A Mother’s Heart
Simon found himself seated at the kitchen table, in that corner where the table’s leg always brushed his kneea familiar, gentle irritation. Before him sat a deep bowl of his mothers Sunday stew, thick with root vegetables and the curling steam heavy with thyme. The spoon kept ferrying mouthfuls to his lips, yet his mind had drifted elsewhere, floating above the mismatched tiles and into the peculiar glow that comes in dreams, half-lit and shifting.
He remembered how sharply his life had changed these past few years. These days, he had more than enough pounds to afford a full English at the new bistros in Soho, to lunch at Michelin-starred establishments hidden behind mahogany doors, and to dine in places where the chefs presented you with clouds of something-smoked and foams of rare herbs. There were wild Scottish oysters, Italian white truffles, wagyu beef from a price list better suited to Sothebys. But nothing in this culinary labyrinth compared to Mums stew.
The sauces, the rare spices, the artistry of the platesnone of it meant anything against this bowl, heavy in his hand, scented with familiarity. There was something in her stew that lived outside ingredient listsa touch of warmth, the slow patience of hands stirring, and the memory of careless, sunny evenings. Simon realised, no matter how many restaurants he sampled, no matter what delicate morsels he devoured, home would always mean thisMums kitchen, Mums stew.
Maria slipped into the kitchen, careful as a cat not to clink the china or rattle the teaspoons, setting down a cup of tea extravagantly decorated with little violets. Worry hovered about her like an invisible mist.
Simon, what time do you need to set off? she asked, almost whispering, like the air itself might shatter.
He lifted his gaze and managed a small smile. Tomorrow, early doors. Cars out of commission, so Im sharing a lift with a mate.
She looked at him so intently he thought she could hear his pulse. He liked how healthy she seemed nowrested, skin fresh, as if the years had misplaced her actual age and left her decades younger.
Its only a few hours up the M1, honest, Mum, Simon said, trying to steady her with a grin.
Marias hands found the edge of the table and clung to it. The stillness hung, pierced only by the steady, metronomic ticking of the kitchen clock.
With your friend, she murmured, voice barely there. Simon, dont go with him. Please.
A strange ripple ran through him. He hadnt seen her on edge like thisshe was usually the very model of calm reason, and now she seemed carved from worry. He set his spoon aside, watching her closely.
You dont even know who I mean, he said, trying to act as if the unease hadnt infected his tone. Itll be fine, youll see. Its only Jonathanremember him? Good lad, drives slow, never so much as a parking ticket. Solid German car, luckiest reg number youve ever seentriple sevens, Mum. Hes practically a professional driver at this point.
Maria moved toward him, her feet almost forgetting how walking worked. She took his hand, her fingers cold and fragile against his own.
Please, love, she said, her voice trembling though she tried to hold it firm. Why not call a taxi? I just have a feeling… my hearts uneasy, truly.
Simon tried a joke, hoped levity would chase off the rising fear. And what if the cabbie bought his license on eBay, eh? He squeezed her fingers lightly. Dont fret, Mum. Ill ring as soon as I arrivebefore you can even miss me, promise.
He kissed her cheek. Her unease clung to him as if it were his own. He held her tightly, pouring all his steadiness into the embrace. She leaned into him for a moment, as if to memorize the safety of his arms, then quietly stepped away.
All will be well, Mum, he said again, meaning it more for himself.
Simon left the house, wandering the familiar curve of the street, its memories stretching behind him like a procession of shadows. Lamp posts glimmered their orange halos along the pavement, and the evening air held the sort of chill that promised rain. Home was only a few strides away, and as he walked, Marias anxious expression flitted through his mind. He tried to shake it off, but it nagged at the back of his thoughts.
His flat was silent, almost expectant. He entered the bedroom, eyeing the neat duffel on the bed. Everything was in placetrousers pressed, shirts folded military-style, not even a sock missing. He zipped the bag, placed it by the front door; he wouldnt want to be late searching for that one elusive tie.
He checked the alarm clockquarter to ten. Up at six, don’t sleep through, he muttered, reinforcing his intention to the dreaming part of himself.
Undressed, tucked up in bed, Simon lay staring into the dark, listening to the murmur peculiar to London at night. Every so often his mind circled back to Mariashe would surely be lying awake too, worry roosting beside her on the pillow. To distract himself, Simon recited his morning routine: rise, wash, strong coffee, breakfast, double-check the slides. Thoughts looped and twisted, melting into the hazy unreality of sleep.
*****************
The morning burst open, not at all as hed planned. Sun was streaming through the gap in the curtains, burning brighter than any sensible English light. For a moment he just lay there, confusion thick as syrup in his head. The bedside clock flashed: 8:55.
Bloody hell, Simon barked, sitting bolt upright. He seized the alarm clock and hurled it onto the carpetthe hands mocked him with their uselessness. Why didnt Jonathan call? We agreed! he muttered furiously.
His phone lay on the table, dark and stubbornly silent. Odd, he recalled plugging it in last night. Battery couldnt possibly die in a single dream-laden evening. Frowning, he jabbed the power button. The screen flickered, and a flurry of message beeps jarred the silence.
