Whos going to want you with five children in tow? Her mother drove out 32-year-old widow, not knowing that an inheritance and a night-time visitor waited for her in the old house
The burial ground was damp. Clay squelched underfoot, clinging in thick lumps to Nadias cheap shoes. She stood, watching as the workers buried her life away. Sergey had left so suddenly. Only thirty-five. Hed just collapsed at work and never got up again.
Beside her, Mrs. Helen Pearson fidgeted from foot to foot. Nadias mother shivered deeper into her mink coat, her face twisted in disgust at the grandchildren clinging to their mothers black overcoat.
Well, thats enough tears now, her mother said loudly once the mound grew. Come on, Nadi. No point standing here catching a cold. We need to talk.
At home, in their cramped two-bed flat, all mortgage and no hope, Mrs. Pearson took charge, bustling right into the kitchen and claiming the head of the table.
Right then, she said, not even bothering to remove her hat. The bankll take the flat and rightly so. Youve no way to pay. Sergeys gone, and youve parked yourself in never-ending maternity leave, as usual.
Ill get a job, Nadia said softly, rocking one-year-old Michael in her arms.
Where, as a cleaner? her mother scoffed. Youve got five! Five hangers-on! Wholl take you on? Id send the oldest two, Tanya and Paul, to a care home. Just for a while. The littlest ones well, maybe social services can help.
No, Nadia whispered.
What? Mrs. Pearson frowned.
Im not giving up my children, Nadia said, lifting her head. Her eyes were dry and steely. Ill starve if I must, but I’ll see them through.
Youre a fool. Her mother stood and adjusted her coat. I warned you, didnt I? Shouldve thought ahead before it was too late. Now youre stuck. Dont come running to me for money.
A month later, the bank letter arrived. Two weeks to vacate. Nadia scrambled from friend to friend, but no one would take her in with five children.
Then a letter arrived from Westwood village. The solicitor wrote that Nadia inherited a house from a distant great-aunt shed only met once. “Old, but yours,” she thought. There was no other choice.
Westwood greeted them with an icy wind. The house sat at the edge of the woods, timbers blackened, porch sagging, windows clouded and mournful.
Mummy, its cold, five-year-old Alice whimpered.
Just a moment, darling, Ill get the fire going, Nadia tried to keep her voice steady.
That first night was a test. The stove smoked, the children coughed, draughts whistled from every crack. Nadia covered the little ones with jackets, rugs, even an old doormat. She didnt sleep, only listened to Michaels breathing.
Her middle son, seven-year-old William, was seriously ill. He needed complex treatment. The NHS promised a place in time, but the consultant had said, He might not last that long. Better pay for a private specialist in London. The price was more than two flats like the one just lost.
In the morning, Nadia climbed to the attic to fill in gaps. Sifting through ancient junk, fifty-year-old newspapers and battered coats, she found an old tea tin. Inside, wrapped in oiled cloth, was something heavy.
A watch. Pocket-sized, solid, on a silver chain. She rubbed the cover; an engraving appeared: a lion and the words, For faith and loyalty.
Nice enough, she sighed. But whats it worth?
The hands were stopped just before twelve.
Nadia hid it in the wardrobe. Today was no time for antiques. Food was down to three days, firewood nearly gone, William ached weaker each day.
That night a blizzard struck, snow walling them off. Nadia tucked the children in, then sat by the window. The sacrifices, the coldHad she done the right thing? Brought her children here to perish?
A gentle knocking came at the door.
Nadia jumped. Had she imagined it?
The knock came again, firm and hollow.
She picked up the poker and crept to the door.
Who is it?
Let me in, Miss, its wild out, came a strange voice. It was creaky as old wood, yet calm.
Without knowing why, Nadia slid the bolt back. A small old man stood before her, dressed in a long, peculiar woollen coat, belted with string. His beard was snowy, but his eyes sparkled bright and young.
