A young boy awoke to the distant, muffled groans of his mother, floating through the cottage as if they drifted on the fog outside. He shuffled over to her bedside, time seeming to ripple and buckle beneath his feet.
Mum, are you in pain? he asked, words hanging in the air like the winter mist.
Freddie, love, could you fetch me some water? Her voice trembled, barely more than a breath.
Right away, he replied, heart thumping, and scampered towards the kitchen.
In what felt like less than a heartbeat, but perhaps a lifetime, he returned with a brimming mug.
Here, Mum. Drink up!
A knocking echoed through the dream-walls of the house, steady and insistent. His mother spoke, almost as if her voice was coming from under the floorboards.
Freddie, open the door. Its probably Granny Nora.
The door swung open to reveal their neighbour, Mrs Nora, balancing a giant mug.
How are you, Margaret? Her hand pressed to Margarets brow, then recoiled. Heavens, youve a fever. Ive brought some hot milk with butterbest thing for it.
Ive had my medicine, thank you, Margaret murmured, her voice flickering like candlelight.
You ought to be in hospital. Proper care, proper food. Theres nothing in your fridge but shadows and echoes.
Mrs Nora, Ive spent every penny I have on the medicine already. Tears spilt from Margarets eyes, as if they were leaking from an unseen place behind them. Nothings helping.
You need to lie in. Your boy will manage. Unless youd rather he manage alone for good? Her hand was gentle, her words sharp as the cold wind. Youre only twenty-eight, Margaret. No husband, no money. Come now, dont fret! Well get this sorted.
What should I do, Mrs Nora?
Ill ring the doctor. Her voice was brisk, as if she could shoo misfortune out the door.
She made the call, words tangling with the static as she relayed the agony of the dream-house.
They said: today, at some point. Ill be back. Freddie, come fetch me when they arrive.
Her brolly bobbed as she left. The boy, washed pale by worry, followed her into the hallway.
Granny Nora, Mum isnt going to die, is she?
She paused, brushing a hand over his head. Ask the Lord for help. Your mum never trusted His kind company, but perhaps Hell listen to you.
So Grandpa God can help? Hope twitched in Freddies eyes.
You must go to church, light a candle, and ask. Thats the way of it, dear. I must dash.
***
Freddie returned to his mum, a cloud of thoughts swirling behind his gaze.
Freddie, you must be hungry, but theres nothing here. Bring two glasses.
He fetched them. His mum poured cloudy milk, thin and blueishthe kind that lingers in dreams.
Drink up.
He did, but hunger sharpened. Margaret saw it flickering in his face, heavy as raindrops.
She staggered from her chair and fished through her battered purse.
Heres a fifty pence piece. Go buy two pasties. Eat one as you walk, Ill find something to cook when you return.
She saw him to the door, then, leaning on the peeling wallpaper, drifted to the kitchen. The fridge whispered with emptiness: one tin of sardines, a scrap of margarine, a couple of potatoes and a lonely onion perched on the sill.
Soup, then
The kitchen spun. Margaret slumped on a tiny wooden stool. In the hush, her thoughts crackled:
Whats wrong with me? No strength left at all. Half my holiday swallowed by this illness. The moneys shrivelled up as fast as my hope. If I dont get back to work, howll I prepare Freddie for school? He starts in a month. Were alone. No one to help. And this blasted sickness Should have seen the GP sooner. If Im taken in now, wholl look after Freddie?
She peeled potatoes with trembling hands, the knife like a metronome for her worry.
***
Freddies belly gnawed, but his mind wandered elsewhere:
Mum didnt leave her bed all yesterday. What if she really does die? Mrs Nora said I should ask Grandpa God for help. He stopped suddenly at a crossroads and followed the meandering path to the church.
***
Across the patch of green, another lost soul limpedJames, back from war and shadowed by old battles. He moved with a walking stick, his face a map of scars and stories, untold but still true.
