Aunt Margaret
Im 47 years old. An ordinary woman, really. A bit of a wallflower. Plain, nothing remarkable about my figure. Lonely. Never married, and truth be told, never wanted to. Ive always thought men were more or less the samecreatures content to fill their bellies and lounge about watching telly. Ive never had any offers anyway. No ones ever asked to date me, let alone marry me.
My parents are elderly, living in Newcastle. Im an only childno sisters or brothers. I do have some cousins, but I keep my distance. I really cant be bothered. For the last fifteen years, Ive lived and worked in London. I work for a small company, same routine every day: office, home, repeat. I live alone in a typical block of flats in a residential area.
I suppose Im bitter, cynical even. I dont particularly like anyone. Especially not children. Over the New Year, I went up to Newcastle to check on Mum and Dadthe one trip home I make each year. When I returned to London, I decided to clean out my fridge. It was full of frozen food Id bought on a whimpasties, fish fingers, things I didnt really fancy. I packed them into a box to chuck them out.
While waiting for the lift with my box, there was this boy inside, couldnt have been more than seven. Id seen him a few times with his mumand a baby. I remember thinking some unkind things about her, to be honest. The boy stared at the box in my hands, and when we got downstairs, he followed me towards the bins. In a small, shy voice, he asked if he could have what I was throwing out. I told him it was old, but thought, well, if he wants it, its not spoiled. I let him take it. As I walked away, something made me look backhe was carefully gathering the bags, hugging them tightly to his chest.
I asked where his mother was. He told me she was illin bedand so was his little sister. He said neither of them could stand up. I turned and went back to my flat, put a ready meal on the hob, and sat down. But I couldnt stop thinking about him. Something really stuck with me. Im not one for charity. Ive never felt the pull to help others. Yet, before I knew it, Id filled a shopping bag with anything edible I could find: some ham, cheese, milk, biscuits, spuds, onionseven a slab of beef from the freezer. Then it struck meI didnt even know which floor they lived on. Only that it was above mine.
I started climbing, one floor at a time. Luckily, two flights up, the boy opened the door. At first, he didnt understand, then he simply stepped back and let me in. Their flat was sparse, but spotless. His mother lay curled up on the bed with the baby beside her. A bowl of water and rags stood on the tableshe must have been trying to cool a fever. The girl slept with a rattling chest. I asked the boy about medicinehe showed me some old, expired tablets. I touched the mothers foreheadshe was burning up.
She opened her eyes and fixed me with a confused stare. Suddenly, she sat up, Wheres Sam? she blurted. I explained I was the neighbour, and asked her about her and the babys symptoms. I rang for an ambulance. While we waited, I made her a cup of tea and a sandwich from what Id brought. She ate hungrily, quietlyhungry in a way Ive never been. How she still breastfed the baby is beyond me.
When the paramedics came, they checked the baby, handed us a long list of prescriptions and gave the girl a shot. I dashed to the chemist for all the medicines, then stopped at Sainsburys for baby food and milk. For some reason, I grabbed a ridiculous, bright yellow monkey soft toybuying things for children was never my thing.
Her names Emily. Twenty-six years old. She grew up in some small town outside Reading. Her family were Londoners once, but her mum married someone from the area and moved away. Emilys dad died in an accident at work when she was just a baby, and her mum fell apart. Friends came and went, and she spiraled down in a few years. Somehow, neighbours tracked down the grandmother in London, who took Emily to live with her. When Emily turned fifteen, Nan told her everything, including that her mum had died of illness. Nan was a hard womantight with money, always chain smoking.
By sixteen, Emily was working in a local shopfirst stocking shelves, then on the checkouts. Nan died the next year, and Emily was on her own. At eighteen, she met a lad who promised the world but vanished when she got pregnant. She worked right up until giving birth, saving what little she could. When the boy was a month old, she left him alone in the flat to clean communal hallways for cash. As for her daughterher boss at the shop she returned to after her son started school raped her. Repeatedly. He threatened to sack her if she told anyone. When he found out she was pregnant, he threw ten thousand pounds at her and told her never to come back.
Emily told me her story that night. She thanked me, insisted shed pay me back by cleaning or cooking for me. I stopped her. I couldnt sleep. I lay awake, turning it all over in my mind. What was I doing with my life? Why was I like thiscold, uncaring, distant even with my parents, with no love for anyone, hoarding money with no reason, no one to spend it on? Meanwhile, here was someone barely scraping by, unable even to afford medicine.
The next morning, little Sam turned up at my door with a plate of homemade crumpets. He shoved them into my hands and bolted. The warmth from those crumpets seemed to thaw something inside me. I stood there, feeling as though life was seeping back inI wanted to laugh, cry, and eat all at once.
Theres a small shopping centre a stones throw from my flat, and I marched straight over to the childrens outfitter. The owner was so baffled by my lack of knowledge on childrens sizes that she offered to come to the flat with me to figure things out. Whether she sensed a good sale or was just taken in by the story, Ill never know. An hour later, four bulging bags of clothes for the boy and girl stood by their door. I bought blankets, pillows, bedding, and fooda real heap. I even remembered vitamins. I wanted to buy everything. For the first time in my life, I felt like I mattered.
Its been ten days. They call me Aunt Margaret now. Emily is ever so handy around the housemy flats never felt cosier. Ive started ringing my parents again. I even send CHARITY texts to help sick children. I honestly cant remember how I lived before. Every day after work, I rush home, knowing someones waiting for me. And this spring, were all heading up to Newcastle together. Weve already booked the train ticketsI wake to the chattering sound of spoons against mugs, the scent of toasting bread drifting through my door. Emilys humming, soft and hopeful. Shoes and coats are piled by the front mat, too many for just one person. Sam stomps in for his maths book, then dashes off with a grin thats almost cheeky now. Even the babyRosie, chubby and gigglyburrows in my lap when I read aloud from library books. I never thought the cramped living room could be filled with this much life.
Tonight, Emily sets out eggs and flourshes going to teach me how to bake. Sam supervises, solemn as a judge. Rosie is already covered in dustings of flour by the time we put the tin in the oven. Our laughter startles me; it feels so big in my chest, like a bell ringing after long silence.
Now, when I look in the mirror, I hardly recognise myself. There are lines on my face, but they are softened somehow. I feel needed. Worthwhile. When I call my parents and tell them about our spring visit, my mother weeps with happiness. For once, I dont hang up impatiently. I let the moment stretch.
We threeno, fourtake turns at dinner sharing stories, some painful, others trivial. Emilys voice wavers when she tells her story again, but this time her eyes are bright, not defeated. Sam asks if he can be the one to phone Granddad and tell him about his school project. Rosie claps her hands at pudding and smears custard everywhere.
Later, with the children asleep and the flat quiet, Emily squeezes my hand. You saved us, she whispers, as though its something holy. But I shake my head. No, Emily. We saved each other.
Outside, spring rain patters softly on the windowsill. Inside, I watch two tiny pairs of shoes drying by the heater and realise, for the first time, I am exactly where I belong. The world, I think as I fade into sleep, is full of second chancesif only you answer the door.
