**Diary Entry 12th October 2023**
Emily Whitmore lay in the hospital bed, staring at the ceiling. Shed had her appendix out, but then something went wronga bit of inflammation, complicationsso they kept her in. Not that she had anywhere urgent to be. She was on sick leave, so work could wait. Back in the textile factorys shared accommodation, her flatmate Lucy would be thrilled to have the room to herself, with her sweetheart Peter dropping by whenever he pleased, even staying till morning.
Emily had no sweetheart of her own. She wasnt as striking as fair-haired Lucyjust quiet, shy, perhaps too much so for a woman of twenty-six. Life hadnt quite fallen into place for her. Lucy would marry soon, and then someone else would be shoved into the room. Housing was tight at the factorythey never built enough, yet they always needed workers.
She sighed, gazing at the grey sky outside, occasionally glancing at her elderly roommate, Margaret Turner. Margaret mostly slept, but when she woke, theyd chatslow, easy conversations about their lives. Emily told her how shed ended up alone: parents gone, her older brother drinking away the family home before landing in prison for theft.
“Just me now, Auntie Margaret,” Emily murmured.
“No husband, then?” Margaret asked, studying her. “Never?”
“No, never. Like I saidjust me. One friend, but shell be married soon. Do you have family?”
“Oh, indeed!” Margaret beamed. “No blood relatives left, but my boys are always nearby. Fix things, paint, help when needed.”
And then she told a story that left Emily puzzled.
Margaret lived in a little house on the outskirts of townher parents old place. Her husband had passed years ago, and theyd never had children. But shed always longed for them, so shed taken in the neighbourhood lads.
“Id bake scones or sausage rolls, call them in. Theyd come runningfive or six of them round the table, wolfing it down. Their parents were always at the factory, working long shifts. Left to their own devices, they were.”
“And your husband didnt mind?”
“Oh, he grumbled. But theyd fetch water, chop firewoodmade his life easier. So he let it be.”
“Where are those boys now? All grown up? Do they still visit?”
“They do! Bring their own kids now. Some of the older ones still pop round. Such joy it gives me. Always keep scones ready. Theyve been here, visiting me in hospital.”
Emily vaguely remembered visitorsshed been too wrapped up in herself to notice.
“I havent got long, love,” Margaret confessed suddenly. “But there are two ladsTommy and Alfie. Not quite homeless, but close. Ones with his mum, the other with his dadboth working double shifts at the factory. Boys left to themselves.”
“You feed them?” Emily blinked.
“More than that. They do homework at mine, help out. Otherwise, the streets would claim them. Breaks my heart to think of it.”
Two days later, visitors arrivedtwo boys around ten, Tommy and Alfie, followed by their parents: a burly man with a slight limp and a woman worn thin by work and exhaustion. Emily, now able to walk, slipped out to give them privacy.
When she returned, Margaret was asleep. A bag of apples, a packet of biscuits, and a bottle of milk sat on the bedside table.
Emily watched her, wondering how shed had the strength all these years to care for other peoples children. Could she ever do the same? Then she remembered another boyreckless Danny. His parents drank so much hed sometimes sleep rough. Margaret took him in.
His father had stormed over once, shouting that she was spoiling the boy, that she shouldnt encourage him.
“But what could I do?” Margaret had sighed. “Hed turn upeat, help. Once, he fixed a shelf for me when my back was too stiff to move. Said he didnt come just for the foodhe came to help.”
She fell quiet, then murmured, “Boys feel things deeper than most grown men. Theyre not greedy, not hardened. Just lonely, left alone too much.”
Emily was nearly ready for discharge, but Margaret had stopped getting up altogether, fretting over the boys. Then another visitor arriveda smartly dressed man with a leather briefcase. Emily made to leave, but Margaret stopped her.
“Emily, this is my Williampractically raised him. Meet properly.”
Emily flushed, mumbled her name, and hurried out. William was handsomeand here she was, pale and thin after illness, hair a mess, the hospital gown hanging off her like a sack.
He stayed a long while. When he left, he hugged Margaret, then paused by Emilys bed. “Pleasure meeting you,” he said softly. “Get well soonIll visit again.”
And he was gone before she could reply.
He returned the next day, leaving juice by her bed. Margaret was asleep, so he left with tears in his eyes, asking Emily to pass on his regards.
That evening, Margaret refused supper. Emily held her hand as she whispered, “Listen closely, love. Williams a solicitor. Last visit, I had him draw up the deedsthe house is yours now. Took your passport from the drawersorry. Its not much, but its yours. Just promise me one thingdont abandon the boys.”
Emily froze.
“Promise me, Emily. Only three left nowTommy, Alfie, and Danny. They need watching, or the streets will take them, like your brother. Promise?”
Tears spilled. “I wont leave them. Ill look after them. But youyou stay with us a while longer.”
But Margaret was already asleep, a faint smile on her tired face.
William collected Emily when she was dischargedtwo days after Margarets passing. Shed wept all day. He waited by the entrance, sombre.
They buried Margaret together. Then came the legalitiesWilliam helped, and soon Emily moved into the little house, a gift she still couldnt believe.
None of the boys came at first. But William visited often. Eventually, she asked him to bring them. One evening, he didall three at once.
After that, they became regulars. Keeping her promise was hardshe worked all daybut evenings were theirs. Rainy autumn nights especially, when the streets were grim. She brought pancakes from the canteensometimes with jam, sometimes cheese. They ate, watched telly, played Monopoly, then dashed home, laughing.
Sometimes William dropped by. Hed helped her arrange the house paymentsmodest, manageable. Her gratitude warmed into something deeper, though he hadnt yet noticed.
Dannys father surprised her one daynot with anger, like hed done with Margaret, but thanks. “Just dont spoil him,” he warned, not unkindly. “Dont let him take advantage.”
And so her new life began. A home of her own, new faces around her. Lucy married her Peter; they visited once with a friend, but Emily barely noticed. Her heart was elsewhereunrequited, but hopeful.
She thought of Margaret often. Every corner of the warm little house whispered of her.
How she wished to be even half the woman Margaret had been. So she held onto her memorynot just the house shed left, but the kindness, too. A legacy Emily now longed to pass on.
*Lesson learned: Sometimes the greatest inheritance isnt property, but the chance to give others what was once given to you.*
