Margaret dried her damp hands and, wincing from the ache in her back, shuffled to answer the door. The chime had been gentle, but persistentthis was the third ring. Shed been polishing the windows and hadnt made it to the hallway straight away. On the step stood a young woman, delicate but wan, with weary eyes.
Margaret, they told me you might have a room to let?
Good heavens, those nosy neighbours! I dont let rooms, never have.
But I heard youve got three bedrooms.
What of it? Since when does that mean I must rent them out? I like my peace and quiet.
Oh Im sorry. They said you were kind, and I thought
The girls eyes welled up as she turned, shoulders shaking, and began trudging down the path.
Wait, dear! I havent said no! Young people these days, so quick to despair. Come in, lets talk. Whats your name? Shall we drop the formalities?
Charlotte.
Charlotte, eh? Bet your father was a scholar or a headmaster, hm?
I never knew him. Grew up in a childrens home. No mother either. Kind souls found me on a church step and took me to the constables. I wasnt even a month old.
Right, no need to fret. Lets have a cuppa. Hungry?
No, I bought a scone earlier.
A scone! Lord help me, you youngsters live on crumbs. By thirty, youll have ulcers. Sit downtheres fresh leek and potato soup. Ill put the kettle on. Plenty of jam too. My Reg passed five years back, but old habits die hardI still stock up for two. Eat first, then you can help me with the windows.
Margaret, could I do something else? Im lightheadedafraid I might topple off the sill. Im expecting.
Blimey! Just what I neededa mother-to-be. Ive got principles, mind. Did you land yourself in trouble?
Must you assume the worst? Im married. James was at the same home. Hes been called upcame home on leave recently. My landlady found out and gave me notice. Ive a week to find somewhere. We lived just round the corner, but well, you see how it is.
Aye I see. What am I to do with you, then? Shift my bed to the spare room? Fine, take mine. And dont you dare offer rentIll be cross. Fetch your things.
Wont take long. All mine and Jamess bits are in a holdall by the gate. The weeks up, and Ive been traipsing about since dawn.
So they became two. Charlotte was studying fashion design. Margaret had been on disability since a railway collision years ago, so she busied herself at home, knitting lace trims and baby mittens to sell at the village fête. Her work was gossamer-light, like froth on a wave, and sold well. Money wasnt tight, especially with the veg patchs yield. Saturdays were for gardening; Sundays, Margaret went to Mass while Charlotte stayed home, rereading Jamess letters. She seldom joinedstill unaccustomed. She often complained of backaches and dizzy spells.
One Saturday, after barely an hour among the cabbages, Charlotte wilted, and Margaret sent her inside to rest with their old gramophone records. Later, as Margaret burned garden refuse, lost in the flames, Charlottes cry pierced the air: Mum! Mum, hurry! Heart pounding, Margaret bolted inside, aches forgotten. Charlotte clutched her belly, weeping. A neighbour helped bundle her into a rattling Morris Minor, and they sped to hospital. Charlotte whimpered, Mum, it hurts! Its too soonIm due mid-July. Pray for me, you know how! Margarets tears fell as she whispered prayers.
After admission, Margaret returned home, praying all night to St. Anne for the babes safety. At dawn, she rang the hospital.
Your girls fine. Asked for you and James, cried a bit, then slept. Doctor says the dangers passed, but shell stay a fortnighthaemoglobins low. Feed her up when shes home.
Upon discharge, they talked till the small hours. Charlotte spoke of James.
Hes not just another orphan. We grew up together, sweethearts since school. He looks after me. Its more than love. See how often he writes? Want his photo? Heresecond from right, grinning.
Handsome Margaret fibbed. Her spectacles were long overdue for stronger lenses, and the lads in the photo were mere smudges. Charlotte, whyd you call me mum earlier?
Ohjust fright. Habit from the home. Everyone was mum or dad there. Ive nearly kicked it, except when scared. Sorry.
I see Margaret sighed, oddly deflated.
Margaret, tell me about you. Why no photos of Reg or children? Youve none, right?
Had a son. Lost him as a babe. After the accident, no more. Reg was my world, like your James. Once he was gone, I boxed the pictures. Too painful, even if hes with the Lord. Tears dont help himprayers do. But ask James for a proper photoIve frames somewhere.
Come Christmas Eve, they decked the halls, awaiting the first star. Charlotte fidgeted, rubbing her back.
Youre miles away, love. Whats the matter?
Call an ambulance. Its time.
What? A week early!
Miscalculated. PleaseI cant bear it.
By midnight, Charlotte was in hospital. On Christmas Day, she bore a bonny girl. Margaret wired James the glad tidings.
January was a whirlwind. Baby Annie (named with Margarets tearful blessing) brought joy and sleepless nights. Even Margarets aches seemed lighter.
One unseasonably mild day, Margaret returned from errands to find Charlotte pushing the pram. Well walk a bit longer, all right?
Of course. Ill start lunch.
Inside, Margaret froze. On the sideboard stood a framed photo of Reg. She chuckled. Found it, did she? Picked his youngest lookyoung folk always do.
As soup simmered, Charlotte returned, a neighbours boy hauling the pram. They hushed about the sleeping babe, tiptoeing in.
Charlotte, Margaret smiled, howd you find Regs pictures?
What? You asked for Jamess photo. He had this taken specially. I used that frame from the shelf.
Margarets hands shook as she lifted it. Not Rega young corporal grinned back. She went pale, staring blankly. Charlotte, panic-stricken, waved smelling salts.
Mum, look at me! Whats wrong?
Open the wardrobetop shelf. Bring every photo.
Charlotte fetched albums. One held James?
Whos this? James? No, its too old
Thats Reg. Charlotte, where was James born?
Dont know. He came to the home from Manchester after a train crash. They said his parents died.
Oh, what cruelty! They showed me a bodyI knew the shirt, but his face My boy, William! Youre alive! Your wife and child are here, and I never knew. Charlotte, pass me that photo.
Dazed, Charlotte obeyed. Margaret kissed it, weeping. William, my darling boy!
James, Charlotte whispered.
Call him what you likethis is my son! Look at Regs picturetheyre twins!
Charlotte hesitated. Margaret does he have a birthmark? A star above the right elbow? Thats all I had after the crashage and shirt. His arm was hurtI couldnt check.
He does. A star. Oh, Mum he does.
They clung together, weeping, as baby Annies cries from the nursery went unheard.
