**Diary Entry**
Its been a year since George lost his wife. She never recovered from the birth of their youngest.
Five children left behindwhat can you do? Grieve or not, they still need feeding. Nicholas, the eldest, is nine. Williams seven. The twins, Alfie and Jack, are four. And little Emily, just three months old, the daughter theyd longed for
You cant afford to wallow when the children are hungry. But once theyre all in bed, he sits in the kitchen past midnight, smoking.
At first, George managed alone. His sister-in-law came round now and then to help. No other family left. She offered to take Alfie and Jack, saying itd ease the load. Then social services showed uptwo of them, stiff in their coats.
They suggested sending them all to a care home. George refused. How could he hand his own flesh and blood to strangers? How could he live with himself? Hard as it was, theyd manage. Slowly, theyd grow up.
Sometimes he even found time to check the older boys schoolwork. Emily, of course, was the hardest. But Nick and Will helped where they could.
The health visitor, Mrs. Thompson, came often. One day, she promised to send a nanny. “A good girl,” she said. “Works at the hospital. No children of her own, unmarried. Helped raise her siblingsbig family, from the next village over.”
And so Lucy arrived.
Petite, sturdy, round-faced, with an old-fashioned braid down her back. Quietnever a word out of place. But the house transformed. It gleamed. She scrubbed, mended, washed. Emily was cared for, meals were cooked. At school and nursery, they noticedthe children clean, buttons sewn properly, elbows no longer frayed.
Once, Emily fell ill with a fever. The doctor said shed recover with care. Lucy stayed up night after night, never resting, until the girl was well. And somehow, she never left.
The younger ones started calling her “Mum,” starved for a mothers touch. Lucy didnt hold backpraising, stroking their hair, hugging them. The older boys, Nick and Will, were hesitant at first. Then they settled on just “Lucy.” Not *Nanny*, not *Mum*just Lucy. To remember their real mother. Besides, she was barely old enough to be one.
Her family objected.
“What are you doing, tying yourself to that lot? Plenty of lads in the village!”
“There *are* lads,” she replied. “But I feel for George. And the children theyve settled now.”
So they carried on. Fifteen years slipped by. The children grew, studied. Not without troublesometimes they misbehaved. George would reach for his belt, but Lucy tugged his arm. “Wait, Dad. Hear them out first.”
They argued, made up. Soon, nobody in the village called her Lucy anymoreit was *Mrs. Dawson*, spoken with respect. Nick married last year, expecting his first. He worked at the farm, never without a commendation or bonus. Will was finishing universityLucy swelled with pride. *My boy, the engineer.*
They stuck togetherthrough scrapes as kids, through hardships now. Emily was in Year 9, Lucys pride. A singer, a dancer, the life of every village fête.
And George? He often thought how well Mrs. Thompson had chosen for him
This summer, Lucy felt off. Never ill a day in her life, yet now her vision blurred, nausea rising. She shooed George outside to smokecouldnt stand the smell. At first, she brushed it off. Then she saw the doctor.
She came home quiet, thoughtful. Dodged Georges questions. *Nothing, just nonsense.*
That evening, once the children slept, she called him outside.
“Sit down, Dad. We need to talk The doctor says Im expecting. Too late to do anything nowwere keeping it.” She covered her face. “The *shame* of it”
George was stunned. All these years, no childrenand now?
“What shame? The older ones are nearly grown! Just the two of us left? Nature knows what its doing. Well manage.”
“How do we tell them? Theyll say Im too old”
“Youre thirty-nine, not ancient!”
She twisted her hands. “I dont know what to do”
“Fine. *Ill* tell them. Tomorrow, when theyre all here.”
And he did. As they sat for Sunday lunch, he said it plain. “Listen, my lovesyoull soon have another brother. Or sister.”
Lucy stared at her plate, flushed scarlet.
Nick, visiting with his wife, burst out laughing. “Brilliant, Mum! Brilliant! Ours can grow up together!”
Alfie cheered. “Go on, Mum! We need another brother!”
Jack disagreed. “Noa girl. Too many lads here. Emilys spoiled rotten as it is.”
Emily shot him a look. “*Spoiled*? Youve never spoiled me! A girl, Mum! Ill tie her ribbons, buy pretty dresses!”
“Dresses? Shes not a doll,” Will cut in. “A child needs raising too.”
“Well raise them,” George said.
Still, Lucy hid her swelling bellywith a shawl, a coat even in summer.
The months passed. Nicks son arriveda boy. Will returned to uni. Alfie and Jack left for agricultural college. Emily started term, the house emptying. She was always outschool, friends. Even had a lad walking her home from the Sunday dances.
Lucy waited up one night, uneasy. Then*pain*. Sharp, blinding.
“George,” she whispered. “George, I think its starting.”
He turned pale, fumbling with his shoes. “Wait, loveIll call an ambulance!”
Emily bolted outside. Two minutes later, she was back. “Mum, Tommyll drive youhes borrowing his dads car!”
*Tommy, eh?* Lucy thoughtbefore another pang hit.
At the maternity ward, George smoked through the night. At dawn, a nurse stepped out.
“Still here, Dad? Might want to cut back now. First one, is it?”
“Five,” he said hoarsely.
“Five? Make that *seven*! Your beautys had twins!”
“Twtwins?”
“A boy and a girl! Boys a loud one.” She laughed. “Girls a picture! Go home, Dad. Come back tomorrow. Theyll stay a while, gain weight. Bring what you need. Understood?”
Dazed, George nodded.
On discharge day, the whole family gathered. Even the students skipped classes. The nurse carried out two bundlesone in blue ribbon, one in pink. Behind her, Lucy, flustered.
George took one. The other? He hesitated.
“Twos awkward Forgotten how,” he admitted.
Nick stepped in. “Here, Dad. Not my first time.”
Emily peeked. “Oh, shes *lovely*! My little sister!”
Flowers and cake for the nurse (as was proper), then they piled into the farms minibusthe manager had lent it. Special occasion, after all.
Nick grinned. “Well, Mumyouve pleased everyone!”
Lucy cradled one bundle, smiling softly. *God willing, theyll grow up right* She glanced at George, holding the other.
*Nowell raise them. Together.*
“Children,” she said, “what shall we name them?”
The chatter eruptednames they liked, names that meant something.
And the driver, Georges old friend, listening to the happy noise behind him, thought: *Shes not theirs by blood, these five But whod ever know?*