Six months since Ive survived the war by some queer miracle. At least I can walk now, after all those injuries. The scars? No one cares for those, and no one will for me. My pensions plenty, my savings still sitting idle. But whats the use, when Im alone?
Outside the church, beggars shimmered on the doorstep like ghosts. James handed them several crisp ten-pound notes, eyes hollow, voice soft:
Pray for my fallen friends, Michael and Stan.
Inside, he bought candles, lit them, and repeated the prayer the vicar had taught him:
Remember, Lord our God…
He crossed himself, and in the gentle flicker of the stained glass, imagined his mates standing beside him, broad and strong, living again in the smoke.
Then silence, and the weight of his life pressed against him. From the corner, a thin boy stood bewildered, grasping a stub of candle. An elderly woman glided over, lighting his candle and guiding his hands.
Cross yourself like so, dear. Now, speak to Our Lord. Tell Him why youve come.
Freddie gazed at the golden halo of the saint, and whispered:
Please help, Grandpa God! Mums so poorly. Ive got no one but her. Let her get better. Shes no pennies for medicine. Im starting school soon, but I havent even got a rucksack
James stood motionless, the boys quiet plea shrinking his own troubles to motes beneath the church ceiling. He wanted to shout at the world:
How is it no ones helped this lad, or his mum? Cant we at least get a rucksack and medicine?
Freddie remained, gazing at the shimmering icon, waiting for a miracle.
Come on, lad, James said, his voice breaking the spell.
Where to? The boy shrank away, eyeing Jamess cane and battered coat.
Well find out which medicine your mum needs. Then well get it from the chemists.
Are you serious?
Your message reached Grandpa God, and He sent me.
Really? The boys eyes grew as bright as the candles.
Of course. Now, whats your name, son?
Freddie.
Call me Uncle James.
***
Through half-opened doors at home, Margarets voice fluttered, fretting.
Shes prescribed a dozen things, Mrs Nora, and medicines so dear. Ive only five pounds left.
Freddie burst into the room with James in his shadow. The women froze, breath caught in their throats.
Mum, what do you need? Uncle James and I are off to the chemist for you.
And who are you? Margarets voice was a half-remembered melody.
All will be right, James assured, an honest smile fracturing the hard lines of his face. Show me your prescriptions?
But Ive just five pounds left.
Freddie and I will find whats needed. James rested his hand on the boys shoulder.
Mum, your scripts, please!
For reasons unknown, Margaret trusted this battered man.
Margaret, think what youre doing! hissed Mrs Nora. But the man and boy had already slipped away.
He seems a good soul, Margaret murmured, surprising herself.
Mrs Nora shrugged and drifted back to her flat.
***
Margaret sat, pulse fluttering, waiting for Freddies return. Shed forgotten her own pain.
Suddenly the front door swung wide. Freddie burst in, beaming.
Mum, we got your medicine. And treats for a proper tea!
Behind him, James smiled, and lo, he seemed almost handsome in the golden dusk.
Thank you, thank you! Margaret inclined her head. Please, come in.
James fumbled with his boots and shuffled to the kitchen, hesitating over where to place his cane.
Let me help. Margaret tucked it beside the table.
Sorry, Ive not much to offer you, she said.
Mum, Uncle James and I got everything! Freddie piled the table with bagssweets, cakes, proper tea, even a shiny new kettle.
Oh, you shouldnt have! Margaret exclaimed, silently tallying the half-useless sweets and the expensive tea leaves. But she set about making the kettle sing regardless, feeling, for the first time in weeks, like herself.
James watched her closely. Should you really be on your feet, Margaret? Youre as pale as a ghost.
Ill manage she smiled. Thank you. Ill take the medicine now.
***
They drank fragrant tea and nibbled cakes, listening to Freddie chatter about the schoolyard he had yet to see. Now and then, their eyes metsomething light-filled passed between them, but like all dream-tables, this one, too, faded away.
Thank you. James stood, cane in hand. Get yourself well.
There are no words, thank you, Margaret replied, blooming faintly pink.
