She wiped her damp hands, wincing in pain, and shuffled to open the door. Mary Whittaker dried her wet fingers, groaned from the ache in her back, and made her way to the entrance. The knocking had been quiet, but this was the third time. Shed been cleaning the window, so she hadnt hurried to answer. On the doorstep stood a young girlpretty but pale and exhausted.
Mrs. Whittaker, I heard you might have a room to let?
Oh, those neighboursalways sending people my way! I dont rent rooms, never have.
They told me youve got three bedrooms.
So what? Why should I let one out? Im used to living alone.
Im sorry. They said you were a woman of faith, so I thought
The girl, fighting back tears, turned and slowly started down the stairs. Her shoulders trembled.
Love, come back! I didnt say no! Honestly, young people these daysso sensitive, tears at the drop of a hat. Come inside, lets talk. Whats your name? Shall we skip the formalities?
Emily.
Emily Brave one, is it? Father a soldier, then?
I never had a father. I grew up in care. No mother, either. Good people found me on a stairwell when I was just weeks old and took me to the police.
Dont you worry. Come on, well chat over tea. Are you hungry?
No, I bought myself a doughnut.
A doughnut! Oh, youthnever thinking ahead, and by thirty youll have ulcers. Sit down, Ive got pea soup still warm. And well heat up some tea. Plenty of jam, too. My husband passed five years ago, but I still cook for two out of habit. Well eat, then you can help me finish the windows.
Mrs. Whittaker, could I do something else? I get dizzyIm scared Ill fall off the sill. Im expecting.
Well, thats just perfect! All I needed. Im a stickler for proprietyis the baby?
Why assume its not proper? Im married. Tom, from the childrens home. Hes been called up. Came home on leave recently. When my landlady found out I was pregnant, she threw me out straightaway. Gave me a week to find somewhere. We lived close by. But you see how it is.
Right Well, what am I to do with you? Maybe shift my bed into Simons old room? Fine, youll stay with me. And dont you dare offer rentnot a word. Go fetch your things.
Theyre not far. All mine and Toms belongings are in a bag by the door. The weeks up, so Ive been door-knocking with them.
And so the two stayed together Emily was finishing her studies in fashion design. Mary Whittaker had been on disability since a bad rail accident years ago, so she stayed home, knitting lace doilies, collars, baby bootiesselling them at the local market. Her work was clever: delicate as sea foam, her tablecloths and collars sold well. Money wasnt tight. Some came from the veg she grew in her garden. Saturdays, she and Emily worked there. Sundays, Mary went to church while Emily stayed home, reading letters from Tom and writing back. She rarely joinedunchurched, she said. Complained of back pain and dizzy spells.
One Saturday, they were in the garden. Harvest done, they were prepping the soil for winter. Emily tired quickly, so Auntie Mary sent her indoors to rest and listen to old records she and her husband had collected. That day, after raking, the expectant mum went to nap. Mary Whittaker tossed dry branches into the fire, lost in thought, watching the flames. Suddenlya scream: Mum! Mummy, come quick! Heart pounding, forgetting her aching legs and back, Mary bolted for the house. Emily was clutching her stomach, crying out. Moments later, Mary persuaded a neighbour, and in his rickety old Rover, they sped to hospital. Emily moaned nonstop: Mummy, it hurts! But its too earlyIm due mid-January! Mum, pray for meyou know how! Mary wept, murmuring prayers through tears.
From A&E, Emily was wheeled away. The neighbour drove the sobbing woman home. All night, she prayed to the Virgin for the babys safety. At dawn, she rang the hospital.
Your daughters fine. At first, she kept calling for you and Tom, cryingthen she calmed and slept. Doctor says no more miscarriage risk, but shell need to stay awhile. Haemoglobins low. Make sure she eats well, rests plenty.
When discharged, they talked till past midnight. Emily chattered endlessly about Tom.
Hes not a boy like me. An orphan. We grew up together in care. Friends at school, then in love. He looks after me. Its more than lovethats how it feels. See how often he writes? Want to see his photo? Heresecond from the right. Smiling
Handsome Mary didnt want to hurt her. Shed needed new glasses for ages. The photo showed rows of squaddies, tiny and blurred. She couldnt pick out second, third, fifthjust shapes.
Emily, whyd you call me Mum in the garden that day?
Just came out. Scared. In care, every adult was Mum or Daddirector, plumber, everyone. I unlearned it. But when Im scared or upset, it slips. Sorry.
I see Mary sighed, disappointment plain.
Auntie Mary, what about you? Why no photos of your husband, kids? You never had any?
No children. Had a sondidnt live to see one. After the accident, no more could come. My husband was like a child to me. Doted on him, adored him. He was my world, like Toms yours. When I buried him, I put all photos away. Im faithful, but losing him If I looked at pictures, Id weep. So I hid themtemptation gone. Now he needs prayers, not tears. Em, lovelets enlarge that photo of Tom, frame it. Must have frames somewhere.
Come Christmas Eve, Mary and Emily decked the halls, chatted about the Christ Child, waited for the first star. Emily fidgeted, rubbing her lower back.
Youre restless, love. Not listening. Why fuss like a child?
Auntie Mary, call an ambulance. I think Im in labour.
Nonsense! Youre due next week.
Mustve miscalculated. Pleasehurry, I cant bear it.
Half an hour later, the ambulance sped off. And on Twelfth Night, Emily had a girl. That same day, Mary wired the new father.
January was tense. Little one brought joy but sleepless nights. Emily, with Toms blessing, named her Rosie. Mary wept. Baby Rosie kept them busycolic, thrush, endless fussing. But happy troubles. Marys own aches eased.
One unseasonably warm day, Mary shopped, then met Emily and the pram on her way backthe young mum had ventured out.
Well walk a bit more, alright, Auntie Mary?
You go on, love. Ill start lunch.
Back inside, Mary glanced at the tableand froze. There, framed, was a photo of her late husband. She smiled. Found them at last. Picked his youth, though. Young folk dont care for old faces.
The soup simmered when Emily brought Rosie home; a neighbour carried the pram. Both women gently unwrapped the baby. Her tiny nose twitched sweetly. On tiptoe, they left the room.
Emily, Mary smiled, howd you find Simons photos?
Sorry?
This. Mary pointed.
That? You asked for Toms photo enlarged. He went to a studio special. Frame was on the bookshelf.
Marys hands shook as she reached for it. Only now she sawit wasnt her husband. A young sergeant grinned at the camera. She sank onto the sofa, pale, staring into space. When she turned, Emily was sobbing, clutching an ammonia-soaked cotton pad.
Mum, look at me! Look in my eyes! Mummy, whats wrong?
Emily, open the wardrobetop shelf, photos. Bring them.
Emily fetched albums, framed pictures. From the top stared Tom?!
Dear God! Whos this? Is this Tom? Nothis photos old. Who is he, Mum?
My husband, Simon. Emily, lovewhere was Tom born?
Dont know. He came to our home from London after a
