“Oh, my lad’s finally home!” Maggie beamed as the front door slammed open.
Nick was fiddling with his battered flat cap at the threshold. “Hey, Mum,” he shouted, then paused, “I’m not alone.” He gave a little push and a skinny kid in glasses and a backpack waddled in after him.
“Oh, dear, is that my grandchild?” Maggie gasped, squinting. “Is that Tommy or Alby? I cant tell without his glasses.”
Nick plopped down on a chair.
“Put em on, love. This is Vince, my…well, a bit of a secret,” he said, sighing. “Remember when Zoe and I took a year apart? I got together with Vicky then, and Vince was born. I even signed his birth certificate under my own name, just for a laugh.”
Maggie snapped, “What are you blathering about in front of the kid? He doesnt need to hear about your messy past.” She waved him away. “Vince, head to the lounge and have the telly on while we sort things out with your father.”
The boy slipped out silently and disappeared down the hallway. Maggie leaned in, whispering, “Does Zoe even know about him?”
“She never liked my sons wifealways a troublemaker and a bit of a nag,” Nick muttered, eyes widening.
Maggie shook her head. “Honestly, youre a right mess, Nick. Not a man, more of a wisp. Always under Zoes heel. And now youve gone and brought a kid into the mix on the sidehow spectacularly reckless. What if Zoe finds out? Ill be in deep trouble.”
Nick, nervous, tried to explain. “Vickys a firecracker; she was about to get married, then she ran off with some bloke down south for a monthcan you imagine? She called me, said I could take the kid wherever I wanted, even bring him home. I told her Id lose my wife if I did that, and she warned shed make life awful for me. I promised to hand over Vinces birth certificate to Zoe and let her sort it however she liked. That was it. End of story for me. Vicky barely forgave me; she didnt speak to me for six months. So I thought, let him stay with you for a month, then Ill come back and collect him,” he said, never meeting her eyes.
Maggie shook her head again. “Youve been the same reckless kid all your life. If anything goes wrong, Ill help out. Fine, where do you want me to put him? Is he really yours?”
Nick waved his hand. “Hes mine, no doubt. Vickys no angel either, but shes loyal.”
Silence hung for a moment. Maggie sprang up. “What am I sitting here for? Lets get him fed.”
Nick stood, apologising. “Sorry, Mum, but Ive got to go. Zoes waiting at home, and I told her I was off to get spare parts in town. Feed Vince, and Ill be off.”
Maggie hugged her wayward son and whispered, “Take care, my dear.”
Vince ate quickly, eyes never leaving the plate.
“Want any more?” Maggie asked, noticing how fast he cleared the dish.
“No, thanks,” he muttered, pushing his chair back.
“Go on, step outside for a bit. Ill keep making dinner. Whats in that backpack of yours?” she asked.
“Stuff,” he grumbled.
Maggie raised an eyebrow. “You washing it yourself or do I have to?”
For the first time, he looked up, frightened. “I dont know how. Mum always did the washing.”
She lifted his small sack. “Alright, Ill have a look and rinse the dirty bits.”
He went out as she sorted through his modest belongings: two Tshirts, a pair of shorts, and a couple of underpants.
“Not much,” she muttered, shaking her head. “Not even a warm jumper. Typical teenage mum.” She soaked the clothes in a basin, then turned to bake a cherry pie.
A cry echoed from the street. Maggie rushed out, flour still on her hands.
“Whats happened?”
Vince wailed, clutching his leg. “A goose pecked me! It hurts!” tears streamed down his face.
“Why were you near the geese?” she asked, spotting a red mark on his shin.
“I just wanted to look at them,” he sobbed.
“Youve never seen geese before?” she asked, puzzled.
“I’ve seen them, just never got close,” he whispered.
“Alright, lets get you inside, Ill rub some ointment on that,” she said, taking his hand.
After dinner she set him on the sofa, and sleep eluded her. What a life, she thought, never would she have sent her own child to some strangers house. The poor lad, his trousers worth more than his own comfort. Then she heard a soft whimper. She leaned close, hearing the boys quiet sobs.
“What’s wrong, love? Not liking me?” she cooed. “Give it a month, and mum will take you back.”
He flinched and whispered, “She wont. I heard Grandma and Uncle Victor saying they’d put me in a boarding school when they come. Only pick me up for holidays. I like being with mum. I dont need Uncle Colin; he never even calls me by my name. Youre kind, Gran, but Im not needed here either.”
Maggie’s heart clenched. She hugged his thin frame tightly.
“Dont cry, sweetheart. I wont let anyone hurt you. Want me to talk to your mum and keep you here? We have a good school, nice teachers. Well go mushroompicking, berrypicking, even milk our cow. Youre skinny now, but a good dose of fresh milk will give you strength. Dont believe me? Tomorrow Ill introduce you to Paul. Hes a solid lad, round as a bun, and loves milk. Sound good?”
He clasped her neck. “I want that. Will you keep your promise?”
Maggie kissed his forehead gently. “Promise.”
Years slipped by. Valerie would pop in now and then with presents, always rushed off by Victor in the car. Nick showed up now and then. Zoe learned about Vince and blamed Maggie, not Nick, saying she didnt need her own grandchildren, only a few extra hands.
Maggie didnt mind. The skinny boy grew into a sturdy young man. Every morning she prepared his favourite meals, glancing out the kitchen window, hoping to catch a glimpse.
One day a young soldier marched into the house and called softly, “Gran, Im home, where are you?”
She burst from the kitchen, wrapped her arms around his neck. “Vince, my dear grandson!”
“Are you going back to the city?” she asked. He set down his fork, surprised. “Which city? The one that tossed me out and sent me trinkets once a year? No, Im staying. Youre my mum, thats final,” he replied, then calmly kept eating.
Maggie wiped away a tear, grateful for the grandson shed fought to keep, the comfort and help shed needed in her older years. Her blood, her love, all in one.
