Mary wept by Emilys grave, the ground cold and the headstone bareforty strange days passed without a single flower. She wandered, heart heavy, out of the cemetery, only to be caught by a man with a coat too large for himself. Need a lift? he asked, voice echoing like wind through the trees. Its a long stroll to the bus stop. Hop in. Its no trouble at all. Who who is it youre visiting?
My friend, Mary answered quietly.
My mother, he murmured, eyes fixed on the mist. Where are you headed?
The stop will do, Mary replied, unsure if he was real or made from fog.
Im at your disposal today. Might as well take you home. He smiled, the cars interior stretching out, as if swallowing the road itself. The journey passed with stories about her lonely little world, words curling in the air like steam.
Two nights later, Paul waited in the peeling light by Marys front door, as if hed always been there, with a strange question dangling on his tongue.
Mary and Emily had been friends since nursery, always mixing up jumpers and mittens and laughing so loudly the English rain would pause to listen. Through school, they were inseparable, eventually drifting to the same university townMary studying medicine and Emily becoming a teacher, as though destiny had sent their applications together.
Love found them both at onceMary with a cheerful farm boy and Emily with a dapper city lad. Emily married quickly, as if afraid her happiness would evaporate. A year later, she had a daughter, little Isabelle, though her husbands parents never approvedMarys family, they felt, was too simple for their son.
Sometimes Mary watched Isabelle so Emily and her husband could dance beneath city lights. She never complained, though she longed to slip into the night herself. But one evening, only the dawn brought the newsthe young couple’s car had glided off the road and vanished.
The wake was a blur, with Isabelle sleeping in Marys arms like a fledgling, lost and fragile. Her paternal grandparents, cold as bank vaults, refused herafter all, their son was gone. Why would they care for a strangers child? Emilys mother, drowning in grief with three other little ones, could not take Isabelle either. Only the orphanage beckoned, though the girl was barely a year old.
Mary had already fallen in love with Isabelle, having witnessed her first words and stumbles between twilight and dawn.
Mary lodged with a lonely old lady, earning pounds as a junior doctor, but who would trust a single woman to raise a child? Despite working, despite longing, she watched helpless as Isabelle was taken away.
Tormented by loss, Marys heart ached for the girl. She confided in her sweetheart, Michael, Will you marry me? If I was not alone, I might get Isabelle back
Michael blanched and recoiled. Are you mad? Wreck my future for this? NoIm not spoiling my life for your strange plan. Find some other fool!
Once more, Mary knelt by Emilys gravebare earth on the fortieth day, unlike the neighbouring mound where Emilys husband rested buried in an avalanche of flowers.
Oh Emily Mary whispered, I swear your place will not be forgotten. Help me, please
The path home bent strangely, trees wavering; on the cemeterys edge, the same man reappeared, as if conjured by grief.
Need a lift? The stops lost in the gloom. Oh, forgive me if Im too forward. Do you want to talk?
Just a friend Marys voice tangled with tears.
My mums gone too Where to?
The stop, if you dont mind.
Ive all day. None left in my lifeno mother, my wife is gone Are you crying? Something terribles happened? He paused, as if remembering a different world. I saw you, when they buried that coupleforty days ago, wasnt it?
Yes
Forty days for my mum, too Youre in trouble, arent you?
The car seemed to float down the street as Mary poured out her strange tale.
He dropped her off with a gentle nod. Thanks for sharing the journey.
Two days later, Paul waited with another suggestion, peculiar as the dream itself.
Mary opened her front door, uncertain she wasnt still sleeping.
Mary, lets do it. Ill help youI have no ties, nothing to lose. We can marry now.
She froze.
Youre not scared?
No. Why would I be?
My fiancé ran off when all I wanted was to help the child.
Ill help. But where will you live with Isabelle?
If Mrs. Pilkington doesnt evict me, I’ll stay here. Or find another place
No needI have room. Well start the papers tomorrow. Youll move in with me. Disagreement isnt an option. My house holds plenty of space.
You have a house?
Yes, not all souls in this city are boxed into tiny flats. My mother always wanted a proper homewalls and garden. Never took to city living herself, Paul mused, words rolling and melting.
I never did either. Emily and I were country girls
With dreamlike haste, Paul arranged their marriage. Quietly, they adopted Isabelle, then carried their suitcases to Pauls home, a real house with old bricks whispering secrets.
Thank you. Ill manage on my own now, said Mary.
Alone? Of course. The house is yours, but Ill be around if needed.
Perhaps I should rent a flat
The wife wont live apartnot on my watch.
Paul never crowded, but always helped. Mary tried to do it allcooking, cleaning, reading stories to Isabelle, falling quietly in love, afraid to speak it.
Mum, why do you love me? Isabelle asked one morning, sunlight painting the kitchen gold.
Because youre you. My little girl, Mary replied.
Paul treated them as his own. Even with Isabelle, he was gentle, a father in all ways but blood.
He saw Mary as the perfect wife, despite the unreality of their certificate paper marriage.
One evening, as Isabelle turned three, Paul presented his true proposal.
But were already married
I want a real family, Paul insisted, smile stretching from wall to wall.
I want that too Mary answered, and so, in the logic of dreams, they became a proper family.
Now, they have two wedding anniversaries, two years apart; Isabelle has a brother and a sister.
This odd story began long ago, and now all the children are grown. Isabelle knows the resting place of her birth parents. Their graves stand lovingly tendedno plot neglected, no flowers forgotten.
For Isabelle, Mary and Paul are her truest parents. Isabelle has a granddaughter of her ownMary and Paul, a great-grandchild.
Their family is large, happy, and unfolds, ever blooming, across the years.
