– Hello, anyone home? Helen kicked off her sandals and gave a sound of pure relief.
Beautiful, no question, but so uncomfortable! Shed been swayed by their appearance when she bought them, but hadnt considered how awkward theyd be in this heat. The straps were so thin they dug right into her feet.
Helen picked up the sandals, intending to put them neatly on the rack in the hallway, and suddenly froze. In the corner by the door, two alert green eyes met hers.
– And who are you? Helen asked in a hushed whisper.
The owner of those mesmerising green eyes gave no reply, only shuffled further into the corner, sat back on his haunches, and let out a threatening hiss.
– Message received…
Helen carefully placed the sandals on the floor and stepped back, making sure not to frighten her uninvited guest.
– I wont touch you. Calm down! Ill go and find out how you ended up here. If, of course, you dont mind. What a surprise…
Her visitor rumbled a warning deep in his chest, making Helen involuntarily smile.
– Alright, mighty warrior, keep it down! Its my home, you know. No one gets hurt here. No ones ever hurt in this house.
The grumpy guest seemed to understand her assurances and quietened down. He put his front paws back on the floor, watching her cautiously but no longer hissing or growling.
Helen walked through the hallway, glancing into the lounge and kitchennothing but pristine order and silence, which was odd in her house at this time. Normally, chaos reigned when she came home; she always had to be careful where she stepped. Childrens building blocks could be sharper than they looked, and those paints her husband bought for the little artists never wanted to wash out.
The door to the childrens room was ajar, and it was so uncharacteristically quiet, Helen briefly suspected no one was home.
She was wrong. All three of her little darlings were there. They sat on the floor, a huge sheet of art paper in the centre, busily drawing together.
– I see! And why has no one come to greet me? Helen grinned at two ginger heads and one dark one.
Her words were greeted with a synchronised Ah! and felt-tipped pens flew everywhere, while Barbara flopped spread-eagled onto the floor, trying to cover their unfinished masterpiece.
– Mum! Dont look!
Helen laughed, covering her face with her hands.
– I wont! But whos going to tell me about the strange creature in the hallway hissing at me?
Oliver, the owner of the dark hair, shot a look at his little siblings and got to his feet.
– Sorry, Mum! We meant to warn you, but didnt have time. I brought him home.
– I see. And why is he so wild?
– His paws hurt. I rescued him from Mrs Harriss dogs out in the close.
Helens brow knitted in worry.
– Did they touch you at all? Wheres he hurt?
– Mum, relax! Im alright. Not a scratch. The dogs were all chasing himthose were Mrs Harriss pets, not strays.
Helen knew the pack wellfour small, yappy dogs of unclear pedigree, doted on by the most notorious complainer in the terrace, Mrs Iris Harris. Those dogs were poorly trained and usually roamed free, as Iris had bad legs and couldnt walk them properly, yet had no intention of giving them up. So, every mother on St James Terrace knewdont let the kids out to play before ten in the morning, just to be sure. It had happened more than once: one of the kids would come in screaming after a scare from one of Iriss four, sparking an outburst that always died down once Iris turned up to retrieve her little gang. They didnt bite, but they could bark so fiercely that even grown-ups felt uneasy. Iris would defend her dogs with impressive flair, shrugging at any fine from the council, and joke to anyone not pleased with the verdict:
– Oh please! You should be watching your children! Why was he out there alone? A bit young yet, isnt he, for solo adventuring? Ah, you needed a break, did you? Well, I never! My darlings wont ever get hurt by anyonelearn how to look after yours, love!
Helen knew Iriss story and felt compassion for her, even when her neighbour was at her most exasperating.
Mr Harris had been a terrifying man. Outwardly respectable, always smart, ever willing to offer a hand with shopping or lifts, a perfect neighbour. But for a long time, what happened behind closed doors remained a mysteryeven next-door never suspected. He would hurt Iris so cleverly, youd rarely see a bruise, and she never dared cry out.
