The story has lingered in my memory ever since those longago days in London, when the citys twilight glittered through the floortoceiling windows of the office on the Thames. I still recall the night when I, George, was called by my wife, Ethel, her voice trembling with urgency.
George, did you pick Arthur up from the nursery? she asked, breathless.
Me? Nowhy would I? I replied, puzzled.
Who else could you be, George? I warned you this morning that Id be delayed. I have a project to finish on Friday; I cant let anyone down.
Ive got a painter on hold, waiting for a tradesman You said youd be late, not that youd fetch the boy. I tried to explain.
You dont understand, George, Ethel snapped, and the line went dead.
Outside, the city lights flickered like firefliessome steady, some flashing out. I ran a hand through my hair, shook my head and the clock on the wall read 6:55p.m. It was the fifth time this month that a parent had missed the nurserys closing bell.
I dialed a familiar number. Good evening, Samuel Whitaker, I said. Traffics a nightmare, but Im on my way. Everythings a blur.
Dont worry, Ethel. Ill collect Arthur now, answered a voice on the other end.
Samuel Whitaker was a distant relative who lived alone in a modest onebed flat above a nursery on the same street where my sons new school was located. A year earlier, when Arthur was placed in a centre far from our home, I remembered Samuel, who had spent five years retired as a caretaker at the very same nursery. He gladly offered his help, and soon Arthur was attending a school just around the corner. The first time I was stuck in a jam, I thought of asking Samuel again. And again. And once more.
Samuel, who rarely visited the nursery these days, welcomed the chance to be useful. He loved being around children, and Arthur, a gentle, smiling lad, made the visits pleasant for him.
The familiar gate creaked cheerfully as Samuel hurried inside, opening the front door and then the second. The smell of something cooking drifted from the kitchen, and a sleepy guard sat at a desk, his computer humming.
Whitaker, youre late again, the guard called out.
Dont be cross, Jack, Samuel replied with a grin.
Samuel never took his eyes off Arthur, who perched on a tiny sofa, watching the clock on the wall.
The left gloves here, the right ones missing I think I left the mittens on the radiator, Arthur muttered.
Next time, get ready earlier, Samuel chided gently.
Hello, old chap, Arthur greeted.
Hello, Arthur, Samuel said, patting the boys head. Grab your hat; well go. The mittens are ready. Off you go, Jack.
Samuel led Arthur out. The boys small hand was warm in his, a reminder of how long hed been waiting.
The guard let you out early again? Samuel asked.
The caretaker had to dash to the dentist, so she left early, Arthur explained.
What was the highlight today? Samuel asked.
We made a snowman out of playdough, Arthur giggled. I never understood why we didnt make Father Christmas or the Snow Queen of Winter, given its a New Year theme.
Little things help develop fine motor skills, Samuel smiled. Rolling a ball isnt that easy.
Moms late again, Arthur sighed, looking down.
Shes stuck in traffic, she called. Shell be here soon, Samuel reassured him.
Arthur tightened his grip on Samuels hand, comforted.
Often, when the weather allowed, they waited for the parents on the playground, but more often they retreated to Samuels flat, where Arthur examined odd curiosities, asking what they were for and marveling at being allowed to touch themsomething forbidden at home.
The commute from my office to the nursery took thirty to forty minutes, but the evenings were always clogged with traffic, and Ethel was habitually delayed. That night she didnt arrive until eight.
I feel terrible, Samuel, she said when she finally reached his door.
No trouble at all. We played, had a cup of tea, he replied.
Ethel hurried to dress Arthur.
Dad, I can do it myself, he protested.
Were in a rush, Arthur, she said, tugging him a little too firmly. He huffed and stamped his feet but endured.
Back at home, Ethelthe house was empty of the boy, who lingered in the hallway. Her husband was still not there.
Hungry? she asked Arthur.
No, he said. I had my dinner at the nursery and tea with granddad.
Hes not my granddad! Ethel snapped, a note of irritation in her tone. You have grandfathers Sam and Victor, but they live far away.
And where are they? Why cant they come? Arthur asked, not yet grasping the sting behind his mothers outburst.
He covered his ears as Ethel raised her voice, then retreated to his room.
When I came home, the nights tension spilled over. Ethel unleashed a flood of pentup frustration on me.
Theres no need to shout. I heard you at seven, clear as day. No problemIll pick up Arthur when you cant, just tell me beforehand. And if work stresses you so much, perhaps you could quit and stay at home?
Sure, youll have enough clients for a month, make some money, and the next two months well survive on pasta because its offseason, I muttered.
Weve been getting by for two years.
Yes, Ethel. I spent the child benefit not on the boy but on food.
The conversation grew heated. Arthur slipped into the kitchen, sensed the tension, and retreated to his room unnoticed.
You want me to abandon the garage and take on the housework? he asked.
Maybe, I said.
Im not ready. This project is my dream, after all, I added.
Ethel turned away from the window. I sighed, realizing dinner was off, and moved to the living room.
Dad, look what my little car can do, Arthur shouted.
Yes, yes, I answered without looking up from my phone.
