She nearly carried on walking.
Just another lad.
Another tale.
Just another moment to leave behind.
Im starving can you spare anything?
She gave him money all the same.
Still, something kept her there a little longer.
Thats when she noticed it.
A locket.
Weatheredclearly with its own history.
May I take a look?
The boy offered it instantly.
She opened it, hands unsure.
Her world crumbled.
Inside sat a photograph.
Her.
Cradling a baby she thought of every day.
Her words faltered.
Where did you get this?
He answered without delay.
Whatever he said
stopped her in her tracks.
And then
someone called his name just behind her.
Rain patterned down the steps to the tube as London bustled around them, eyes elsewhere.
Black cabs whisked through rain-slick streets.
People hurried beneath brollies.
Shopfronts glowed in puddles like shards from a parallel world.
She almost kept going.
Why wouldnt she?
He looked like any other child sat against cold paving, cardboard at his feet, watery eyes far too knowing for his age.
Im starving can you spare anything?
She heard the plea almost every week.
Most people had trained themselves not to listen anymore.
But something in his tone pulled at her.
Perhaps the exhaustion.
Or the soft-spoken manners.
Or that he hadnt put his hand out.
Claire Bennett paused beside him, rummaging in her handbag.
Two crisp £20 notes.
Enough for a couple of hot meals.
Maybe a nights sleep somewhere warm.
Decent socks for a change.
She handed over the money.
The boy blinked, stunned, then took it in both hands, careful as you like.
Thank you, he murmured.
Not an act.
Genuine.
Claire gave a brief nod and started to step away.
Thats when she noticed it.
A fine chain peeking from under his oversized hoody.
Old silver.
Almost polished smooth with time.
A locket.
Something about it struck a strange chord within her.
Not memory exactly.
Instinct.
She squinted.
One side was battered, a nick by the hinge.
A dent at the edge.
Ridiculous.
Her heart stopped.
Wait.
The lad glanced up.
Claire pointed.
That locket
He touched it out of habit, an unconscious guard.
My mum gave it to me.
Claires heart bounced, painful in her chest.
May I see it?
He only paused for a moment.
Then nodded and handed it across.
Trusting.
Far too trusting.
Her fingers shook the moment the cold metal touched her skin.
Chill.
Familiar.
Londons bustle faded at the edge of her hearing.
Muted.
She clicked the locket open, slowly.
The world tipped.
Inside
a photograph.
Faded from years of touch.
Corners creased.
But there was no mistaking it.
Her.
Younger.
Beaming.
Cradling a newborn wrapped in a blue blanket.
Claires knees almost buckled.
No.
No, no, no
Her hand covered her mouth.
She recognised that photo.
Shed carried it with her at St Thomass Hospital seventeen years ago.
The day they said her baby didnt make it.
The day not one nurse would meet her gaze.
The day something in her broke for good.
Her voice shook apart.
Where did you get this?
He didnt hesitate.
My mum always told me my real mother would know it.
Claire stood rooted.
London was silent, for a heartbeat.
The rain.
Engines ticking past.
Rushed footsteps.
All gone.
Real mother.
The words hollowed her through.
Now, she really looked at the boys face.
The eyes.
That jawline.
A tiny scar close to his eyebrow
the very spot her late husband had one.
Her breath stumbled.
How old are you? she whispered.
Sixteen.
Impossible.
Possible.
She clutched the locket so tightly her fingers ached.
Whats your mums name?
He opened his mouth
But then, a womans voice called from behind.
LIAM!
Both turned.
Across the street, a woman by a parked Vauxhall.
Early forties.
Navy raincoat.
Face stricken with panic.
The instant Claire clocked her
she went cold.
Because she knew her too.
Nurse Evelyn Harper.
The nurse who took her baby from her arms seventeen years before.
The same nurse whod sobbed:
Im so sorry. We did absolutely everything.
Evelyns face drained of colour.
The lad looked from one to the other, lost.
Mum?
Claire didnt breathe.
The nurse wasnt looking at the locket.
She was gawping straight at Claire
like shed seen a ghost in the rush-hour rain.