– Make a sound, and its your life and your sons! Got it? the smile fixed on his lips as he went from cooing at a baby to threatening his wife was the same.
Iris suffered in silence for years. Her son, her everything, was from a previous marriage. Shed been widowed at twenty-three with a baby boy, and remarried to give her son a father figure. The new husband played the role wellhe doted on his stepson, who adored him and never realised what his mother endured. Mr Harris made sure all that happened in secret, always beyond the boys hearing.
One day, as is often the way, Iriss son found out the truth by accident. He came home early from school, opened the door with his own key and heard a muffled cry from the kitchen. How things unfolded after that was a swirl that even the police struggled to piece together, but one thing was certain: Iris did everything she could to protect her child.
No one ever learned what drove Mr Harris to such violence. He ran a perfectly tidy home, and he was a careful cookkitchen knives always sharp. He passed every domestic skill on to Iriss son, who, at twelve, could already handle himself in the kitchen. But Iris insisted it was her fault, refused to let anyone blame her boy, and the police couldnt prove otherwise. Her son went to live with his gran, while Iris served her sentence. When she got out, she collected her son, swapped her flat for one in another block, and built a new life with just her boy and a little rescue dog. That little dog had been run over, but mended quickly, and soon became Iriss shadow. That was Izzythe first of many. Later, Izzys pup was named the same, and then another Izzy arrived. Dogs came and went, but Iriss life was now full of waggy tails with sharp minds and loving hearts.
Her son grew up, finished school, then university, and moved up north for a good job. Big house, wife, two adorable childrenhe begged Iris to move in, but she always said no. She was a doting gran, a caring mother-in-law, but felt shed rather live alone so no one felt put upon, as she put it.
Iriss independence didnt soften her. She missed her family desperately, which showed itself in her dealings with neighbours. And with so many rescue dogs in her little flat, the pack terrorised the unsuspecting, but Iris truly believed every stray deserved a home.
Mrs Harriss dogs never once bothered Helens children.
Once a week, Helen would drop round a bag of bones after preparing the Sunday roast, drink a courtesy cup of tea and coo over grandchildrens photos, which Iris would show off with pride.
Of all their neighbours, only Iris knew that Oliver wasnt Helens biological son. Helen told her neighbour the whole story the day she returned from maternity leave and curious tongues wagged about how little Oliver looked nothing like ginger-haired Helen or fair Julian.
– Whats it matter who the child takes after? No ones business! Helen, your granddad was dark as coal with blue eyesa regular dreamboat! Had a crush on him myself for a week or two! Dont laugh, I was young! Youve got a fine kid there, Helentouch wood for luck!
Gossip faded after that, but Helen did tell Iris Olivers real story.
She and her husband had tried for years for a baby, all in vain. Doctors shrugged.
– Youre both healthy. Sometimes things just dont work out. Sometimes its just not meant to be. You can keep trying, and maybe itll happen.
And happen it did, but not as Helen had imagined.
Her cousin, Judith, at nearly forty, unexpectedly fell pregnant by her partner, who wanted no part of fatherhood. He disappeared, leaving Judith grief-stricken and alone. She withdrew from everyone, and not even the efforts of Helens aunt, Judiths mother, could bring her back. For Judith, the child was never the pointit was only ever a desperate wish to keep the man. When that failed, she wanted none of it.
– Ill sign him over at the hospital. Dont try to talk me round. I dont want him!
Judith didnt survive the birth. Whether it was the doctors fault or simply fate, little Oliver was orphaned before he could even begin his life.
Helen didnt hesitate. She loved her cousin dearly.
– She looked after me when I was small; she loved me. I dont know what happened to her, but she was Judith, and she always will be. This baby cant end up with strangers.
Helens Aunt Vera was too old and unwell for custody. Helen barely needed to ask her husband; she already knew his answer. Shed chosen Julian for his quiet, steady loyaltyshe knew he would do anything for her happiness.
