Grandfather, Eek!the small, stooped boy clutched at the hand of the lanky man wrapped in a coat far too long for him, his fingers trembling as he brushed his lips with the other.
Arthur Whitaker gave his grandson a sideways glance, pulled the redandblack checked scarf tighter around his necka long, woollen thing with a fringe that always managed to slip into Tommys face whenever the old man leaned forward to speak.
That fringe now brushed the boys frostpink cheek, the harsh yarn pricking him. Tommy winced, rubbed his cheeks, and stared at Arthurs eyes with a forlorn look.
Enough! the old man barked, his voice a mixture of growl and roar. What did you say? Eek? Say YES!say it properly, understand? He peered at his grandson with eyes crisscrossed with red veins, the same eyes as his own, but only one pair could see the world in its entirety. Arthurs gaze held a stern, unyielding resolve, while Tommys only knew the garden and the schoolyard, the occasional trip to the pub with his old mates, as the grandfather called his friends. Tommys eyes shed silent tears, careful not to be noticed.
Eek the boy whispered.
YES! Arthur boomed.
Eek, eek
They might have stared at each other forever, the snow still falling, blanketing the two kin in a white shroud, if a woman had not stepped in between them. Maggie Norris, the cook from the canteen All for the Belly, stood there, the soft glow of fairy lights twinkling at her side.
Will, is that you? Maggie called out, coughing harshly. And look at that scarf, dearred as a Christmas pudding! Whats the matter, Granddad?
Its mine, been mine a long time. No need to fuss. Arthur muttered, straightening up and pressing his nose against Maggies generous figure.
Ah, settle down, you grumpy old fool. Whos this lad youve brought along now? Is Lucy not looking after her son? Maggie asked, nodding toward Tommy.
Lucys gone on a work trip, Arthur replied, spitting out the words. Shes away this monthshes left him to me.
Good grief, Will, shes tied you up like a knot! Has the father shown up? Maggie asked, sweeping the snow from Tommys hat with a large, gloved hand.
I remembered the first nightshes been gone a long while. Hes a cripple, its a pain to look after him. Ive had another child, a healthy one. Got it, Tommy? Arthur said, winking sourly at his grandson. Tommy shrugged. I dont get it. Maybe its better this way.
Whether we like it or not, its not our place to judge. Whats the quarrel here? Maggies voice, scented with soup, meatballs and something sweet, drifted to Tommys nose, making his stomach rumble.
The lad wont eat in the garden, his caretakerGwen, a young womankeeps turning away. He whines eek, eek. Let him learn to say yes, then Ill buy a loaf. Thats my final word, Arthur snarled, his brows knitting together.
Maggie stared at him for a heartbeat, hands on her hips, biting her lower lip, then gave a swift flick to Arthurs thin back, almost toppling him.
My final word, then. I wont let a hungry child starve. He isnt a cripple; he just lags behind. Hell catch up. Can you, Tommy? she asked, nodding.
The boy stared back, feeling an odd tightness in his belly.
Come with me to the canteen. Im off duty today; Hannah will cover for me. Plenty of space at the stove for everyone. Follow me, you wretched lot! she commanded, marching forward as if leading a regiment.
Not now, we must go home, Arthur replied, retreating.
Hed rather not linger in strangers corners. Hed rather trudge home, lift Tommy to the eighth floor, and while the lift rose, press the buttons for his grandson, counting each floor. Tommy would tug at his arm, and the old man would mutter that he didnt want his grandson to grow up a fool.
The boy would fall silent, then start his plaintive eek again, a mute wail
And so they left, while Maggie watched them go with a sigh. She longed to carethough not for Arthur, of course, he wasnt to her tastebut for that timid boy.
Winter never seemed to end. Lucy flitted from one assignment to another, the grandfather still shuttled Tommy to the garden, grumbling, tugging the boys hat, fastening his coat with shaky hands. They walked, the red scarf flashing like a lighthouse in the blizzard over the sleepy, exhausted town, and Maggie observed their passage.
One especially bleak day, she could bear it no longer and dragged them into her canteen.
I said were not going! Home, Tommy! Alexander! Arthur shouted, reaching for his aunts hand.
He understood theyd reached a limitbeyond it lay darkness and despair. Whether he truly understood or not was another matter; Tommy sometimes searched for his mother, sniffing at her coat in the hallway, hiding his face in it, while the grandfather loomed, feared.
Sometimes Tommy cried in his sleep, reaching for someone; the old man slipped his hand in, but Tommy pushed it away.
