Its impossible not to love your own children, I heard Mary mutter to herself as she trudged along the snowpacked footpath outside her modest terraced house in Whitby. The words werent a confession of affection; they were the hollow echo of a tired, angry heart. She felt exhausted, irritable and utterly powerless.
Once, when Victor was still alive and she was five months pregnant with their fifth child, the neighbour on the third floor Mrs. Clarke, certain that Mary had already shut her front door and couldnt hear her chattered to her husband:
People have kids just for the benefits, and then they end up abandoned!
Mary wept until she hiccuped, humiliated by the remark. Yes, she managed a fulltime job while raising four youngsters, but she never let anyone think she could simply abandon them because they were tiny. What will I become when theyre grown? she wondered, the question hanging over her like a dark cloud.
When Victor passed away, Marys salary barely covered the essentials for five children, but it did. She kept her pension untouched, stashing it in a savings account so the kids would have a nestegg when they left the nest. Still, being a widow with five mouths to feed proved far more demanding than any of her previous challenges.
That night the snow fell in relentless sheets; the oncenarrow lane became an indistinguishable white expanse. Had she thought ahead, she could have parked the car farther away, but instead she had to lug Ethan and Lily, both halfgrown, through the drifts to the garden and back again. She watched her boots, trying not to scoop up the icy crust, and didnt see the man coming toward her. They collided; he stumbled, she toppled into the snow. He offered a steady hand, but his grip slipped, and a large red heartshaped balloon rolled away.
Stupid Valentines Day! Mary cursed under her breath.
The day before, shed spent until midnight helping her middle daughter, Grace, stitch up a pair of felt boots and write a short report for her son, Harry, for school, while simultaneously soothing her eldest, Olivia, who was in tears over a massive pimple that had sprung on her forehead. Olivia was convinced that tomorrow the boy she liked would bring her a Valentine and ask her out. Meanwhile, the younger pair, Ethan and Lily, had pilfered a set of acrylic markers and turned the white kitchen cupboard, the linoleum, and each other into a canvas of chaos. Their nursery teacher, Miss Penelope, halfjokingly called them little savages and suggested they might need a bottle of nailpolish remover with acetone to clean up.
Sorry, I didnt see you, the man said, apologising politely.
Two feelings wrestled inside Mary: irritation that the burly stranger hadnt noticed her, and embarrassment for the lost balloon, which was surely meant for some sweetheart. The embarrassment won.
Its my fault, really. What a shame about the balloon, she replied.
He glanced up at the overcast sky.
Nothing to worry about. The birds will have a celebration too, he said with a grin.
My wife will be upset, Mary muttered, trying not to laugh.
Its for my daughter, he replied, smiling. Ill go buy another.
Tears sprang unbidden from Marys eyes. The man looked disarmed, unsure how to react.
Sorry, she sniffed. I didnt mean to it was an accident.
Its all right did something happen to you? he asked gently.
Mary rarely talked about how shed become a widow with five children, but the strangers kindness pierced her fatigue. After listening, he said:
You should meet my wife. Shes gone a bit daft over our third child, and I keep telling her to take a breather, to live a little now that the little ones are finally gaining independence. Im not saying many children are a bad thing quite the opposite. Id love a third myself, but sorry, Im rambling. Im terrible at consoling.
Dont mind me, Mary waved a hand. Sometimes I look at them and think Im supposed to love them dearly, but in practice Im more angry and irritated. Wheres the love, I wonder?
Its there, the man said confidently. Its just buried under the snow, like this path. Do you remember what grows here in summer?
What? Mary asked.
Dandelions, he replied.
She sensed he meant something deeper, though the emptiness inside her remained.
He escorted her to the car, wishing her a pleasant day. In the drivers seat she touched up her makeup, pulled the car into the driveway, and drove to the office. A weight settled in her chest, memories of earlier Valentines surfacing a hidden note beneath a mirror, a bouquet left on the back seat. Victor had been gone four years now, and each celebration reminded her of that loss. Today she also faced a meeting where the everpedantic Simon Pearson would drone on about his quarterly results for half an hour.
The office buzzed with a muted cheer. Nobody proclaimed the day, but flowers appeared here and there, girls giggled in hushed corners, and most men wore the strained expression of men trying to guess what the women around them expected. When Mary entered the conference room, she halfexpected to be in the wrong place; she even stepped back, noticing a small bouquet of red roses on the table. The room was hers, after all, and she approached the flowers cautiously, as if inspecting a strange animal, unsure whether it would claw or purr.
A card lay beside the roses.
I never thought Id have the courage, but why not today? In your eyes I see the universe, your smile lifts my spirits. Shall we dine together? L.
Mary tried to recall any colleague whose name began with L who might have penned such a note. The card included the name of a restaurant and a time 7p.m. Leon, Luke, or Liam? All three worked in the same department, yet none had shown any romantic interest. It would have been amusing if it were Leon; shed once been almost smitten with him right before her fifth pregnancy. Back then shed just started her career, her marriage was faltering, and she craved excitement. Leon was friendly and curious, theyd shared a few lunches, and a few butterflies fluttered in her stomach. But when she finally took a pregnancy test, the result wasnt a flutter at all but a protest from her body demanding a break from yet another round of duties. Shed always become pregnant at the most unexpected moments, her fertility practically legendary. The pregnancy had made her forget about her crush, and soon after Victor fell ill, Leon faded from her memory entirely.
