did her hair, picked out a dress, even dabbed a little mascara. She studied her reflection, discontented. No matter how you dress it up, less of you, there isnt.
Shed bought Jacks gift days ago. Hes waiting, so I have to go, she sighed and stepped away from the mirror.
No sooner had she pressed the doorbell than the lock clicked. Her heart thudded wildly.
Florences here! Jack bounded forward and wrapped his arms round her as far as theyd go. She stroked his cropped hair and handed him his present. His eyes shone at the shiny package.
In the sitting room was a party tea: Ivan sat there so handsome next to a chic blonde. On the far side, an elderly gentleman whom Florence pegged as Jacks granddad.
The blonde shot Florence a look one brow arched, lips tight as if assessing her worth.
Everyone, this is Florence, my saviour. And this is George, my husband. You know my son. And this is a friend of Ivans, Sophie, said Mrs. Abernathy, not glancing at the blonde.
The blonde arched her brow again. Mrs. Abernathy, while serving salad onto Florences plate, accidentally tipped her sleeve and spilled a glass of wine onto the blondes lap. She jumped up, knocking her chair over with a clatter. Chaos erupted; the blonde gathered her things to leave. No one tried to stop her. Florence too wanted to disappear.
Sorry about that, but Ivan began.
You didnt spill anything on me. Why should I be cross? Florence said. Besides, I should get going.
Dont go! Mum made her legendary pie. If you must leave, let me drive you back.
They drove in silence.
Id have made it home myself Florence broke the quiet, embarrassed.
Mum would never forgive me if I didnt see you home. It seems you keep crossing my path. I wouldnt be shocked if shes plotting to marry us off.
I dont love you and you dont love me, so theres no risk. I have no plans to marry you, Florence said, her voice trembling. Dont worry. Ill try not to cross your path again.
They reached her flat. Florence fumbled at the locked door.
Open it, now. She was furious.
Suddenly, Ivan reached over and kissed her. Florence pushed him away hard.
What do you think youre doing? Had enough of skinny blondes, is that it? Fancy a change? Yes, I should probably be grateful for your attention.
He stared at her for the first time, really seeing her. At that moment, Florence glowed with anger, cheeks flushed, her eyes fierce. She had never looked more alive.
Im sorry, honestly. I dont know what came over me. I didnt mean I just thought
Yes. Only time a mans ever kissed me was when he wanted to do me a favour, like you now. Im the sort thats pitied, overlooked, rejected out of hand, she spat, and left.
Late August brought chill, the wind hurling rain against the panes, brown and gold leaves swirling down. Three weeks passed since Jacks party. Three weeks Ivan hadnt appeared.
Florence came home one drizzly evening and kicked off her damp boots.
A young man came for you, called her mum from the hallway.
What sort of man?
Handsome, rather worried. Left his number. Said youd know.
Florence called at once, escaping to the kitchen.
Its me. Jacks unwell. Do you think you could come? He needs injections…
Ill be right there! Florence grabbed her things and dashed to the closest chemist to buy everything she might need.
Jacks eyes lit up to see her. His hair was slick with sweat, but fever had already dropped. She washed her hands and got ready. Antibiotics and vitamins for Jack.
Remember my hands are safe? Dont worry, she reassured, seeing his nerves.
He squeezed his eyes tight, then grinned It only hurt a tiny bit!
Ivan watched her closely, in a way that made her blush, made her heart flutter. Nobody had seen her like this before.
Afterwards, Ivan insisted on giving her a lift.
Florence, lets go to a cafe sometime. We never really got a chance to talk.
Are you only asking to please Jack? You shouldnt. Ill hope for things, and youll never love me. Im not loveable. Im fat.
Nonsense. Youre warm and soft and kind. Kids arent wrong youre what Jack needs. And I think I might need you, too. We could make a strong family.
What if Jacks mum returns?
She wont. She sent over the paperwork, gave up her rights, agreed to the divorce. Shes remarried abroad. Jacks my son now. So, will you go out with me?
Yes, Florence replied simply.
For each of us, theres someone our missing piece someone without whom good days and bad are incomplete. Looks dont matter at all. But sometimes we dont recognise our match, even if theyre right in front of us, because were too busy ignoring the souls that mirror our own.
So what about love? Perhaps love is exactly what allows us to see the swan in the so-called ugly duckling; to spot, in the soft, awkward girl, a fragile and loving soul, meant only for us.
