Returning to Life
Claire hadnt visited her sons flat for a long time. She didnt want to, she couldnt. The tears had long dried up; grief had settled into a dull, relentless ache and a sense of hopelessness.
Her son, Ethan, was twentyeight. Hed never complained about his health. Hed finished university, held a steady job, went to the gym and was seeing a girl. Two months ago he went to bed and never woke up.
Claire had divorced her husband when Ethan was six and she was thirty. The reason was the usual oneinfidelity, more than once. He stopped paying child support and disappeared. Ethan grew up without a father, with help from Claires own parents. She had a few brief romances afterward, but never gathered the courage to marry again.
Claire earned a living on her own. At first she rented a tiny kiosk in a supermarket to sell glasses frames and lenses. She was an ophthalmologist. After a while she took out a loan, bought a proper premises and turned it into a respectable opticians, complete with her own consulting room. She saw patients, fitted spectacles and built a modest reputation.
Last year they bought Ethans first flat a onebedroom unit on a small block. They did a modest refurbishment. It was ready for living, but the tragedy struck before they could move in.
Dust lay everywhere. Claire grabbed a cloth, pushed the sofa aside and a mobile phone slipped out from beneath it. She couldnt locate the charger, so she plugged the phone in anyway.
Later, back at home with tears in her eyes, she scrolled through the pictures on Ethans phone: him at work, on holiday with friends, smiling with his girlfriend. She opened Viber and at the top of the chat list was a message from a man named Dean. A photo of an unfamiliar young woman with a boy was attached. The boy looked almost identical to little Ethan.
Remember when we rang in the New Year at Lenas flat back at university? She had a friend who lives opposite us. I ran into that friend with a kid the little one looks just like yours! Sent the photo for oldtimes sake.
The message had been sent a week before the accident. Ethan must have known something and never mentioned it. That was the whole story. Claire knew where Dean lived.
The next day, after work, she drove to the address Dean had given. The boy, who she later learned was called Jack, was chasing a teenager on a bicycle and begged to be let ride. Claire bent down and asked, Dont you have a bike?
The boy shook his head. A young woman, looking barely twentyone, stepped out. Her makeup was heavy and clashed with her otherwise pleasant face.
Who are you? she asked.
I think Im his grandmother, Claire replied, smiling.
Im Poppy, his mother, the girl said, extending a hand.
Claire took them to a nearby café. Jack ordered an icecream, Poppy a coffee. Over the drinks Poppy told her story. Six years ago she had left a small Yorkshire village at seventeen to train as a seamstress in a technical college. Over the New Year break, her friend Lena invited her to stay at her flat. Lenas parents were away visiting relatives.
Lenas boyfriend was Dean, who came over to celebrate the holiday with his friend Ethan. That night Poppy and Ethan got together. Ethan left his phone for contact, promising to call, but never did. When Poppy realised she was pregnant, she called Ethan herself. He was angry, shouted at her, and said that respectable women should take responsibility for contraception. He gave her money to terminate the pregnancy and told her to disappear from his life forever. She never saw him again.
Poppy dropped out of college, was evicted from the dorm with her baby, and could not return to her village her mother had died long ago, and her father and brother were both alcoholics. She now rents a small room from an elderly widow, looks after the baby while she works, and hands over almost every penny she earns. She cant afford a nursery place yet. She works for a private dumpling company, modestly paid, but it keeps a roof over their heads.
The following day Claire moved Poppy and Jack into Ethans flat. A very different chapter of her life began.
Jack was placed in a decent private nursery. Claire suddenly had new errands: buying clothes for both Poppy and Jack, cooking meals, and spending joyful time with the boy. He reminded her of Ethan in every way the look, the gestures, even the stubborn streak.
Claire took on a mentor role for Poppy. She showed her how to apply makeup tastefully, dress smartly, keep a tidy home, and cook simple dishes. In short, she taught her everything she needed to rebuild her life.
One evening they were all watching television. Jack wrapped his arms around Claire and said, Youre my favourite! In that instant Claire felt the hollow that had lived in her soul for years begin to close. Grief no longer sat on her chest like a stone. She realised she had stepped back into a normal life that still made room for happiness. All of it was possible because of that little boy, her unexpected grandson.
Two years later, Claire and Poppy walked Jack to his first day of primary school. Poppy now worked as Claires righthand in the opticians. She has a steady boyfriend who is looking for something serious, and Claire has no objections life goes on.
It seems she may soon be a married woman herself. An old, goodnatured friend has been urging her to consider it. Why not? At fiftyfour she is still attractive, independent, with a fit figure and a calm temperament.
She has learned that even after the darkest loss, opening ones heart to others can bring back the light that was thought to be lost forever. The true lesson is that love, in its many forms, is the most reliable remedy for sorrow.