Come in, Nadia moved aside.
He entered, but no snow fell from his coat, and instead of cold, a comforting warmth seemed to radiate from him.
He glanced in at the children, stopping at William, whose breath rattled as he slept.
Is the boy unwell?
A serious illness, Nadia sighed. He needs help. Ive no money.
Money is dust, the man sat heavily on the settle. But time is gold. You found my keepsake?
She froze.
The watch? Its yours?
Mine. The master gave it me, after I pulled him from the river. Many years past Kept it safe, knowing itd matter.
I could sell it! Nadia perked up. At least buy medicine. Its silver.
The man smiled under his beard. Dont let it go cheap. Theres a trick in it. Clockmaker Barry had a sly wit. Take a thin needle and press just by the hinge under the lid. Theres a false bottom.
He rose.
Well then, goodbye, Nadia. A fine namedont lose hope.
Wait, at least a cup of tea! Whats your name? Nadia hurried towards the kettle.
They call me Arthur.
She turned backwith the teapot in hand, the room was empty. The latch was down, the children asleep. Only a faint wisp of incense and warm bread lingered in the air.
Nadia never slept that night. Once dawn broke, she fetched the watch, a sewing needle trembling between her fingers. She felt for the tiny hole by the hinge and pressed.
Click.
The back, apparently solid, popped open. Inside, folded tight, was a slip of old paper and a heavy gold coin. Not the sort to be found in pawnbrokers windows.
She unfolded the note: I hereby declare the bearer thereof entitled to but the rest, a flurry of archaic letters, was hard to read.
She took a slow bus into the market town, found an antiques shop. The owner, a portly sharp-eyed man, looked at her with polite boredom.
Well, silver, decent quality. Perhaps £500 its battered.
Try this, Nadia laid out the coin and the paper.
He peered through his loupe, eyebrows rising, then blanched white.
Where did you get this?
Inherited it.
Madam, he took off his glasses, voice hushed. Thats a Royal Sovereign, special mint, only a handful ever made. And the paperits a deed signed by the Prince himself. I couldnt possibly buy it. You need London, the auction. This is life-changing.
Within a month, William received the best possible treatment: top specialists, the finest hospital in London. Nadia watched as the colour returned to her sons cheeks. The money was more than enough. For a new house and education for all five.
Back in Westwood, Nadia first visited the churchyard. She searched a long time, pushing back dry grass, and finally found ita crooked cross, a faded plate, all but erased by rain: Arthur Brooks. 1888 1960.
Nadia placed flowers gently and bowed her head low.
Thank you, Grandfather Arthur.
She raised a new house: big, bright, with heating and every comfort. The villagers respected the young widowdiligent, decent, her little ones always neat.
Helen Pearson turned up after half a year, arriving by taxi, a cake in hand. She wandered the grounds of the new semi, grand as anything, all smug importance.
Well, hello, love! her mother spread her arms, as if shed never been thrown out. I hear youve done well for yourself? People say you found a treasure? I always knew youd land on your feet! Ive been a bit poorly, small pension, you know. Bit of help, eh? Youve loads of rooms now.
Nadia stepped out onto the porch. Her eldest children shadowed her, eyes wary.
Good afternoon, Mum, Nadia said, voice calm.
Well, go on then, let me in! Mrs. Pearson was already placing a foot on the step.
No.
What do you mean, no? Her mothers smile slid right off.
Theres no place for you here. You made your choice when you turned us out.
Ill have you in court! Im your mother! Youre bound to Mrs. Pearsons face grew red with blotches.
Do as you must, Nadia turned to the door. But for now, please leave. Its quiet hourWilliam needs his sleep.
She closed the heavy oak door. The lock snapped home.
Her mothers shouts about ingratitude and five children in tow echoed through the door, but Nadia no longer listened. She walked back into her kitchen, warm with the scent of pies, where the old clock on the wall ticked away the hours of their new, happy life.
