How can you sink so low? Little one, arent you ashamed? Your hands and feet are finewhy arent you working? the words rang in Margaret Hargreaves ears as she passed a ragtag mother clutching a baby.
Margaret shuffled down the aisles of the sprawling supermarket in Manchester, eyes lingering on the bright rows of packaged goods. She came here each day as if it were a job, though she bought only what she needed for herselfthere was no family to feed. In the evenings the fluorescentlit market was the only place that pulled her out of solitude.
The summer months were kinder; she could sit on a bench with other widows and chat. Winter left no choice, and Margaret had grown to love her routine trips to the new megastore.
The place buzzed with shoppers, the scent of freshly brewed coffee, soft background music, and shelves bursting with colourful packs that looked more like childrens toys than food. She lifted a pot of strawberry yoghurt, squinting at the label, then set it back. It was a luxury she could not afford, but looking at it was harmless.
As she roamed the aisles, memories flooded back. She recalled the long queues at the ration stalls, where cashiers fought like tigers over scarce items, and the thick grey paper bags they used to wrap everything. A smile tugged at her lips as she thought of raising her daughter. Margaret would stand in line for hours just to see Emilys face light up. The thought of her child made her heart pound.
She paused by the freezer, leaning heavily on the low refrigerator that held frozen fish. In her mind she saw Emilys laughing faceher wild red curls, stormgrey eyes, a sprinkle of freckles across the bridge of her nose, and the dimples that appeared when she smiled.
She was beautiful, Margaret whispered with a pang of grief.
Under the watchful eye of a shop assistant, she moved to the bakery counter. Emily had been her only joy. She had grown into a clever girl, and when she realised a regular job would never make her happy, she turned to surrogate motherhood. Margaret had warned her, but the decision only brought sorrow.
At twenty, Emily ignored her mothers pleas. If I were alive, perhaps things would be different, Margaret thought, cursing the men who had dragged a naïve girl into that world. Emily laughed, rubbing her rounded belly, while Margaret shook her head in despair. How can a mother give away a child she has carried for nine months? she wondered. Emily brushed it off, muttering, Its just good money, Mum.
The childbirth was difficult, and Emily did not survive. Three days after the birth, the baby was gone too. The child had been handed over to the parents, and Margaret received nothingher grief was all she was left with.
She buried Emily and sank deeper into isolation, as if the void would protect her from further pain.
Now she headed for the bread aisle, pocketing a few copper coins to pay for a loaf. She counted the money, handed the exact amount to the cashier, and tucked the remainder into her fist.
A week earlier, on the second day after the supermarket opened, Margaret had noticed a young beggar on the shops entrance. The girls youthful face and the way she cradled an infant caught Margarets eye. How can she fall so low? Margaret thought, approaching the familiar figure. She placed a small tin of coins in the girls hand and said, Girl, arent you ashamed? Your limbs are wholewhy arent you working? You can still earn a living.
The girl frowned, as a few shoppers hurried past, unable to stop because of the crowd.
Thank you for the penny, but I must keep moving. I need to gather more, otherwise Ill be in trouble, the girl replied.
Margaret shook her head sadly and stepped away, not wanting to be a nuisance. No one else bothered with the beggarsneither police nor social services. The public had grown so accustomed to the sight of streetlevel charity that they turned a blind eye.
All the way home, Margaret could not shake the image of the mother with the child. Their grey eyes and young voice seemed oddly familiar, as if she had heard them somewhere before.
She closed the front door, slipped off her lowcut boots, turned on the lamp, and padded into the kitchen with the loaf. Fifteen minutes later she was sipping a steaming mug of tea from her favourite mug, nibbling a slice of crusty bread with a thin slice of ham.
How hungry she must be in this cold, Margaret mused. What kind of life is this?
She looked out the window, trying to catch a glimpse of the young woman. Two roughlooking men were shoving the girl toward a car. Margarets heart raced. She reached for the phone to call the police but stopped, fearing she might make things worse.
She stepped back to the window and saw the forecourt empty. Deciding to wait until morning, she retreated inside. The cars number plate would have been impossible to read from that distance anyway.
That night Margaret lay awake, haunted by the girl and her infant. At dawn she dreamed a strange vision: Emily standing at the supermarket door, cradling a shivering child. The girl was blue from the cold, and Margaret hugged her tightly, trying to warm her, but Emily said, Im not cold, Mum. Margaret pulled the child away, lifted a warm blanket, and noticed a small pendant shaped like a bear around the girls neck.
She awoke with a start, the kitchen clock ticking above the sink. Why have I slept so long? she muttered. It was already nine oclock. She rose quickly and hurried to the window.
The girl and child were still where she had seen them, the shop entrance quiet on the right side. Thank heavens, she breathed, crossing herself.
It was New Years Eve, the frost biting the streets. The child had been standing there for over an hour and could freeze to death before night fell.
Margaret grabbed a loaf, made quick ham sandwiches, filled a thermos with sweet tea, and dressed warmly.
When she reached the girl, the young mother flinched, covering a bruise on her temple with a scarf.
Dont worry, dear, Margaret said, handing over the food. I wont let you starve.
