I was standing on the bench in Camden when Sarah Whitfield carefully untied the little knot, feeling the tiny shoe tremble between her fingers. The laces were fresh and tight, nothing like the frayed ones shed seen at the shelter. She exhaled, her eyes drifting to his battered knee.
Right, youre all set now. No more stumbling, she said.
The boy beamed back, his smile so pure it seemed to sweep the grey London drizzle away for a moment.
Thank you, miss, he replied.
Im Sarah, she corrected herself, the sound of her own name making her pauseno one had called her that in years.
He nodded, fished a crumpled handkerchief from his pocket and handed it to her.
Here, wipe your hands.
Sarah gave a forlorn smile and shook her head.
No, keep it. Your nose is bleeding a bit.
He dabbed at his forehead, and just then a black SUV screeched to a halt on the road. The brakes shrieked, and two men in suits and a woman with spectacles leapt out.
Elliot! the woman shouted, her voice shaking. Lord, what have you done?!
The boy jumped.
Just chasing the pigeons
Youll give us a heart attack! she screamed, grabbing his shoulders. Her gaze snapped to Sarah. Who are you? What have you done to him?
Sarah stepped back a pace.
Nothing he just fell. I helped him up.
The woman eyed her from head to toetorn sweater, tired face, cracked skin on her hands.
Are you homeless? she asked, disdainful.
Sarah fell silent, only bowing her head.
At that moment the SUVs rear door opened and a tall, silverhaired man stepped out, his coat sweeping the pavement, eyes hard as steel.
Whats happening here? he asked calmly, though the air seemed to thicken around him.
This lady touched the boy, the woman said. She claims she helped him.
The man turned his stare onto Sarah.
And you are?
She swallowed.
Just a stranger who couldnt walk past a crying child.
He fell silent, then knelt beside the boy, examining his forehead with care.
Does it hurt, Elliot?
No, Father. She helped me. Shes kind.
The man rose, his expression softening for an instant before hardening again.
Put him in the car, he instructed the woman.
When they were alone, he faced Sarah.
Did you know who he is?
No. To me he was simply a child in need.
He studied her closely.
Do you realize how many would pretend to care if they learned hes the son of one of the richest men in London?
Sarah shook her head.
I didnt know. It wouldnt have mattered. His blood was spillingthat was enough.
The man produced his wallet, slid out a banknote and placed it in her hand.
Take this.
Sarah stepped back.
No, thank you.
Its just gratitude, he said.
If I take it, it becomes a transaction. I dont sell what I feel.
He narrowed his eyes.
Youre proud for a man without a home.
Perhaps its all I have left, she whispered.
He gave no reply, merely looked at her a long while, then turned and climbed back into the SUV.
The next morning Sarah returned to the same bench. The city was wakingcoffee aromas mingled with the clatter of trams and hurried footsteps.
She pulled a small stone from her pocketthe one Elliot had pressed into her palm before leaving.
Take it, little Sarah, he had said. Its my lucky stone. Itll keep the night at bay.
She smiled, clutching the stone tightly.
A black SUV rolled up beside her again, this time with only the silverhaired man inside.
May I sit? he asked.
Sarah nodded.
They sat in silence for a while.
Yesterday I thought you were like everyone else, he said finally. But this morning my son asked why we never invited you over. He said you were good.
Sarah averted her gaze.
I dont belong in your world.
And my world is it right? he asked with a bitter smile. Full of property owners but empty of hearts.
He slipped an envelope into her lap.
Theres no money inside. Just an address. A community centre I fund. Say you came on my recommendation. Theyll give you a room and work.
Sarah stared at the paper, puzzled.
Why are you doing this?
Because yesterday my son said someone was good. And I realised I no longer deserved that word myself.
Tears welled in her eyes.
Thank you
Dont thank me, he said softly, a faint smile touching his lips. Tell yourself you saved not only him but perhaps me as well.
He rose, but before stepping away he added, By the way, the centre is looking for a nursery assistant. Elliot would love to see you.
Sarah was left alone on the bench, shaken yet warmed by a new hope.
She opened the envelope. Inside was the address and a childs drawing: a boy holding a womans hand, with uneven letters underneath:
Little Sarah, dont be afraid. Everything will be all right.
Her tears now fell from hope, not helplessness. She stood, her steps still unsure but moving forward.
Three weeks later, laughter rang out in the yard of the Riverside Community Centre in the borough of Lewisham.
Higher, little Sarah! Higher! shouted Elliot as he swung on the swing.
Dont fly off! she laughed, giving the swing a gentle push. The stone hung around her neck on a thin cordher lucky charm.
By the gate stood the tall man, watching silently, the cold in his eyes gone.
He knew that the day an unknown woman had lifted his son from the ground, not only the boys life had changed. His own life had shifted, and Sarahs had, forever.
