From her pension, Mrs. Doris allowed herself a little indulgence apart from paying her utility bills and buying groceries during wholesale sales—a small packet of coffee beans.
The beans were already roasted, and when she cut open the corner of the packet, they released a captivating aroma. Inhaling with closed eyes, focusing solely on the scent, she felt a magical sensation. The wonderful fragrance seemed to fill her with strength, and childhood dreams of distant lands emerged in her memory—the ocean waves, the sound of tropical rain, the mysterious rustling in the forest, and the wild cries of monkeys swinging through the trees…
She had never witnessed any of these scenes herself, but she remembered the tales her father told during his research expeditions to South America. Whenever he was home, he shared stories of his adventures in the Amazon Valley while sipping strong coffee, and that aroma always reminded her of him—a lean, sun-tanned explorer. She had always known that her parents weren’t her biological ones.
She remembered at the onset of war when a woman, who later became her lifelong mother, found her as a three-year-old girl who had lost her family. Then, like everyone else, she went through school, education, work, marriage, the birth of a son, and now, solitude. Her son, persuaded by his wife, moved twenty years ago to live in another country, thriving with his family in the city of Brighton. In all that time, he visited only once. They kept in touch, and he sent her money monthly, but she saved it in a special account, intending it to return to him someday.
Lately, she had been reflecting on whether her life, filled with care and love, was borrowed. If not for the war, she wondered if she would have had a different family, home, and destiny. She barely remembered her real parents but often thought of a girl her age who was always by her side in those early years. They called her Mary. Sometimes, she could hear people calling them: “Mary and Doris!” Were they friends or sisters?
Her thoughts were interrupted by a short beep from her mobile phone. She looked at the screen—her pension had been deposited into her card. This was perfect timing! She could stroll to the store to buy coffee, having finished the last of it that morning. Carefully tapping her stick on the sidewalk to avoid autumn puddles, she approached the store entrance.
Outside the door was a small grey tabby cat, cautiously glancing between the passersby and the glass doors. Compassion stirred in her heart: “Poor thing must be cold and hungry… I’d take you home, but who would look after you once I’m gone? Not today, but soon enough…” Feeling sorry for the unfortunate creature, she bought a small packet of food.
She gently squeezed the jelly-like mixture into a plastic tray, and the cat waited patiently, gazing at her with loving eyes. The shop doors opened, and a stout woman stepped out; the look on her face promised nothing good. Without a word, she kicked the tray, scattering food chunks across the pavement.
“You tell them, tell them, but they don’t listen!” she barked. “Don’t feed them here!” she snapped and walked off.
The cat, glancing nervously, began to pick up food pieces, and Mrs. Doris, breathless with outrage, felt the first twinge of an impending attack. She hurried to the bus stop where there were benches to sit on. She fumbled through her pockets, hoping to find her pills, but they weren’t there.
The pain ruthlessly surged through her, as if her head was in a vise, her vision darkened, and she stifled a groan. Someone touched her shoulder. She struggled to open her eyes; a young girl looked at her with concern:
“Are you okay, ma’am? How can I help?”
“In the bag,” Mrs. Doris weakly gestured. “There’s a pack of coffee. Open it.”
She inhaled the roasted beans’ aroma once, twice. The pain didn’t vanish completely but lessened.
“Thank you, dear,” Mrs. Doris said feebly.
“I’m Pauline,” the girl smiled. “But thank the cat. She was right beside you, meowing loudly!”
“Thank you too, sweetheart,” Mrs. Doris said, stroking the tabby cat sitting beside her on the bench.
“What happened to you?” the girl asked with concern.
“A migraine, dear. Too much stress, it happens…”
“I’ll walk you home; it’ll be difficult for you to go alone…”
“…My grandma has migraines too,” Pauline shared over a weak coffee with milk and cookies in Mrs. Doris’ flat. “Well, she’s technically my great-grandmother, but I call her ‘grandma.’ She lives in a village with my gran, mum, and dad. I’m studying here at medical college to be a paramedic. Grandma calls me ‘darling’, just like you do. And you look so much like her that I thought you were her at first! Have you ever tried finding your real relatives?”
“Oh, Pauline, dear, how could I? I barely remember them. I don’t remember my last name or where I’m from,” Mrs. Doris said, gently stroking the cat on her lap. “I remember the bombings when we were traveling by wagon, then the tanks… I ran and ran until I couldn’t remember a thing! It was awful, truly frightful! Afterward, a woman found me. I called her ‘mom’ all my life, and even now, she’s my mum. After the war, her husband came home and became the best dad ever! The only thing left of mine is my name. And as for my original family, they most likely perished in that bombing, my mum and little Mary…”
Mrs. Doris didn’t notice as Pauline’s eyes widened, and she looked at her with wide blue eyes:
“Mrs. Doris, do you have a birthmark on your right shoulder, shaped like a leaf?”
Mrs. Doris was taken aback, causing her to cough on her coffee, and the cat looked at her intently.
“How do you know that, dear?”
“My grandma has the same one,” Pauline quietly replied. “Her name is Mary. She still can’t hold back tears when she remembers her twin sister, Doris. Doris vanished during a bombing, during the evacuation. When the road was cut off by the enemy, they had to turn back home and lived through the occupation there. But Doris was gone. They never found her, despite all efforts…”
That morning, Mrs. Doris couldn’t sit still, wandering from window to door, waiting for her visitors. The grey tabby cat stayed close by her, watching her face with concern.
“Don’t worry, Margo, I’m alright,” she reassured the cat. “Just feeling a bit nervous…”
Finally, the doorbell rang. Mrs. Doris, her heart racing, opened the door.
Two elderly women stood in silence, eyes filled with hope, seeing themselves reflected in each other—the blue, unclouded eyes, the silver curls, the lines of sorrow at the corners of their mouths.
Finally, the guest sighed with relief, smiled, stepped forward, and embraced the hostess:
“Hello, Doris!”
And on the doorstep, wiping tears of happiness, were their newly found family members…