Your love is foolish! Arthur ranted. You dont need your mother! Shes in a restaurant, glass in hand, while you whine here
Imagining those nightly torments, Arthur finally agreed to go to Maggies workplace.
Right then, Will! Whats at home? Ive got a jam tart! Lets go! she called, leading both mensmall and largebehind her.
The Hearth & Spoon was packed to the brim. Cheap, hearty fare, as comforting as home. The menu offered broth, roast, buckwheat gentrystyle, salad, compote, and on occasion, pilafa recipe Maggie had learned from a lover, not in a cauldron but still turning out something that made people go wow. Sweet carrots, finely diced onions, separate rice grains, buttery and glossy, meat cooked just right.
Enjoy, folks! Maggie chirped whenever thanked.
Thats how it was. She cooked as if for her own familyplump children, a hardworking husband. He might sip a dram, chase it with salted herring, chat about politics, then sing a song. She wanted three children, gender irrelevant; she only craved a warm little bundle nursing at her breast, smiling with a toothless grin. She would have fed them porridge, compote, soupif life had allowed.
She never spoke of why she was alone; she simply existed. Little did anyone know how many women like her fatedly walked this earth.
The few who glanced at the trioman, boy, cookbowed politely, as if greeting the inns patrons, the drunkards, the thieves, thanking the master for not driving them away.
Maggie, too, welcomed them. A full belly made a kind heart. Simple as that.
Come in, ladTommyhungry one! Maggie opened the staff room doortwo tables, a bed, a wardrobe. Cold? Well fix you a broth! Sit, Tommy, have a chair, as snug as a bear for a tiny one. And for the old man She raised a clenched fist, vanished behind the door.
Arthur, reluctantly stripping off his layers, shivered. Hed been feverish for days, bones aching, longing for tea with jam, a bun, and a bed. And now Tommy
The tale of Tommys birth had been whispered to his father soon after leaving the maternity ward.
Did they drop him? the doctor frowned. Did you not look?
No, I didnt want to leave. Better that I never had him, Lucy muttered, bitter.
Come now! Itll be fine. All will be well, Tommy, my boy! a young man called, leaning over the cot where Tommy squirmed.
Months slipped by, the father vanished, and Lucys heart hardened. She recalled the night shed set out her boots, new with fur lining, heels clicking, only to slip and fall.
That evening theyd planned to see The Nutcracker at the palace, tickets bought by chancea joyous event. Lucy had a new dress, a taxi on its way, but an ambulance arrived, taking her mother from the flat. Tickets were tossed.
Since then Arthur loathed The Nutcracker, and Lucy despised the father who barred her from the palace at sixteen.
Lucy! You dont understandMothers dead! the father whispered, his tie clenched. Shes gone!
Lucy, hardhearted, never forgave, demanding everything owed her. She expected Tommy to meet standards, to sit, to go, all on schedule. He could not. She never told anyone, yet blamed herself for his condition, never wanting him, fighting him within, and then falling.
When she finally decided Tommy would never be her pride, she grew cold, trying to thrust him onto the grandfather.
Lucys work trips left Arthur to care for the boy: mornings in the garden, evenings at home, washing, combing, frying two eggs. They ate in silence, forks clinking. Arthur took a dram, and a teachers spirit awoke within him.
After washing dishes, hed sit with a weary Tommy on a low sofa, pull him close, and watch Youth episode after episode. Tommy found the portraits puzzling; Arthur guided his tiny finger, urging him to repeat words.
Tommy tried. First he watched his grandfathers lips, then felt his own, exhaling something like a word. He tangled, Arthur scowled, the magazine flew off the table, and Tommy drifted to sleep.
Did Arthur love the boy? He didnt know. Perhaps he loved without understanding, unsure how to help.
Come on, lads, ladle up! Tommy, take the spoon! Maggie burst into the room, balancing a tray piled with plates.
The boy turned away and began to sob.
In the garden, Mrs. Gillian, pressing his lips painfully, tried to feed him soup. The boy twisted, she cursed.
Maggie set a stool, placed her own plate, sighed, and began to eat. Warmth spread through Arthurs chilled bodyan aroma of bay leaf and pickled cucumber.
Weve known each other for thirty years, havent we? Maggie said to Tommy. All the squabbles, the reconciliations, my proposal to marryyes! she laughed, slurping a spoonful of broth into his mouth. Good, isnt it? Always eat well, Tommy. If its not tasty, you dont eat. And live for joy.