The girls eyes lit up, and she gratefully accepted the sandwiches. She sat on a bench a short distance away, devouring the food greedily, gulping without chewing, coughing as she swallowed. She glanced anxiously at the infant, who wailed in anothers arms, and forced the last bite down, washing it with tea. She brushed crumbs from her coat and hurried back to Margaret.
Thank you, well survive until seven, then someone will take us, she said.
Margaret kept checking the thermometer on the wall; the cold deepened. By fivepm she filled a jar with soup and set off to the market for more provisions.
Passing the girl again, she left a jar of soup beside her, slipped a few coins into the girls pocket, winked, and hurried back to the warmth of the shop.
She was not going to linger this time. She bought sausage and pickled cucumbers for a modest New Years salad. She could not afford a lavish feast, but she would not go hungry. When she left the store, the beggar was gone, and the soup jar was missing. She must be eating somewhere, Margaret thought with a smile and hurried home.
She would now carve the bread, roast a carp in the oven, and set the table. Perhaps an elderly neighbour would stop by.
It was nearing ten oclock when Margaret peered out again, wanting to be sure the girl had been taken home to warmth. She watched the festive lights flickering over the centre. On a bench under a bright lantern sat a familiar figure, shoulders trembling as she wept bitterly.
Margaret rushed through her flat. Two hours later the celebration would begin, yet a person still shivered outside. She threw a warm scarf over her shoulders, slipped on her house slippers, and descended the stairs. She stopped beside the girl, breathing heavily, and tried to calm her pounding heart.
I have nowhere else to go, the girl whispered, her voice cracked with sorrow.
Hope flickered in her eyes as she clutched a small bundle and pressed it into Margarets hands, then shuffled toward the road.
Margarets mind swirled. The young womans intention was clear: she could not walk away from a happy life. She pulled herself up with effort, chased after the girl, caught up, and seized her arm.
Come with me! she cried, pointing toward a nearby fivestorey block, and guided the girl inside.
In the warm room Margaret placed the infant beside a heater.
Whats your name? she asked, then stopped when she saw a tiny bear pendant around the girls neck.
The girl followed Margarets gaze and said, Dont worry, its all I have left from my mother.
Margaret recognised the medallion instantlyit was the one she had given to Emily years ago when money was tight. She had sold a beautiful brooch to a jeweller, who turned it into a pendant, and used the proceeds to buy a modest gold chain and a small celebration for her daughter in a café.
The girl, now shivering, asked, May I use the shower?
With a nod, Margaret watched her disappear into the bathroom while she sipped a calming herbal tea.
So shes a beggar her granddaughter? That cant be, Margaret thought, bewildered.
She tucked the fed infant onto the sofa and invited the girl to sit at the modestly set table.
Alison! Margaret called, as if by accident.
How do you know my name? the girl asked, bewildered.
Margaret shrugged, I suppose I heard you eating.
A cold sweat formed on Margarets forehead. There was no doubt nowshe had taken in her own granddaughter. The name Alison had been chosen long ago for the child Emily had never known.
Alison smiled with gratitude, glanced at the dishes, and began to eat.
Margaret studied her, looking for familiar features.
So, Alison, what happened to you? she asked gently.
Alison spoke quickly, words tumbling as if releasing a dam of pain. She told of a childhood with a father and mother, a pony, then a bitter divorce. Her mother had left her at a childrens home one day, refusing to take her back. Twelve years passed in a care home before she was released into adulthood.
She was placed in a flat meant for orphans, but it turned out to be a condemned building slated for demolition. There she met Vasily, a plumber, who disappeared when he learned she was pregnant. She was forced to stay in a shabby house until the birth, only to find the new flat already occupied.
Alison could not fight for herself with a child in her arms, so she roamed stations, begging in the underground. Thats when Igor Grey spotted her, a man who ran a network of homeless shelters. A pretty beggar with a baby could bring in decent money, he thought, offering her accommodation in exchange for collected alms.
Thus she and her son lived in a large basement of a tower block, among many others like herselfcrippled, ill, and theatrical beggars who painted bruises and fake pregnancies to earn more. The theatrical ones made the landlord rich; Alison, who could not beg convincingly, earned little.
Days blended into nights. In the mornings, the beggars were shuffled to different spots; in the evenings, the takings were counted. Conditions were tolerable, but recently pressure increased. They complained about lack of money and that Alisons crying baby disturbed everyone.
Today, no one came for her; she was left to fend for herself. She stared at an almost empty plate.
Thank you, I dont know how we would have survived the night, she said, placing her fork down and yawning.
In the morning well leave, no doubt. I just need a little sleep, she added, collapsing onto her chair and drifting off.
Margaret woke her, laid her down on a comfortable armchair, and placed the baby beside her.
The old woman sat at the New Years table, listening to the prime ministers speech on television. She would not let her granddaughter and grandson go anywhere soon; they would stay with her. In time she would tell them who she really was, help Alison stand on her own feet, and raise the boy properly. For now, they could find some peace and a roof over their heads.
As the clock struck twelve, Margaret poured herself a small nip of sweet brandy, raised it, and took a sip.
She moved to the window, watching the street illuminated by lanterns, snowflakes drifting down. Thank you, Lord, for this unexpected blessing, she thought. Goodbye, loneliness. At last I have a family again. The nights chill faded, leaving a warm reminder that compassion can rebuild a broken life.
