Peter grew up in a large family in a little English village somewhere in the Midlands. His dad, an enthusiastic drinker and connoisseur of making a mess wherever he went, flitted from one odd job to another. His mum slogged away at the local post office by day and then flew home to juggle the household, wringing every last bit of strength to keep her three children fed.
Peter was the eldest, so he pitched in without grumblinglooking after his younger sisters, lugging buckets of water, chopping kindling. By the time the girls were tall enough to see over the kitchen table, they joined the domestic workforce. Of course, by then Dad had managed to poison himself on some dubious homemade wine brewed with the village reprobates, and that was that.
Life was no simpler with one less mouth: his mum would sigh, bemoaning her hopeless husband.
He was a drunk, all right, but a quiet oneno shouting, no breaking things. And, for all his faults, he still brought in a few pounds each week. Oh, you daft old git, Dave… What are we meant to do now?
Peter, not much fancying Mums daily mourning, made himself scarce once his jobs were done. Most evenings, hed leg it out to the edge of the village, where a gang of kids gathered on the porch of a long-abandoned cottage. No one had lived there in years, and the broad, sturdy steps had become unofficial seating for the younger generation.
There, theyd perch like sparrows, munching on crisps or pumpkin seeds and swapping storieshalf of them clearly made up, the other half just about believable.
Not that Peter ever had spare cash for snackshis mum watched every penny and never splurged on such luxuries. But good old Mary from two doors down would always slip him some seeds, quick and quiet, pouring a portion into his pocket or palm when nobody was looking.
Peter would murmur cheers under his breath, crunching away contentedly, and he could have sworn Mary purposely sat next to him every evening, just so she could dole out more treats. At first he felt a bit awkward, but soon he was making a beeline for the spot beside the generous girl with the big blue eyes and bigger heart.
Still, Peters sense of honour forbade just taking without giving back. He started popping over to Marys place after lunch, especially when he saw her weeding the back garden. Every time, the conversation went the same:
Your folks at work? hed ask.
Course they are, shed grin. Theyre always about at this time.
Then Peter would drop to his knees, nattering about this and that while making short work of the weeds. Mary never turned down an extra pair of hands, and, besides, she liked chatting to him. When they finished, shed whisk out a pot of steaming tea and a plate of fairy cakes and biscuits. Peter would protest out of politeness, but Mary simply would not see him off without something sweet and a cuppa.
Biscuits, cakes, any treat really, were rare enough at Peters housean occasional Christmas miracleso he quietly treasured Marys endless hospitality.
Peter did his best at school, though books never came easily. But put him on a pitch or in a gym, and he was king of the hill. Eventually, he took that talent with him and landed at the local sport college, training to be a PE teacher. Mary, on the other hand, went off to nursing school.
As grown-ups, they only bumped into each other when the holidays dragged everyone back home. Peter, stick thin in his youth, had transformed into a solid lad. Mary, meanwhile, stayed slender and smiley, her eyes still as blue as ever.
Mary had married younglife had been rough since her parents died in a car crash, and she threw herself into love and marriage, hoping to smother the grief. When Peter heard shed rushed into it with John, the villages biggest chatterbox, he was dumbfounded. They hardly seemed a match, but soon a baby appeared, and Mary got busy with nappies and bottles.
Peter, for his part, was in no rush to start a family. To his mothers astonishment, he showed such knack for organisation at the local gym that he was promoted to manager of the citys sporting complex in what felt like the blink of an eye.
His sisters had married sensible blokes and moved to bigger towns. Marys situation, however, was far from rosy.
Would you believe it? Peters mum reported over tea. Her John could be your dads twinout all night, cant leave a pint alone, never home and certainly no use to wife or child. Heartbreaking, it is. I know exactly what shes going through.
Peter thumped the table.
What the devil made her marry him? She had a proper chance at happiness! I swear, these useless layabouts. Just trouble, like Dad was.
Yes, well, his mum sighed, now hes carting everything out the door for ale money. Record player, jumpers, the crystal from her mum and dad, even took a towel last week. And folk still buy it, imagine! They know what hes doingtrading it all for cheap gin. But they take it all the same
Does she ever ask you for help? For money? Peter asked.
No, she never doeshates to, I think. But with that measly nurses wage and no support from him, shes strapped.
Peter paced about, deep in thought, while his mum nervously added, Best you dont interfere, Peter, love. Its their business. Hard enough as it isa familys a mystery to everyone else. If she stays with him, maybe she still loves him.
But Peter sat her down and confessed how Mary, all through childhood, had quietly shared her seeds and cakes, looking out for a hungry boy. Now he couldnt bear knowing she and her little one were struggling while he did nothing.
So what are you thinking, Peter? she asked, alarmed. Just dont go belting that John! Leave that sort of justice to Saint Peter, or youll end up in a cell. If you want to help, lets do it quietly.
Soon after, Peter returned from the city with a carful of groceries, sacks and parcels and tins, enough to open a corner shop.
Youre not moving in, are you? his mum gasped with delight. Oh, wouldnt that be lovely, one of my chicks under the roof again!
Dont be daft, Mummy jobs in the city and Ive got my own gaff. This lots for you. I know, I know, the pumpkin seeds are a bit much, but Mary will understand. No sense in me handing this to her directly, but you can be discreet. Keep what you need, and pass the rest her way.
What about your sisters, eh?
Theyre just fine, and you know I send them cash every birthday and Christmas. Both married blokes with solid jobs. These days, theyre spoilt for choice.
So he kissed her cheek, revived her pantry with tins of beans, pasta, sugar, flour, and a mother lode of chocolate and sweets, then headed off again.
His mum scattered seeds across the pan with glee. Oh, those will roast up a treatproper delicious!
She parceled things up and, each week, nipped round to Marys in the evening, handily hiding the bundles under her coat. Mary demurred at first, but when she saw the bucket of seeds, she twigged who was behind the gifts. She burst into tears, running her fingers through the shining seeds, then whispered, Be sure to thank Peter for me. Imagine, after all these years, he still remembers. Bless him. But tell him Ill be all rightIve already filed for divorce. Soon as its final, the worst will be over. I hope.
His mum shuffled home, mind whirring. Mary would soon be single, and her Peterwell stranger things had happened in a village.
Weeks passed, groceries continued, the kettle was always on, and each time Mary accepted something, shed mutter apologies and promise to pay it back one day.
Not to you, to your darling boy, Peters mum would hush her. If it bothers you, think of it as help for your lad. Dont deny a child a little bit of kindnesssometimes the Lord helps folk through the hands of other folk, you know.
Marys divorce came through, and a year on she was sprightlier than ever. New curtains hung in the window, her little boy was the spitting image of her, and the house, for once, sounded cheerful.
Peter would turn up, toys in hand, and always ask, Has Mary dropped by? Is her lad with you today?
Oh, showing concern for someone other than your old mum, are you? shed tease.
Sorry, mum. How are you? hed respond, eyes glued to the window.
Oh, away you go. Shes home today, probably waiting. Everyones already gossiping about you two. Enough playing cat and mouse.
Hed laugh, give his mum a squeeze, and then suddenly hug her tight.
Whats this for? shed ask, surprised.
Thanks, Mum. For everything, hed say softly.
She blessed him, watched him grab a bunch of white chrysanthemums from his bag, and, hiding neither face nor flowers, stroll across the green to Marys house.
Let them gossip, Peter thought. Ill give them something to talk about at lastjust wait and see!
And there in her sitting room, Mary waited behind the curtain, watching her childhood friend, bouquet in hand, heading to the door shed always hoped hed knock on.