The next morning, Ethel returned from work very late. I peeked out of the door, greeted her, but a hiss sounded from the kitchen and I slipped back inside.
Did you feed Arthur? Is he asleep?
I turned, skillet in hand, and stared at Ethel with a frightened look.
You were supposed to collect him from the nursery.
She tightened, then forced a smile. Youre joking? Where could he be?
Ethel, Im serious. Arthur isnt home.
She rushed to the bag left in the hallway, grabbed her phone, and called Samuel.
Arthurs with me, hes asleep. Youre late again, Samuel replied.
Im running, wake him up, let him get dressed, Ethel said.
She didnt wait for the lift; she sprinted up three flights of stairs. Samuel opened his flat door immediately; Arthur and Samuel were already waiting.
Thank you so much, Samuel, Ethel breathed.
No problem, just give me a headsup next time. The guard even called me earlier; he has my number now.
The ride home was silent. Ethel paused often, as if she wanted to speak to her son, then quickly took his hand and they walked on.
Ill be staying at Samuels for the rest of the week, and youll pick me up on weekends, she announced.
What are you saying, love? We adore you, I replied.
If you love us, why dont you pick us up on time? Im embarrassed in front of the teacher, and the guard is practically my friend.
I promise it wont happen again. Tomorrow I hand in my project, and I wont be late.
Really?
Really.
On Friday, I did hand in the project and, for the first time in weeks, collected Arthur early. The tension eased, and the small troubles faded.
The festive rush of the New Year brought the family closer. We spent more time together, and those days seemed the happiest of all. Arthur laughed louder than ever, we rode our little pushcarts down the lane, and I held Ethel close, kissed her, then tossed Arthur into the air in a playful hug. It was sheer joy.
Soon the ordinary workweek returned. Arthur went back to the nursery.
I have to travel to another town on Wednesday, return Friday. Weekends at home, George announced over dinner.
Next week? Ethel asked.
No, the following week. Its Wednesday today.
Right, Ethel said, spoon halfway to her mouth, then stopped. Wait, I have a weeklong assignment starting Monday.
Then cancel it. Im driving, I cant shift the trip.
Its not my call. Tickets are booked, no one can rearrange it for me.
Call your mother, have her look after Arthur.
My mother? She cant, her own mother is ill.
My mother works; she cant get a week off, shes a doctor.
I slammed my fork down and stood.
Where were you on your last assignment?
What, you? Ethel snapped.
The next day, after picking Arthur from the nursery, I went to Samuels flat.
Were in a bind, I said.
I understand. No problem.
Ill buy groceries on Sunday or leave some cash.
No need for money, Ethel. I have everything. I was just thinking the garden seasons coming, and my old car The Swallow is in the shop. Maybe you could help?
Of course, Samuel, dont worry.
Arthur gave a mysterious grin, and Samuel winked conspiratorially. The two of them already had plans for the coming weeks. Samuel pulled out a dusty box from his cupboard, filled with old, treasured items that he and the boy would soon sort through.
A month later Samuel reminded me that Id promised to help with the cars repair.
Sure, sure, George will call when hes free, he said.
February and March slipped by. Samuel could have fixed the car himself if not for his sore back, and he needed a willing hand. His garage lacked a proper lift, but he still needed somewhere to park his beloved Swallow, so he waited patiently.
In early April, when Samuel once again collected Arthur from the nursery, his the next moment his father arrived.
I remember, Samuel, youre swamped at work again.
Take your time, I just need to finish before the garden season. I usually take seedlings to the cottage for May holidays.
Well manage, George waved.
Spring lingered that year, stuck somewhere in the south, reluctant to rush to the Ural hills. Samuel, never hearing back from me, hired a van and moved all his tools and seedlings to his country plot. He preferred fresh air to the stale, smoggy city. From May to September, weather permitting, he spent his days planting, harvesting, and recharging like a battery for the coming autumn and winter.
The last day of spring arrived with a sudden downpour. Rain fell in bursts, then held steady, turning streets into mirrors. Puddles spread across roads and pavements, and the citys traffic ground to a halt.
Ethel glanced at her watch, then the window. She had left work on time and boarded a bus, but an hour later she had covered only half the distance.
Samuel Whitaker, hello. Im stuck in trafficcould you pick up Arthur? she called.
Good evening, Ethel. Im at the cottage. I cant help today. I left in early May and wont be back until September. My cars not roadworthy, so Im not mobile, even if its urgent.
I understand, thank you.
If you like, bring Arthur to the cottage. Id be happy to look after him for a week or two.
Thank you, well think about it. She slipped the phone into her pocket, asked the driver to drop her off, and braved the heavy rain to walk to the nursery.
Samuel pulled aside the curtains, looking down at the flooded playground. The asphalt was a glassy sheet, small islands of dry ground peeking through. Adults hurried, shoulders hunched, while children deliberately stepped into the deeper puddles.
He wanted to dash out, to the sofa where a guard sat with Arthur, but he stayed by the window, waiting for the gate to open. When Ethel finally appeared, his earlier impulse seemed foolish, almost childlike. Yet, if the situation repeated, he would act the same way again.
