THE YOUNGEST SON’S LAST WISH
Claire stared at the sign reading “Operating Theatre”, the letters blurring after endless hours of waiting, her heart hammering like London rain on a tin roof. She absentmindedly fidgeted with her little Olivers favourite toyhis battered red plastic tractor, still missing a wheel. Of course, Oliver had desperately wanted a blue tractor, just like the one from the telly, but over time, hed grown to love this one, a gift from his ever-doting dad.
Finally, a weary silhouette appeared behind the frosted doors. They swung open and an exhausted-looking doctor entered the corridor. Claire leapt to her feet, rushing forward.
Doctor, please, how did it go? Hows Oliver?
The doctor lowered his head, removed his mask, and said quietly, Mrs. Bennett, Im very sorry We did all we could
***
Claire curled up on Olivers bed, hugging herself tight. The pillow still smelled like hima comforting mixture of shampoo and biscuits. On the mirror across the way, a sticky handprint was visible where hed pressed his little palm, fresh from pilfering digestive biscuits. She was so glad shed never cleaned it off. Hed never leave another smudge again. Never again would he nestle his sleepy head into the dent on his pillow.
Another salty tear tracked down Claires wind-chapped cheek. Her grief seemed to burn holes straight through her heart. A healthy hearta luxury her precious Oliver had never known. Her oldest son, Harry, was eighteenindestructible, off at university, living on a diet of baked beans and enlightenment. But Oliver oh, Oliver, her unplanned late-in-life surprise that had grown into both her greatest joy and deepest sorrow. All through her pregnancy, every check-up came back perfectly healthy. Only at the eleventh hour had they discovered the rare heart defect, right before his dramatic entrance into the world. And now, after a complicated surgery, all she had left was a memory.
***
Claire drifted into uneasy, fretful sleep. Yet again, as in every recent dream, she found herself in a sun-drenched field bursting with wildflowersa lush riot of colours and scents. In the distance stood Oliver, grinning shyly in his favourite shirt (the one with cars on it), holding a floppy bouquet of daisies.
Oliver! Sweetheart! Claire called desperately, only he didnt seem to hear her, intent upon plucking the petals from his bouquet.
She ran, arms outstretched, but no matter how far or fast she ran, he never got any closer. In fact, he seemed to drift further away, fading with every step. Claire shouted in anguish, reaching out, but she could never quite touch him. Suddenly, Oliver glanced up, gave her a gentle smileand faded into thin air, leaving only a swirling cloud of daisy petals floating to the ground.
Claire ran through the flowers to the spot where the petals had fallen, glancing at the grass beneath her feet. There, formed carefully from white petals, was a strange address, spelt out all neat and tidy.
***
Claire awoke with a jump at the sound of her phone. She checked the screen: Harry.
Yes, love? Claire croaked, voice rough from tears.
Mum, Im coming home today. Can you cook something nice for me?
Claire forced a smile. Enough. It had been nearly three months since Oliver died. But she still had Harry. It was time, at least, to pretend to pull herself together and keep going.
Of course, darling. Pancakes? Shall I make some?
Thatd be wicked, Mum! Im already on the bussee you soon!
Harry made the long trip home every weekend, mainly to shake his parents out of their grief (and perhaps to claim his birthright in pancakes). He missed Oliver too, of course, but he knew theyd get through itfamily always does, dont they?
Claire hauled herself up by sheer force of will and shuffled to the kitchen. She opened the fridge, rummaged through the shelves, and discovered with a sigh that there was absolutely no milk. Her husband, Thomas, sat at the kitchen table, soldering wires on his ancient laptop. He looked up quizzically.
Whats wrong? Popping to the shop?
Harrys on his way home, Claire said evenly. He wants pancakes, but were out of milk. Dont worry, Ill nip outitll do me good.
Thomas raised a surprised eyebrow over his glasses. Shes showing signs of life! he thought, quietly delighted.
Claire dressed slowly and stepped outside. A soft spring breeze brushed her face, birds warbled, and the bare branches on the trees glimmered with hints of green, ready to burst into leaf at any minute. The world was creeping back to life after its long English winter. Claire sighed, thinking, If only Oliver could have seen his fifth spring
She shook her head, banishing the dark thoughts, and set off for the shop.
***
Claire wandered the aisles, collecting milk, Harrys favourite chocolate buttons, a loaf of bread, and a chicken for Sunday roast. Suddenly, from the next aisle, she heard a laugha giggle that, for a fleeting second, sounded just like Olivers. Her chest tightened as she spun around, catching only a flash of a childs silhouette disappearing behind the cereal boxes. She knew it was impossible, but she chased after it anyway, accidentally toppling a cardboard promo stand for Half Price Hot Cross Buns! in the process.