What joy can there be for a child without a mother, when I cant manage him? Arthur retorted, his lips twitching. Whats the point? He whines eek, eek. Should someone see him, give him medicine? Lucy refuses a diagnosis, breaking his life! He snapped his mouth, shook his head.
Joy comes from everywhere. Without it youre miserable, Maggie replied sternly. You must grin and carry on.
Tommy, like a fledgling, opened his mouth, reached for the spoon hanging in midair, then brushed Maggies shoulder.
Sorry, Tommy, I was distracted, she said, scooping more broth, feeding him heartily.
Soup vanished, followed by a meat patty dripping with rich sauce, then mashed potatoes on which Maggie painted silly faces, smoothing them back into an even plain.
Tea followed, and Maggie presented a jam tarther promised appleandcinnamon delightwhich she often brought when visiting. She kissed the wife of Wills sister, then settled on a sturdy stool, a solid rock of kindness.
Arthur adored her pies. His own wife never baked, so she welcomed Maggies treats with gratitude, never jealous of her husbands friendship with the cook.
Even more, Arthur loved hearing Maggie sing. Her low, resonant voice rose from deep within her chest, filling the room, softening even the old mans gruffness. He would hum along, and soon the boy would mimic the final line of a song about a horse galloping free across a poppy field.
He, like the horse, was young, clumsy, stumbling over lifes obstacles, fearful of falling.
They lingered a while longer at Aunt Maggies, then Arthur abruptly rose, shook his head to clear a lingering sleep, and told Tommy to get ready for home.
Maggie helped dress the boy, then, standing straight, said, Will, ring me if you need anything. Ill help.
He nodded.
Five days later Arthur fell ill, unable to rise. He still had to rouse Tommy, feed him, escort him to school, ready himself for work, yet his cough twisted him under the blankets. A nausea washed over him, darkness crept, and night fell.
A frightened Tommy perched on the edge of his grandfathers bed, halfdressed in stockings and a thin sweater.
Come, dress yourself, Arthur whispered, smiling. Tommy, I love you, hear? I love you very much!
It was the first time hed spoken such words, shy before.
I you dont understand? Tommy mumbled.
Tommy leapt onto his grandfathers chest, pressed his lips to the chin, then clutched his neck tightly.
Arthur became everything Tommy had ever neededmother, father, anyone. And Tommy finally understood.
Soon Maggie knocked on the door, urging Tommy to open it. Inside stood a pale, frail Arthur.
What brings you here? Maggie snarled. Are you calling for help? Youre a hypochondriac! Lucy will haunt you from the grave! And Ill, she muttered, dragging bags into the kitchen.
She later gave Arthur painful, shameful injections in his lower back.
Tommy turned his head to his grandfathers scalp, stroking his wispy hair.
Dont whats that? he whispered.
All fell silent; Maggie nearly dropped the syringe.
See? Hell be fine. Dont weep. she whispered, delivering another jab.
Arthur groaned, then roared with a sudden laugh, rolling Tommy onto his lap, shaking him under his arms.
Youre lying, lad! Im not whining! Why should I moan when youre here? he muttered.
Something clicked in Tommy; words returned. In the summer, perched on the riverbanks stones with his grandfather, Tommy swatted a mosquito from Arthurs hand and said clearly,
I love you, understood?
Understood, Arthur shrugged, turned away, and wepttears of joy. Maggie urged them to rejoice, and she was right. Joy sat beside them, barefoot, chatting. Lucy, meanwhile, fled at the sight of the boy.
Thus the pairgrandfather and grandsonbecame regulars at The Hearth & Spoon. Maggie always kept an eye on them, peeking out the window during her shift, and even when offduty, she would still appear, bearing food.
Lets strike a bargain, Maggie, Arthur declared one day. Between us only friendship and respect, eh? No shady deals.
Of course! Maggie laughed. Youll need more feeding, so the boy can grow proper.
Arthur felt a sting of pride, then softened. It felt good to be cared for.
The next time he bought Maggie flowers, Tommy watched his grandfather rummage through a florist, sniffing, puckering his lips, finally choosing a bunch of chrysanthemums.
Chrysanthemums have long withered in the garden, Tommy remarked, recalling a song Maggie often sang.
Love lives on in my ailing heart, Arthur crooned, stepping forward.
Tommy chased after, hopping joyfully. It was a fine day, and the old man was a fine manthough the chrysanthemums were a questionable purchase. Time would tell.