The first from Jonathan, at 8:00:
Si, where are you? Been waiting 15 mins at the door. Will leave in 10 unless you showlong drive, mate.
Another. You coming? Let me know.
Final one: Heading out. Sorry, cant wait any longer.
Simon froze. Jonathan had come, waited, calledSimon had simply slept through. And now, Marias warning gnawed at his mind. Too late, now, to heed her intuitions.
He sprung to his feet, frustration buzzing in his chest. He had hardly any time leftnow had to decide: call a taxi or try for a hire car? None of it went according to plan; a sense of futility settled like fog on his shoulders.
Wanting to apologise, he reached for his phone and saw a cascade of missed calls. Maria, over twenty attempts, one after the other.
A sick tension clenched in his belly. Simon snatched up his keys without even checking if his shoes matched, and stormed out, the only thought that pounded: Please let her be all right. He made for Marias house at a near-run, his feet skimming the familiar paving stones.
The door was ajar. He burst inside, chest heaving, pulse a relentless drumbeat.
Mum? Are you all right? he shouted, looking about wildly. His voice came out louder, too sharp.
Maria sat in the front room, pale as a November dawn, eyes red and swollen. When she saw him, her expression bloomed from horror to stunned relief, as if she doubted he was more than a fever dream.
Simon she gasped, rising unsteadily. Is it really you? Thank God
He stopped, the ground tilting beneath him. Never, not since childhood, had he seen her cry. He wanted to comfort her, but the right words dangled out of reach.
Whats happened, Mum? he finally asked, going to her side. He took her handscold, trembling. Tell me, properly.
The television burbled on, its voice drained of emotion:
Major accident outside Northampton. Early reports confirm a four-car pile-up. Only one survivor, the driver of an Audi
Simon’s head snapped round to the screen. The images flickeredcrumpled metal, debris scattered on tarmac, blue lights flashing, paramedics in high vis. He watched as though underwater, until suddenlythere, amongst the chaosa white Audi. 777 on the plates.
A cold wind swept through him. Jonathans car. It all added upMaria had seen the news, recognised the number, and when she couldnt reach Simon Shed feared the absolute worst.
He spoke as gently as he could, forcing his voice steady. Mum, its me. Im here, Im fine. He eased her onto a chair, then sprinted to the kitchen for water, returning with the coldest glass he could muster. Drink, love. Look at me. Im here. Everythings OK.
Her trembling hands clutched his sleeve, as if he might dissolve into mist. She hugged him tight, her shoulders shaking in silent sobs.
I was so frightened she whispered, brokenly. News saidthoughtonly one survived, and you didn’t answerI called, and calledthought I’d lost you, never see your face again
Simon held her close, stroking her back as he had once been soothed by her. The tension in her spine eased, but he knew shed need time.
My phone died, Mum. Alarm didnt go off. Slept through, missed Jonathan, Simon explained softly. But Im here. Everythings fine. Im not going anywhere.
He gently prised himself free, glimpsed her lined, tear-streaked face. Realised just being present might not be enough. He took out his phone, dialled 999, and asked for an ambulance as calmly as he could. Ambulance, please. My mums not well, very upsetpossible heart trouble. Seven, Sycamore Crescent Yes, well wait.
When he finished, he sat beside her, her chilly hands in his warm ones. In the silence that followed, the sound of sirens drifted in through the window. He watched Marias trembling lashes and found himself willing everything to turn out well.
The paramedic arrived in a surreal rush; a tall man in a white coat, bag clinking, stepping through the door as if he lived there. He went to Maria, measured her blood pressure, checked her pulse with unhurried gravity.
Feeling dizzy? Sick at all? he asked, clinical but not unkind.
Maria managed a nod. Simon hovered, desperate to help but knowing to stay back.
After a few minutes, the paramedic replaced his kit and addressed Simon.
Best take her in. Stress like this at her agewe ought to monitor her a day or two. His tone brooked no argument.
Simon nodded before the man had finished. Private clinicbetter care, better beds. Ill take her now.
He noticed a flicker of surprise pass across the medics eyebrow but the man only shrugged, unsigned. If youve got the means, lad. Health comes first. He scribbled a referral and a note, checked that Maria was finally breathing easier, and added softly, Shell be all right. Try not to fret.
Simon thanked him, helped Maria find her shoes, already turning over in his mind which hospital to choose, what forms to fetch.
The clinic was pale, bright, out of time. The staff met them at the door, ushering Maria away with kindness. After an initial flurryblood pressure, pulse, doctors gentle questionsMaria was settled in, Simon always a step behind, never releasing her hand for more than a heartbeat.
All looks fine for now, but lets check everything, the doctor said in a Bristol accent, his certainty soothing some of Simons fear. Bit of a shockwont hurt to keep an eye.
Simon sat beside Maria, holding her hand, tracing the blue veins under her skin. He kept repeating, Youll be all right, Mum. Just a spot of shock, thats all. Maria managed a small smile, the terror receding from her eyes.
I just knew, deep down, something was wrong, she whispered. I always know.
