“Hello, Mother.”
The taxi hummed softly along the rain-slicked streets, its tyres whispering against the wet pavement. The elderly driver guided the car with practised ease, stealing occasional glances in the rearview mirror at his passengers.
A young woman cradled a baby, scarcely six months old, in her arms. It unsettled him when they gave their destination—a children’s home on the outskirts of London.
The couple seemed happy—he, a tall, broad-shouldered RAF officer in his crisp uniform; she, a striking woman with bright blue eyes and golden hair spilling over her shoulders.
“James, the flowers!” she reminded him.
“Don’t worry, Emily, I remember,” he assured her before turning to the driver. “Would you mind stopping by the florist, sir?”
The officer stepped out, bracing against the autumn wind as he strode into the shop. The driver watched him go before asking softly, “Your husband?”
“My husband,” she smiled, adjusting the little bonnet on the baby’s head.
“Fine-looking child you’ve got, and you two seem well enough. What brings you to the children’s home?” There was an edge of disapproval in his voice.
At first, she didn’t grasp his meaning. When she did, her eyes widened in horror. “Good heavens! You can’t possibly think—?”
“Ah, well… people do all sorts these days,” he muttered, though his expression softened. “So, why *are* you going there?”
“I grew up there. Seven years, until I was adopted. My husband, James, spent four years in the same place.”
“Not with Margaret Thompson?” The driver grinned. “Well, I’ll be! Straight from the train to see her, eh? Good on you!”
“You know her?” The woman leaned forward, curious.
“Who doesn’t?”
The driver was about to launch into a tale when the taxi door swung open, and a lavish bouquet of roses filled the space.
“Look, Emily! Such roses—they’re only sold here!” James beamed.
“James!” she gasped. “You’ve never given *me* roses like these!”
“Now, don’t be cross,” he chuckled. “I told you—these are special. When were we last here together?”
“Together? Eleven years ago…”
…Margaret sat at her desk, wrapped in a thick woollen shawl. The home was warm enough, but the shawl was soft and comforting, a habit she couldn’t break.
For once, the house was quiet—the older children at school, the little ones napping. Only the faint clatter of dishes from the kitchen broke the silence.
She leafed through an old photo album. So many faces—boys and girls, now grown. But in her mind, they were still her little ones: Johnny, Billy, Lizzie…
And there—Emily Dawson, though now she bore her husband’s name. Dear old Charles Hadley had adopted her—fifteen years past, was it?
And James. Where had he gone? Finished Sandhurst, then flight school. Here he was in uniform—a cadet turned pilot. Yet as a boy, he’d dreamt of becoming a vet, just like Thomas Wilson. Ah, Thomas—such a scamp, but worth every grey hair…
Footsteps in the hall. A knock at the door.
“Come in!” She gasped. A towering bouquet of roses—and who stood behind them?
“James! My dear boy!” The flowers tumbled to the floor. “Where have you *been* all these years?”
“Margaret, I’m here now. Couldn’t always write, you know. But I’m not alone.” He stepped aside. “My wife. And our daughter—Margaret.”
“Emily! Can it be?” She flung her arms wide. “James, hand me the baby—let me hug Emily properly!”
Once the excitement settled and coats were shed, the sleeping child was laid on the sofa while the others gathered round the table.
“How did you two keep your bond all this time? Years apart… Charles spoke of you often, James. He thought the world of you.”
“I gave Emily my word, Margaret. And I keep my promises.”
“That sounds familiar,” she laughed. “And you, Emily—how have you been?”
“Happy,” Emily said, her eyes shining. “Studied medicine, just like Charles and my brothers, George and Edward. Heaven help anyone who crosses me with those two about. Now I’m a paediatrician—like Father. And James and I… we were never truly apart, even when we were. And this”—she nodded to the sofa—”is little Margaret. No question about the name.”
“Well, hello, little Meg,” Margaret murmured, bending over the child. “May you have all the happiness in the world. And has Charles seen his granddaughter yet?”
“Not yet. We came straight to you,” Emily admitted sheepishly.
“Ring him from here. Best warn him, or he and Eleanor might faint clean away from joy!” Margaret turned to James with a sly smile.
“Now, say hello to Mother. She’s been watching you this whole time.”
James turned—and froze. On the floor, a calico cat gazed up at him, unblinking. His chest tightened, just as it had years ago in that derelict house where he’d first found her.
At last, the cat blinked slowly, stood, and padded toward him. She leapt onto his lap, perched on her hind legs, and rested her front paws on his epaulettes, nuzzling his face with a rumbling purr.
“Mother…” James buried his face in her fur. “I never forgot you,” he whispered. “If not for you—”
“She’s half-raised the children here,” Margaret said fondly. “They all remember her. When she took ill last year—cancer—the whole home stood outside Dr. Wilson’s surgery until he’d operated. Thank the Lord she pulled through…”
On the sofa, little Meg stirred and whimpered. The cat gave an apologetic chirrup, hopped down, and curled beside the child. The baby settled at once.
“Soon, she and I shall retire,” Margaret sighed. “Past time. Charles’ old dog, Brother, has been dozing by the hearth for years now. Our turn next.”
“Brother,” Emily smiled wistfully. “How I’ve missed him…”
They stayed till evening, sharing supper with the children. The boys crowded round James, begging tales of flying. Most vowed to become pilots.
“It’s no easy path, lads,” he warned. “But if you set your mind to something—hold fast. Must you be pilots? Just be good men—the sort Margaret can be proud to call hers.”
And all the while, Mother the cat watched James, her green eyes half-lidded, purring her approval.
They left at dusk, promising to visit again before their train, and whenever they returned to London.
“My word on it,” James said.
Margaret and Emily laughed, while Mother gazed after him—just as she’d done for so many boys and girls over the years, soothing their tears in the dark.
