Mum, Ill be quick. Twenty minutes tops Ian stood in the doorway of the ward, trying to smile, though his lips were trembling.
Just dont take too long, Mabel lay on her side, clutching the blanket, the doctor said the drip should be in by evening.
He gave a small nod, slung his coat over his shoulder and stepped out. Outside it was damp and gusty. October in York never spares its walkers rain, wind, puddles that seem to hold the whole mood of an English autumn: low sky, reticent people, everything waiting for the night.
Ian hurried to the bus stop, feeling like he was falling behind. Not the bus his whole life, everything that kept rolling past.
Three weeks earlier the doctors had said his mother was in the final stage. He hadnt cried then. Hed simply sat on a bench outside the morgue for some reason his feet had taken him there and stayed until dark.
So, youre thinking of moving on? asked the neighbour in the next bed, a thinnecked old man with eyes that always seemed to be watching something beyond the walls.
Im waiting for my son, Mabel answered with a faint smile, he promised to come this evening.
Does he come often? he asked.
Every day. I just keep wondering maybe Im holding him back? Hes got a life of his own.
The old man cleared his throat and said quietly,
It isnt you who holds him, its he who wont let go. Until he does, you wont be free.
Mabel turned her gaze to the window. Outside, rain was tracing paths down the glass. Odd, because shed once loved the rain. In her youth it felt romantic: sitting in the kitchen with a hot cuppa, listening to the taptogether of drops on the sill. Now it merely blurred her view.
Ian slipped into the old park where he and his mum used to sled as kids. By the third birch from the entrance, she had once told him,
You know, son, it doesnt matter what you end up doing. What matters is that after youre gone someone still smiles. Even just one person.
He hadnt understood then. Now he got it all too clearly.
His phone buzzed: Mum: No rush, Im alright. He forced a smile shed been sending no rush texts a lot lately, probably so he wouldnt worry.
The ward fell silent. The old man was asleep, the nurse had slipped out. Mabel stared at the ceiling and suddenly heard music, faint and distant like it was coming from down the corridor an old folk tune, Autumn Rain. She smiled. Good grief, even here she thought, and closed her eyes.
And then someone sat down beside her, as soft as a sigh.
Dont be afraid, the voice said, its all right.
She didnt open her eyes, just breathed out and whispered,
Just please dont let him weep.
Ian burst back after forty minutes. The doctors were already out of the room, the nurse stood by the door, cheeks flushed. He understood without a word.
May I? he asked gently.
Yes, the nurse nodded, just a short while.
He took a seat next to the bed. Mabel lay calm, almost as if she were smiling. On the nightstand, the phones screen glowed with an unsent message:
Ian, dont wait for a miracle. Be the one.
He stared at the screen until his eyes ached. Then he noticed a tiny heart formed by the rain streaks on the window, as if someone had drawn it with a finger from inside. He smiled the first genuine smile in ages.
A year later, Ian stood at the entrance of the childrens oncology ward, a thermos of tea in one hand and a basket of fruit in the other.
Are you a volunteer? the security guard asked.
Yes, Ian replied, grinning, I just want someone to smile.
And when a bald little boy darted down the corridor, shouting,
Uncle, look, Im getting better!,
Ian felt a warm rush. Miracles do happen, he thought, even if they arrive on someone elses shoulders.
Sometimes they come through us.