He shuffled towards the door. Mother and son followed.
Uncle James, will you come back?
Of course! When your mums better, well get your school bag together.
***
Time drifted, soft and unreliable. Margaret washed up, her mind calm for the first time in weeks.
Watch a bit of telly, love. Im for a lie down.
She slept, deep and undisturbed.
***
A fortnight passed. Illness retreated, expensive pills having won the skirmish. Margaret had returned to workthe end-of-month rush called her from her sickbed, and she gladly accepted. By now, August had pressed itself upon their calendar; school loomed. On Saturday, after a modest breakfast
Freddie, lets see what you need for school. Ill get paid soon, and Ive borrowed a tenner to tide us over.
They began to get ready, but the buzzer pierced the haze.
Who is it? she called through the intercom.
Its James, a voice answered, softer now.
Shed pressed the button before hed finished speaking.
Mum, who is it? Freddie poked his head out.
Uncle James! Her joy slipped free.
Hurray!
He entered, leaning on his stick, but looking transformednew trousers, an ironed shirt, and a haircut sharp as a knife.
Uncle James, I was waiting for you! Freddie cheered.
I said Id come. Jamess eyes glistened. Hello, Margaret.
Hello, James, she replied. They both blinked at the words, unfamiliar but wonderful.
Ready, then? Lets go!
Go where? Margaret fluttered.
Freddie needs school things, doesnt he?
But, James, I
I promised him. A promise is a promise.
***
Margaret had always kept to the cheapest options, weaving her way through shops with measured eyes. No spare coins, no help, no one to lean on but ghosts. Not since the college lad whod vanished like morning mist.
But now, here was a man, dazzled just to see her boy try on a school blazer, asking her thoughts as they shoppednot once pausing over the price tag.
He bundled them into a black cab for the ride home, bags tumbling onto their laps. Margaret started for the kitchen
Margaret, James stopped her gently, lets all go out together. Lunch is on me.
Mum, please! Freddie urged, tugging her hand.
***
That night, Margaret lay awake, the day replaying in shards of memory. Jamess eyessoft, deep, full of something like lovehaunted her thoughts.
Old, scarred, limping, her mind chided.
But kind. Good. He looks at me like the sun, her heart replied.
A good decade older, perhaps more.
So what? Hes like a father to Freddie.
Theres still time to find a young, handsome one
Ive had that. I want kindness, someone strong as an oak.
Wasnt this never your dream?
It is now.
How can your hopes change so?
Because I love him.
***
The wedding was in that very church, where three months earlier, fate and prayer had wound their lives together.
James and Margaret stood before the stained glass, his walking stick now gone. Freddie fixed his gaze on the same saint hed spoken to, whispering with the fullness of his heart:
Thank you, Grandpa God.A gust of sunlight spilled through the windows, gilding the three of them in its honeyed glow. When Margaret slipped her hand in Jamess, it fit perfectlywarm, certain, the missing piece tumbling home at last. Outside, Mrs Nora dabbed her eyes, whispering, Thats how miracles beginquietly, candle by candle. As the organ swelled, Freddie squeezed between them, his rucksack new and shoulders squared, as proud as if hed been knighted right there in the pews.
The vicars voice rose: What God has joined togetherlet no one put asunder! Laughter rang out, pealing like church bells blown from joy itself. James stooped to scoop Freddie up, wincing only a little; Margaret kissed them both, fierce tears shining, and the promise of a family made in hardship and hope was sealed beneath the painted saints.
Later, they spilled into the sunlightthree shadows braided upon the grass, Freddie skipping ahead to show his new bag to the clouds.
Margaret leaned her head on Jamess shoulder. Did you ever imagine thisus? All of this?
Jamess smile was all the answer she needed.
The evening drew in, wild with stars. From the churchs candlelit porch, the trio looked back, hearts wide open, as if every empty cupboard and lonely night had existed just to lead them here, where nothing was missing any longer but the future, waiting to be filledtogether.