Helen had always been a sturdy woman, and so with a brief trip to Aunt Veras, a quick paperwork shuffle, and a little silence at her return, she and Julian weathered the suspicious questions about when they had the time for another baby. They simply smiled, joked, and let the neighbours go round in circles.
Only to Iris did Helen confide the truth.
– Im glad you told me. Dont be afraid. I wont breathe a word! And goodits not healthy to keep it all inside. When you need advice, you can always come round. Ive a son myself, and though I wasnt always there, Im proud of the man hes become. Trust mehe became strong because I kept my authority, even through all the trouble. Remember, Helenno matter what anyone says, youre his mum if you choose to be. Youre righthe needs a strong parent. If you ever let yourself doubt your right to bring him up, youll lose your lad. He needs your steady hand as much as your love.
Helen never forgot that talk, and always nodded a special thank-you to her neighbour whenever they passed in the close.
Oliver grew, and Helens own children arrivedfirst Ivan, then Barbara. Iris would smile tightly as the two flame-haired little ones chased each other around the grass, or fed biscuits to Izzy and the others.
Then came a time Helen needed advice.
Oliver began showing an odd aggression to other children. Not his siblings, but at school, hed push or shout, and Helen worriedwas this a phase, or something deeper?
Talking to him yielded nothing. He kept silent, and the school counsellor just shrugged:
– Hell grow out of it. Ill have a word, but I really dont see much of a problem.
Helen wasnt satisfied. One evening, she left the little ones with Julian and visited Iris.
– There you are! I knew youd come. Get yourself in. I baked this afternoonmy lot always loved a treat. You seem worried about Oliver?
– Yes.
As Helen sat in the kitchen and poured her heart out, Iris listened in silence, offering tea and a box of tissues.
– What can I say? Boys fight. They have their say. You just have to get behind him, not against him, however hard it is. If you show him you want to understand, hell tell you everything. Dont interruptlet him talk, whatever he says.
– But I have asked himhe wont say a word!
– Then youve asked the wrong way. We parents always rushWhat are you doing that for? Stop embarrassing me! But if you just ask him, calmly, for his reasons, say youll listen even if fighting isnt right, hell come round. Show him youre on his side first. Thats all they wantreassurance theyre not alone.
They talked and talked late into the night. When Helen got home, only Julian was awake. She kissed her younger two goodnight, then sat by Olivers bed.
Dark hair, olive skinhe looked nothing like Ivan and Barbara, but she felt the same surge of love. She watched his face, his little foot poking from the covers.
Oliver stirred, sleepily hugged her, and muttered:
– Mum? Why are you crying? Please dont. Ill be good, I promise.
His eyes brimmed with a hurt she recognised, and Helen just hugged him tightly, whispering:
– Its alright. Just tell me whats wrong, darling. Tell me nowwhos upsetting you?
And Oliver confessed, haltingly. The answer had been right in front of her all along.
– The others say Im adopted! That Ivan and Barbara are yours, and Im not, because I dont look like you. They say youre not my real mum!
Helen wiped her eyes, lifted his chin to meet her gaze.
– Nonsense! Youre ours, my love. From the tips of your hair to the soles of your feetyou and no one elses! Well, alright, also your dads! Dont ever listen to them. And dont fight, either. Let people say what they want; clever people dont need to be nasty, dont need to use their fists. If you want proof, look here.
She fetched an old, bulging photo album. Oliver had seen it, but now, as they turned the pages, faces gained fresh meaning.
– See, thats Grandmaso young! Here she is with me and my cousin Judith, who looked after me as a child. Thats your great-Granddad, the one with the dark hair and blue eyesjust like you! Were all different, darling.
– But why are you, Ivan, and Barbara ginger?
– We take after Grandma. Youll learn about all this at school soon. Dont listen to anyone elseyoure ours. Thats what matters, isnt it?