All day Mary wrestled with the idea of going on the dinner. She kept glancing at Leon, Luke, and Liam, but they all behaved as usual. Was this some sort of joke? And who would watch the children? Her mother, now in her late seventies, never left the house; they could barely afford a nanny, and the eldest daughter would probably run off to a date. So there was no point in going.
Ethan and Lily handed her a crooked heart-shaped balloon; even the nursery now taught the children how to cut out Valentines cards. Mary tucked the balloon into their winter ones, trudged back to the car, and recalled the man with the red balloon. The thought made her eyes watery.
The children bickered in the back seat over which cartoon to watch and demanded a stop at the shop for Kinder Surprise eggs because it was Valentines Day. Exhausted by their shouting, Mary surrendered, bought three eggs for the older kids and a packet of frozen dumplings, since she didnt have the energy to cook.
When she turned the key, a homecooked scent greeted her: fried potatoes and cherry compote. Olivia announced that a boy had asked her friend out, so she now had no girlfriend and, oddly enough, no boyfriend either. The pimple on her forehead had swelled even more. She decided to make dinner in celebration of that. The middle children cleaned up the mess theyd made on the white cupboard, wiping away the markers. Mary felt a swell of emotion, pulled her children into a hug and realised she did love them not just when they behaved, but always. Digging out a tiny black dress from the back of a wardrobe that hadnt seen the light of day for ages, she borrowed perfume from Olivia and lip gloss from Grace.
Moms going on a date! Olivia exclaimed, eyes sparkling.
Ethan burst into tears; she soothed him, promising shed be back soon.
At the restaurant Mary arrived, heart pounding. The idea of a date with a stranger felt odd, yet it wasnt truly a stranger she knew him, just not the exact role he would play tonight. It was like the secretSanta draw: a surprise, but you have no idea what youll get. If it were Leon, she could pick a simple gift; if it were the head of procurement, maybe a bicycle. But the man waiting at a corner table turned out to be Simon Pearson himself, the very man who had spent the last halfhour lecturing the office about spreadsheets.
He sat upright, eyes fixed on the doorway. When he saw Mary, he flushed a deep red but didnt look away. Mary felt a rush of embarrassment, anger, and bewilderment. I was afraid you wouldnt come, he said, his voice low.
They hadnt spoken on a firstname basis before, but Mary sensed that after a day as strange as this, anything could happen. She followed the waitress to a window seat. From the ceiling hung a cascade of heartshaped decorations, and for a split second she imagined it was Olivia who should be heading out on a date, not her. She thought about calling her daughter and telling her there was a fire at home to get her out of the way.
The conversation stalled. Simon seemed nervous, blinking a lot, his words tripping over each other as he tried to keep the small talk alive. Mary wanted to bolt, to escape the clatter of cutlery, the squeak of a steak, the taste of aubergine. Let something happen! she silently pleaded. The younger ones could paint the walls, the middle ones could bathe the cat, maybe Olivias friend would finally see shes not a traitor and call her back!
Her prayer seemed answered when, after the third bite of steak, her phone rang. The screen flashed Olivias name.
Mom, theres a fire! she sobbed. Harry tried to fry cheese sticks, the oil caught fire and
Marys blood rushed to her face, her heart hammering as if ready to burst.
What happened? Simon asked, alarmed.
Fire Mary exhaled, voice trembling.
Simon moved with surprising composure: one hand grabbed his card and waved a waitress over, the other dialled emergency services, confirming the address while simultaneously coaxing the children to put on their shoes and dash outside, knocking on neighbours doors, and refusing to attempt saving any belongings.
The fire brigade arrived within fifteen minutes. Residents gathered around the sobbing children, smoke pouring from the kitchen window. Ill never think I dont love them again, Mary whispered, clutching her kids close, marveling at the strangers coats and hats draped over their shoulders. Shed always known the world held good people.
The fire was contained quickly; only the kitchen suffered serious damage, the rest of the house smelling faintly of ash. Even Olivia managed to rescue their cat, whiskers singed but alive.
This place isnt fit for sleeping, Simon observed once the flames were out. Well need repairs. How about you come to my flat for the night?
What what do you mean? Mary asked, eyes wide.
Simon looked straight at her and said, Whatever you want. You can just pop over for a cuppa, or stay as long as you like.
The children stared at Simon, bewildered. Theyd never really noticed him before. Ethan wailed again, Harry scowled, and Lily asked if there were cartoons on TV.
Yes, there are, Simon replied. And we have a cat and a dog. Shall we go?
What kind of dog? Harry asked, eyebrows knit.
Just like Victor, Mary thought, a soft smile forming.
A beagle, Simon answered, and Mary realised that the dog Harry had been begging for all year was finally coming home.
Olivia, ever practical, announced, Ill go gather our things. Ethan, stop whining, lets get your toys sorted.
Mary looked at her daughter with gratitude; the girl gave her a quick, almost sisterly wink. How fast she was growing! Harry would never see it happen
Alright, Mary said. Well stay with you tonight, thank you. Ill figure something out tomorrow.
Just then, Grace shouted, Mom, look! She pointed upward; a red heartshaped balloon drifted across the sky. Mary laughed, replying, The birds are celebrating too.
Simon slipped his hand gently into hers. His grip was warm and surprisingly tender. She didnt rush to pull away.
