The Pancake Pan
By every measure, Helen was running late for workan offence sure to earn another groan-worthy fine and an awkward chat with her punctual manager. The blame lay in the sheer chaos of the morning. Young Charlie, only in year two, had turned up his nose at his porridge and whinged about a sore throat. Squinting through her spectacles, Helen tried to spot the faintest trace of redness, but upon realising he was putting it on, she threatened a swift smack and stuffed his school bag onto his shoulders.
Meanwhile, her eldest, Edward, was dashing from room to room, hunting for his school diary. The sound of his hurried steps spun Helen into a dizzying state. Barking at him to get a grip, she grabbed her little fibbers hand and bundled him outside. Of course, getting into the car was another headache; her husband had decided to wash it just then, taking his sweet time. By the time everyone finally buckled in and set off towards the high road, the morning traffic jam buried any hope Helen had of making it to work on time.
As she hurried up to the railway ticket office where she worked, Helen nearly slipped on the wet paving stones. She was saved from a nasty tumble by a large suitcaseher desperate grip the only thing that kept her upright. With a relieved sigh, Helen apologised to the elderly woman whose suitcase it was and rolled it over to her. Once inside, she found out from her colleagues that the boss hadnt arrived yet. Breathing easier, she knocked back a glass of water in one go and took her seat.
Within half an hour, the daily hustle had swept away the mornings woes. At lunch, Helen paused by the window. Her eyes were drawn to the elderly passenger with the oversized suitcase. There was something defeated in her posture, a sense of resignation deep in her faded blue eyes. Her train ticket fluttered weakly in her hand, as if keen to escape into the wind, much like a leaf blown from a barren branch. Yet she seemed oblivious to its struggle, sitting as still as a statue, unmoved by the autumn gusts and chill drizzle.
How longs she been out there? Helen asked her colleague.
They say its the second day now, she replied.
Do you know, wheres she headed?
Winchester.
Odd. There are a handful of trains to Winchester every day. Why hasnt she gone? Filling a mug with tea from her flask, Helen picked up a slice of homemade cake, went outside, sat beside the solitary traveller, and offered her the small meal.
You might remember meI nearly toppled over your suitcase this morning. May I ask where youre off to?
To Winchester, the woman replied, her voice colourless, sipping at the tea.
Scanning her ticket, Helen frowned. But your train left two days ago. Why didnt you travel?
The woman adjusted her old felt hat and rasped, Seems Im in everyones way, even here. Dont worry, Ill move in a moment. She set her half-finished cup on the bench and tried to stand, but Helen gently urged her back.
No, pleasesit wherever suits you. Its cold and damp, thats all
Believe me, I feel nothing. Its as though all feeling seeped away long ago. The stranger dabbed at her eyes with an embroidered hanky, then continued, Its typical family drama, really. Falling out with my sonwell, mostly with his bride. Shes attractive, but a difficult one, selfish too. Blinded by love for her, he took all my words as nagging. To please her, he got rid of me. Booked my ticket to see my sister in Winchester, packed my bags, and brought me here. Poor boy hadnt a clue my sister passed away three years back, and the house was sold ages ago. I couldnt bring myself to break the truth to him. I thought perhaps if I left, their lives might settle. So I sit here, lost, waitingfor what, Im not sure. Maybe to die of shame, or for someone to bundle me off to a home. Thank you, love, for the tea. I hadnt realised how hungry I was.
The word love spoken by a stranger whisked Helen back to her own distant, orphaned childhood. All these years later, the old ache lingered: watching other children be chosen for adoption, while shea plain, ginger-haired girl with no talent for reciting poemswas always overlooked. Shed left the childrens home for a position at the wool mill, granted a tiny room in a boarding house where she lived until her, thankfully, happy marriage.
Lovethe word itself, so foreign to her, warmed Helen to the core, soaking deep into her soul and soothing its hidden wounds.
Resting her hand on the womans shoulder, Helen spoke softly, Please, dont leave this bench today. When my shift ends, well go home together. I have a big house. Theres plenty of room for all. If you find you dont like it, you can always come back here. Agreed? Helen peered into the wrinkled face and saw a trembling chin and thankful tears glistening in red-rimmed eyes.
The introductions took place in the car. Im Helen, this is my husband Richard, and these are our sons, Edward and Charlie. May I ask your name?
Call me Granny May, the old woman replied as the car heater warmed her bones.
Saturday dawned bright and still. Helen woke to enchanting smells wafting from the summer kitchen. Throwing on a dressing gown, she stepped onto the veranda. There, on the table, stood a glorious stack of fine lacy pancakes. Granny May handled the pan with ease, flipping and serving the golden treats to a delighted trio. Seeing Helen, she tried to explain herself.
Dont be cross, dear. Found a pan in the ovenpancakes never stick to that one!and fancied playing cook. Will you join us? Taste my best recipe.
After the hearty breakfast, the whole family raked fallen leaves into piles and set them alight, tossing potatoes into the embers. Helen marvelled at Mays energy; she was rosy-cheeked, humming a tune Helen didnt know.
Dont mind my fussing, loveold habits die hard. Even in the war they called me Workhorse May, because I carried so many wounded to safety, no matter their size, until I myself was hurt. Sent me to the rear to recover, it did. Met my husband there, had my son. Sadly, his chest wounds never healed. He wasted away each spring and gone he was, leaving me alone with a small boy. Well, we managed. Raised him, set him up in life.
May drifted off into memory, then pulled herself back and fetched the rake, singing as she moved through the garden.
Monday brought the usual flurry. Charlie whinged, Edward scrambled to find his things, Helens husband readied the car. As Helen bundled the boys out, she saw May, fully dressed and clutching her suitcase.
Thank you, dear, Ive enjoyed my stay. But its time I was on my way
Granny May! Didnt you like it here?
I did But who really wants a stranger in their home?
Oh please, Granny May, wont you stay? Who else could make pancakes like that? I never manage them Helen begged as she lifted the heavy suitcase, which felt light as a feather, and took Mays arm, leading her back inside.
As the family loaded into the car, May called after them, Helen, love, could you get me another pancake pan? Two will make it easier to keep up with everyone
She didnt hear Helens quiet reply, Of course, Mum MayHelen grinned, knowing in her bones that Granny May had decided to staya quiet, stubborn decision beneath all her talk of leaving. The boys whooped, already fighting over the first pancake at the next weekends breakfast. Richard winked and dug out his wallet.
That evening, Helen handed May a gleaming new pan, wrapped in brown paper tied with string. May looked at her, eyes shining, and whispered, Youve given me more than a homeyouve given me a family. I thought I was past that. Turns out youre never too old for a second beginning.
Helen squeezed her hand. The kitchen filled again with laughter, batter sizzled on hot metal, and outside, the autumn wind paused, as if holding its breath to listen. In that small house, with pancakes shared between old wounds and new joys, something rare and sweet settled ina place at the table, a belonging, and the sure promise that no one, truly, would eat their breakfast alone again.
