Sarah Whitaker carefully unties the knot, feeling the tiny shoe tremble in her hand. The laces are fresh and tightnot the frayed ones she used to see in the shelter. She exhales and looks down at his bruised knee.
Right, youre all set now. You wont trip again.
The boy flashes a wide, honest smile that makes the world around them lose its grey for a heartbeat.
Thank you, miss.
Im Sarah, she corrects herself, startled by the sound of her own nameno one has called her that in ages.
He nods, pulls a crumpled handkerchief from his pocket and hands it to her.
Take it to wipe your hands.
Sarah gives a rueful smile and shakes her head.
No, keep it. Your nose is bleeding a little.
He dabs at his forehead, and at that moment a black estate car screeches to a halt on the pavement. The brakes scream, and two men in suits and a woman with glasses leap out.
James! the woman cries, her voice shaking. Lord, what have you done?
The boy jumps.
Just chasing the pigeons
You almost gave us a heart attack! she shrieks, grabbing his shoulders. Her gaze snaps to Sarah. Who are you? What have you done to him?
Sarah steps back a pace.
Nothing he just fell. I helped him up.
The woman eyes her with disdain, scanning from head to toetorn sweater, weary face, crackedskin hands.
Are you homeless?
Sarah says nothing, only bows her head.
At that instant the car door opens and a tall man with silvered hair at his temples steps out. Hes tall, wears a long coat, his stare hard as steel.
Whats happening here? he asks calmly, though the air feels suddenly thicker.
This woman touched the child, the woman says. She claims she helped him.
The man turns to Sarah.
Who are you?
She swallows hard.
Just someone who couldnt walk past a crying child.
He falls silent, then kneels beside the boy and inspects his forehead.
Does it hurt, James?
No, father. This lady helped me. Shes kind.
The man stands. His eyes soften for a split second before hardening again.
Put him back in the car, he orders the woman.
When theyre alone, he faces Sarah.
Did you know who he is?
No. He was just a child who needed help.
He studies her closely.
Do you realize how many would pretend to be compassionate if they learned hes the son of one of the wealthiest families in London?
Sarah shakes her head.
I didnt know. It wouldnt have mattered. His blood was spilling. Thats enough.
The man pulls out his wallet, slides a £20 note across to her.
Take it.
Sarah steps back.
No, thank you.
Its just gratitude.
If I take it, it becomes a bargain. I dont sell what I feel.
He narrows his eyes.
Youre proud for a person without a home.
Perhaps its all I have left, she whispers.
He says nothing, simply watches her for a long moment, then turns and climbs back into the car.
The next morning Sarah sits again on the same bench. The city wakescoffee and scones scent the air, mingling with the rumble of buses and the shuffle of footsteps.
She pulls a small stone from her pocketthe one James had slipped into her palm before he left.
Take this, dear Sarah, he had said. Its my lucky stone. Itll keep the night away from you.
Sarah smiles and clenches the stone tightly.
A black estate car pulls up beside her. This time the driver is alone.
May I sit? he asks.
Sarah nods.
They sit in silence for a while.
Yesterday I thought you were like everyone else, the man says. But this morning my son asked why we never invited you over. He said you were good.
Sarah looks away.
I dont belong to your world.
And my world is it right? he smiles bitterly. Full of property owners, but empty of hearts.
He pulls a envelope from his coat and places it on her lap.
It contains no money, just an address. A care centre I fund. Say youre coming from me. Theyll give you a room and work.
Sarah eyes the envelope, 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 well up.
Thank you
You dont thank me, he replies softly. Tell yourself you saved not only him but perhaps me too.
He stands, but before he walks away he turns.
By the way, the centre is looking for a nursery nurse. James would love to see you.
Sarah remains on the bench, shaken but warmed by a new fire in her chest.
She opens the envelope. Inside is indeed an address and a childs drawing: a boy holding a womans hand, with uneven letters underneath:
Dear Sarah, dont be afraid. Everything will be alright.
Her tears flow, not from helplessness but from hope. She stands. Her steps are tentative, yet they move forward.
Three weeks later, in the courtyard of the childrens centre in Brixton, laughter rings out.
Higher, dear Sarah! Higher! James shouts while swinging on a swing.
Watch out you dont fly off! she laughs, giving the swing a gentle push. Around her neck hangs the stone on a thin cordher lucky talisman.
By the gate stands the man, watching silently, his eyes no longer cold.
He knows that the day an unknown woman lifted his son from the ground, his sons life changedand his own, and Sarahs, forever.