Simons guilt stung him. He saw, as if for the first time, the lifetime of her lovethe support, the small sacrifices, the gentle nagging. Today hed almost broken her, all from ignoring that intuition.
Sorry for frightening you, he murmured, voice caught in his throat. Next time, Ill listen. I mean it.
Maria stroked his cheek as she had in his schooldays. Youre safe. Thats all that matters, truly.
They sat in the gentle buzz of the corridor, fingers entwined, both silently agreeing that nothing else mattered now. No one in the clinical bustle paid them much heed; yet in that moment, their joined hands became the entire world.
********************
Simon barely left Marias side over the next few days, fetching tea from the machine, watching the light shift against the windowsill. He rang his boss, explained in a breath what had happened.
Dont think twice, Simon, came the answer, brisk but kind. Ill go in your place this time. You look after her. Ring if you need anythingwell sort out whatever you need.
Simon felt a swell of gratitude but declined offers of help. He only needed to be there, breathing, warmproof that nothing had been lost.
The hours in the ward passed at the pace dreams doslow, strangely buoyant, a little unreal. Maria improved each day, colour returning, smile stretching further. But the doctors kept her for observation. Simon camped beside her bed, curled into the hard visitors chair, waking if her breath caught or she so much as sighed.
One evening, as the sun poured liquid honey through the window, Maria spoke up, her voice like a rustling of old letters.
I was always afraid, she admitted. Afraid youd goand not return.
Simon looked into her face, seeing anew not just Mum but a woman whod lived for years with quiet worry.
Whys that, Mum?
Always been too independent, you. Even in school, sorted your bag before I could glance at it. Tied your laces before you even learned to spell. Wouldnt let me help. I was so proud, but sometimes it felt like I was losing youlike youd already stepped onto some train I couldnt catch.
Simon listened, warmth rising in his chest. Hed never realised his stubbornness made her anxious, saw only the pride. He took her handsolid, cool, full of historyand gave it a gentle squeeze.
Im not leaving, Mum. Youll always be the most important. I just didnt know you felt that.
She smiled, brushing his hand lightly. Now you do. Thats something.
He held her hand as the sky outside shifted from gold to violet, weighing the years between them.
Ill never leave you, Mum. Never. Youre the best Ive got, he said quietly, every word a promise.
Maria smileda trembling smile, but luminous. There were tears in her eyes, but they shone with a softer kind of joy. She stroked his fingers, as if to check he was real.
I just want you happy, she whispered. A family, maybe someday. People to love, to lean on.
Simon thought of Clairethe girl from his office, the one who always noticed when he needed a quiet word, who grinned at his jokes, listened without judging. Hed hesitated to mention her to Maria, afraid Maria might think hed love her less, or that life would shift.
Theres someone, he said, haltingly. Her names Claire. We work together. Shes different. Makes life feel easier, somehow. Like she just gets me.
Marias face lit up with the curiosity of old. Tell me about her, Simon. All of it. I want to know.
And slowly, he diddescribing Claires dry wit, her habit of buying flowers that clashed with her coat, the way she made the world gentler. As he spoke, the weight in his chest melted away, leaving only relief.
I think shed suit me, he said, finishing with a shy grin. Was nervous to tell youthought you might fret Id forget you, or everything would change
Maria laughed, sunlight in her voice. Silly boy, she said softly, patted his hand. If youre happy, Im happy. Have I ever tried to keep you under my wing? Promise me one thingjust dont forget youve always got a mum who loves you. No matter what family you build.
Simon laughed too, a full, easy sound. Ill never forget, Mum. Andthank you, for everything.Simon glanced out the windowbeyond the low wall of the hospital garden, cherry blossoms had begun to litter the grass in gentle pink drifts. He squeezed Marias hand, feeling the certainty of her love, and for the first time in a long while, the anxiety inside him eased. The stew, the kitchen, the echoed warmth of all those ordinary momentstheyd never left him. They were stitched through his life, impossible to untangle, making even the sharpest fear or loneliness something survivable.
He leaned in, pressing a kiss to Marias temple, letting his words linger in the quiet hush. Lets have Claire over for dinner soon, he said. Ill cook. Maybe not your stew, but Ill try.
Marias laughter fluttered up, light as a childs. Well do it together, she replied, her eyes dancing. And if it all goes wrong, theres always beans on toast.
The nurse bustled in with evening tea, and Simon took the mugsone for Maria, one for himselfcareful not to spill. They sipped in easy company, talking about nothing and everything: the silly news stories, the start of spring, favourite memories that rose up like well-loved photographs.
Night folded itself gently around them, and the world outside shifted into quietness. In that small, brightly-lit room, Simon felt the invisible thread that tethered themstrong, and bright, and lasting as the light in Marias eyes.
He saw now: no matter how far he travelled, how many cities, plates, or lovers, he would always return to thisthe welcome of home, the warmth of a mothers heart, the sure knowledge that here, at least, he would always be enough.
And as mother and son sat there, hands intertwined, the future seemed suddenly generousfull of stories yet to tell, bowls yet to fill, love that could only ever deepen and grow.
