She Would Manage
Alfie had grown up in an orphanage, and for as long as she could remember, there had always been other children like her and the caretakers. Life had never been sweet, but she had learned to stand up for herselfand for the younger ones. She had a fierce sense of justice and couldnt bear to see the weak bullied. Sometimes she took the brunt of it herself, but she never cried. She knew she suffered for what was right.
Her name had always been Alfreda, but at the orphanage, they shortened it to Alfie. The day she turned eighteen, they sent her out into the world to fend for herself. At least she had a tradeshed trained as a cook and had been working as a kitchen assistant in a café for a few months. They gave her a room in a boarding house, but it was dreadful.
Around that time, shed started seeing Victor, who was three years older and worked at the same café as a delivery driver for a Bedford van. Before long, they were living together in his one-bedroom flat, left to him by his grandmother.
“Alfreda, come stay with me,” hed said. “That boarding house is a dumpthe lock doesnt even work properly. Needs a proper fix-up.” She agreed without hesitation.
She liked Victor because he was older, more serious. Once, they talked about children, and he shrugged.
“Cant stand the little ankle-biters. Just noise and trouble.”
“Victor!” She stared at him, shocked. “But if it happenedif it was *your* child, your own flesh and bloodhow could you say that?”
“Ah, forget it. Ive said my pieceno kids, full stop.” He waved her off.
His words stung, but she pushed the hurt aside. *If we marry, children are bound to come. Maybe hell change his mind by then.*
At the café, Alfie worked hard. Sometimes she even covered for the head cook, Valerie, when she called in sick with a headachethough everyone knew the real reason. Valerie drank too much and couldnt stop.
“If you mess up one more time, youre out,” the manager, Max, warned herthough he knew Valerie was a fine cook, and customers often praised her dishes.
“Brilliant chef youve got there, Max,” friends would say.
So Valerie clung to her job, enduring the warnings. She knew they only kept her because she could cook. And she noticed how well young Alfie managed, quick and full of heart. Even Max had started watching her more closely.
One day, Alfie overheard him talking to the floor manager.
“If Valerie skips work again, shes done. Alfredas young, but shes got the knackjust as good, if not better. Hardworking, reliable.” She missed the rest as they walked away.
*So Max has his eye on me. But I feel sorry for Valerieshes kind, just lost to the drink.* She kept the conversation to herself, not even telling Victor.
Time passed. Valerie vanished for a week, and Alfie took over. Not a single customer complainedno one even noticed the change. When Valerie finally returned, she was a wreck: shaky hands, dark circles under her eyes, barely able to lift her head.
Max walked into the kitchen.
“Valerie. My office. Now.”
He sacked her, then returned to the kitchen.
“From today, Alfreda, youre head cook. I know you can handle ityouve got talent, and room to grow.” He smiled. “Good luck.”
“Thank you,” she said, a little nervous at the responsibility.
She was thrilledthe pay was decent, and here she was, so young, already in charge. *Ill do my best. I wont let Max down.*
That evening, Victor brought home a bottle of bubbly.
“Lets toast your promotion. Well done, Alfie. Made something of yourself.” He smirked.
Theyd been together years, but hed never proposed.
Time rolled on. Alfie worked hard, and Max praised her now and then. She truly had a gift for cooking. Nearly three years with Victorhe didnt drink, spent most of his time driving, never raised a hand to her. They quarrelled, of course, but made up quickly. Still, no talk of marriage. It gnawed at her.
*Weve been together so long. Maybe if I get pregnant, hell come round. A family ought to be proper.*
She remembered his warning about children. Hed never brought it up again, but she knewno baby yet. She was just finding her feet, her job secure, her wages steady.
Then, one day, she realisedshe was expecting. The doctor confirmed it, put her on the register. Early days, but she was overjoyed.
*No family of my own, but this one will be mine. My little love.* She stroked her still-flat belly, knowing someone was there.
Victor came home, saw her glowing.
“Whats got you so cheerful?”
“Good news. Saw the doctor today. Were going to have a baby.”
His face darkened. He stared at the floor, voice flat.
“I dont want it. Get rid of it, or clear out. I wont stop you. I told youI cant stand kids. You went behind my back. Well, now youll live with it.”
He never shouted, but his tone chilled her. Hed never hidden his feelings about fatherhood. Still, shed hoped*maybe hell change when he knows its his.* She watched his lips tighten, saw him turn away. Then, coldly:
“Youre an orphan. Where will you go, pregnant and alone? Think hard. Get rid of it. Then well go on as before. Where else would you go?”
The next day, after her shift, she went home, packed her things, and left for the boarding house. Room thirty-five, the number scrawled in marker over the faded plaque. She sighed, shouldered the doorit wasnt locked.
The hinges creaked as she stepped into her new homeif you could call it that. Damp and dust greeted her. Peeling plaster, a dark stain in the corner, dead flies on the grimy windowsill.
*Well, this is cheerful.*
An iron bed hugged the wall, its mattress filthy, the blanket stained. A rickety table, a wobbly chair. A battered wardrobe with a door hanging off.
She set down her baga few clothes, some books, a couple of cups and plates. Her hand drifted to her stomach, still flat, but home to someone dear.
“Its all right. Well manage,” she whispered.
Next door, a drunk roared curses, then slammed his door. She flinched.
“Welcome home, Alfie,” she murmured.
The shared kitchen was worsea battered stove, a fridge that hummed too loud. Cockroaches scurried by the bin, perfectly at home.
Back in her room, she bolted the door. Her chest achedshe nearly cried, then swallowed it. Suddenly, she felt free. Victors words echoed:
*Where else would you go?*
Well, here. This room, hers to clean, to live in. She wasnt afraid of work. Here, she was free. A new beginning. And she wasnt alone anymorethey were two now. She went to the window, grimy glass, but shed clean it till it shone. Outside, the summer was grey and wet.
“Well manage. Well manage,” she repeated. *Because theres no other way. Because I chose this. Because I wouldnt listen to Victor. Ill keep my baby. I wont do what my parents didabandon me to the orphanage. Ive got work, I wont starve. Ive saved a bitthank God for that.*
She got to work. Found a bucket, an old blouse for a rag. Scrubbed the floors twice, the filth was so thick. When she finished, the room smelled of soap and fresh air.
“Right. Rest over. Nowblankets, pillows, towels, soap. A new lockIll ask someone to fit it. Then pots, pans…”
Life settled. Old Pete, the handyman, fixed the lock. A kind soul, always joking.
At the café, a new waiter, Timothy, started. Not his main job, but he watched Alfie closely. Everyone knew shed soon be on maternity leave.
Once, he walked her home. Out of politeness, she invited him for tea. That evening, she sensed his interestbut pushed the thought away. *Im having a baby.*
Timothy kept trying. One day, he said:
“Alfreda, marry me. Youre alone, Im alone. Got an old gran in the village, but no one here. Im fond of youlove you, really. Think of you all the time. And your little one.”
“But, Tim” She touched her belly.
“Dont say it. That babys mine too. I love kidswant a house full of them.”
She couldnt help comparing him to Victor. So differentTimothy warm, kind, working two jobs. She said yes.
When the time came, he took her to the hospital, waited till she had her son. Rushed home to paper the walls, paint, set up the crib and pram. Met her at the door with flowers.
When she stepped inside, she barely recognised the place. Timothy had outdone himselfclean, bright, balloons everywhere.