Seeing Oliver sigh in relief, Helen almost spilled the actual truth, but bit her tongue. He was not ready yet. One day, maybe, shed tell him everything, but not now.
The next day, Iris nodded grandly at Olivers polite Morning, Auntie Iris! in the close.
– Your folks raised you well, Oliver! Theyve reason to be proud.
Simple words, but enough to give Oliver real peace. Of all people, Auntie Iris didnt hand out compliments lightly.
Of course, Helen would seek Iriss advice many more times. Until, one day, the door she knocked remained shut. The barking behind it went on and on, but nobody answered.
Iris had been taken into hospital unexpectedly. True to form, she hadnt called anyonenot even her son.
Helen made the calls, found her neighbour, and took her keys.
– Thank you, Helen! My little ones will tear the house down if theyre not walked.
– And fed, tootheyve been hungry for days. Why didnt you call, for heavens sake? Isnt that why we have family and friends? Wouldnt you worry if your son kept things from you?
– Youre probably right… I just hate to be a bother.
– As my children say, the only thing thats awkward is sleeping on the ceilingdont be ridiculous! Youve been there for meits my turn.
The pack was duly walked and fed, and Oliver took charge, freeing Helen to care for Iris. Thankfully, she recovered quickly, to the joy of her dogs.
By then, Oliver and the dogs were thick as thieves. He offered to walk them regularly, and Iris gladly accepted help, though she still occasionally let her little ones out on their own, which led to mild bickering between them.
Thats how Oliver was able to rescue a stray tabby in the closeemaciated, battered, terrified. He took a swipe to the cheek for his trouble, but didnt mind.
– Youre a pedigree, arent you? British Shorthair? How did you get lost?
The cat didnt answer, just stared wide-eyed and growled, but stopped struggling.
The kids were thrilled. They huddled around the new arrival, chatting carefully to calm him down while plotting how best to explain this surprise to their mum.
Helen, peeking in at their plotting, laughed as she discovered a drawing depicting her holding a huge, cross-looking cat twice her size.
– And you think this will convince me to keep this grumpy wonder? Ive never had a catI havent a clue!
– Mum, neither have we. How about I go ask Auntie Iris? Shell know what to docats, dogs, whats the difference?
The doorbell interrupted Oliver, and Helen smiled.
– Seems you dont need to. Go, answer it. And mind our guest doesnt slip outyour grumpy friends in luck, Auntie Iris is right on time.
The youngest two exchanged hopeful glances and, whispering as Helen had earlier, asked:
– Mum, can we keep him?
– Have I said no? He can stay if no one claims him back. Even cats need someone to love them, don’t they?
And the cat did stay. Helen sometimes sighed at the cost of the vets bill, but decided it was a fair price for her childrens shining faces and the warmth of a grateful cat, who, once sure he was truly wanted, abandoned his mischief and never left her side. Oliver was a bit miffed by the favouritism, but Helen would tease:
– He knows whos in charge!
She knew for sure that, each night after all was quiet and the children snuggled deep in bed, that grey paw would stroke her leg by way of apology before sneaking off down the hall to the childrens bedroom. And Oliver, half-asleep, would hug the cat, who would settle down, purring, shooting green sparks at Helen as she peeked in.
– Goodnight, her kind hand ruffling hair and fur alike.
Sleepy silence was her answer. Helen smiled, gently closing the door. Everything was as it should be. Happiness loves silence. Let it be quiet until morning. Tomorrow would bring its own commotion and joys.
And together, they’d help Iris move to her sonsfinally, a much-deserved big house, with its own garden for the dogs. And every week, Iris would perch at her granddaughters computer, waiting patiently for a video call setup. Distant relatives, now dear, would beam into view and greet her:
– Hello, Auntie Iris!
And a grown-up Olivers hand would stroke the lazy, contented cat curled up in his lap.
The future was open and bright. Life was full, and good people were all around. There would be more light and more laughter yetfor all the family, two-legged and four-pawed alike.