Bent double to pick up the sign, Claire froze. Printed in bright red letters, the sign carried the very same address shed seen in her dream.
Oliver, what are you trying to tell me? she whispered.
Claire left the shop with her shopping and a head full of questions. It couldnt all be coincidenceOliver must be sending a message. Shed have to search for that address onlinebut not today. Today was Harrys day. He was all she had now, and he deserved the best she could muster.
***
Surprisingly, that evening was warm and full of laughter. Claire even managed an occasional smile as Harry regaled them with tales from university lifeflatmates disasters, lectures gone wrong, all delivered between mouthfuls of pancakes. Claire and Thomas watched him eat, their firstborn, their miracle childnow their only child.
At last, everyone drifted off to their rooms for the night. Exhausted but content, Claire fell asleep quickly, only to wake hours later, heart pounding, convinced she heard quiet singing from the bathroom. There was no mistaking Olivers small, sweet voice belting out his beloved theme song from Tractor Tom
Pulse hammering, Claire slid from bed and crept silently toward the bathroom, not wanting to scare away her ghost. She eased the door openof course, no one was there. Tears stung her eyes.
What did I expect? That Oliver would be sitting in the bath? she scolded herself. Hes gone, Claire. Time to stop imagining things.
She splashed cold water on her face, steeling herself. No more wallowing! Not for Thomas or for Harryshe owed them that much. Staring back at her from the mirror was a sallow, gaunt stranger with deep purple shadows under her eyes.
Suddenly, on a whim, Claire lathered up her hand and ran the soapy suds across the mirror. As the suds trickled down, they bizarrely formed lettersher mysterious address, right there in front of her.
A chill swept down her spine. A soft, childlike whisper broke the silence: Im waiting for you, mummy
***
Why arent you asleep? Thomas mumbled, blinking as the glow from Claires laptop lit up the bedroom.
Claire was hunched over in the armchair, eyes glued to the screen.
Tom, come here for a sec If you feel the same thing I do, then Im not going mad after all
Thomas grumbled as he joined her, but the second he saw the photo on screena boy about four, with light brown hair and searching eyeshis heart gave an odd lurch.
Elliot Green, age four, read the caption. Lost both parents in a car accident three years ago. Lived with grandmother, now in care for the last six months since she passed away.
That address has been chasing me for days, Claire explained in a rush, Its like Olivers trying to send us a message
Claire told Thomas all about her latest dream, the incident in the grocery store, and the steamy message on the mirror. After a moment of stunned silence, Thomas said firmly, Claire, we need to go there.
***
Mrs. Carter, the cheery director of the childrens home, walked Claire and Thomas down a long, sunlit corridor, talking all the way.
When Elliot arrived, we thought it would be a short stay. Hes a lovely boy, bright and gentle, used to a good, loving homeeven if it was just grandma. Hes been up for adoption three times, but every time new parents visit, he completely shuts down. I cant bring myself to send him anywhere he doesnt want to go. He says his mum and dad will be coming for him, and hell know them straight away. And these past three months, hes had an imaginary friendhe calls him Oliver. That Oliver chap apparently told him that his parents are coming soon.
Claire and Thomas shared a glance. Was their own lost son helping this poor orphan find a new family?
Well, have a look, say hello. Perhaps youll be the ones to crack his little shell, Mrs. Carter said, opening the door to the playroom.
Claire recognised him immediatelya small, wiry boy, kneeling on the rug among a huddle of children, stacking building blocks and humming Olivers favourite tune. When he caught sight of them, Elliot jumped up, ran across the room, and threw his arms round them, shouting, Mummy, daddy! I knew youd come!
***
Mrs. Carter had a well-earned reputation for moving mountains, and the adoption process zipped along at breathtaking pace. She was genuinely thrilled that Elliot had finally warmed to someone, and when shed heard about Claire and Thomass loss, she was moved to tears. A month later, Claire, Thomas, and Harry arrived together to bring Elliot home for good.
Just as they were leaving, Elliot tugged his hand from Claires and said, Wait, mummy! Oliver wants to say goodbyehes at the end of the hallway!
Claires heart twisted, brimming with a kind of gentle sadness. Not despairnot any more. If she couldnt rewrite the past, she could certainly change a childs future. Shed never forget Oliver, never stop loving him. But now, there was another little boy whose world she was responsible for.
Elliot dashed to the window at the corridors end, paused for a moment, then bounded back to his new family. And there, outside the window, a single, snow-white dove fluttered onto the ledgea shimmering little miracle above the old brick wallssoaring in a circle before vanishing into the sky.
