12December2025 Diary
I still hear the harsh words echoing through the aisles of the supermarket: How can you sink so low? Dear, arent you ashamed? Your hands and feet are soundwhy arent you working? The strangers voice cut through the hum of the shop, aimed at a ragclad woman clutching a baby.
Today I walked slowly along the rows of the huge Sainsburys on Oxford Street, studying the bright packets stacked on the shelves. I come here every day, as if it were my job. I dont need a lot of food for a large familybecause I have none. So each evening I escape the quiet of my flat and wander into this bright, bustling hall.
When the weather is warm, the days are easier; I can sit on a bench with the other women from my block and share a cuppa. In winter, theres no choice, and I have grown to love my regular trips to the supermarket.
The place is full of people, the scent of freshly brewed coffee, soft background music. The colourful packages look almost like childrens toys, bright enough to lift a weary spirit. I lifted a jar of strawberry yoghurt, squinting to read the label, then put it back. Such a treat is beyond my means, but a quick glance costs nothing.
Looking at the abundance of goods, memories of the past surged forward. I recalled long queues at the shop, where cashiers fought for the few scarce items, like cats prowling for a morsel. I thought of the thick grey paper bags they used to bundle purchases.
A smile crept onto my face as I remembered how I once raised my daughter, Emily. To make her happy, I would stand in any line, no matter how long. The thought of her quickens my heart. I paused in front of the freezer section, leaning heavily on it, and the image of Emilys laughing face appeared her wild red curls, the big grey eyes, the sprinkle of freckles across her nose, the dimpled cheeks.
She was so beautiful, I whispered to myself, a pang of sadness in my voice.
Under the watchful eye of a shop assistant, I moved to the bakery aisle. Emily had been my only joy. She grew into an intelligent girl, but when she realised a conventional job would not bring her happiness, she turned to surrogacy. I warned her that the path would not lead to good, yet she went ahead. At twenty, who listens to mothers? If only a caring father had been there, things might have turned out differently. How could those unscrupulous men have involved an inexperienced girl in such a scheme?
Emily laughed, rubbing her growing belly, while I shook my head in grief. How could one give away a child that had lived nine months inside you? Yet Emily brushed it off: Its just money, not a baby.
The birth was difficult, and they could not save Emily. Within three days of the babys arrival, the child slipped away. The newborn was given to the adoptive parents, and I received not a penny. They dealt with Emily, not with me.
I buried my daughter and was left alone. No relatives, just a hollow that I would not dare to climb out offar easier that way.
Now I was heading to the bread aisle, determined to buy something, to prove I wasnt merely strolling. I felt a few pennies in my pocket and walked to the till. That was enough for today; I could go home. I counted the amount, handed it to the cashier, and tucked the remainder into my fist.
Two weeks ago, on the second day after the supermarket reopened, I noticed a young beggar girl near the entrance, as fresh as a daisy. She was on her first outing, studying everything around her. What drew the old womans eye to her? Perhaps the girls youthful look, or the tragic stillness of her pose, or the way she clutched a baby tightly.
How can you fall so low? I thought, as I approached the familiar figure. I placed a small jar of coins on the counter beside her and said, Dear, arent you ashamed? Your limbs are wholewhy arent you working? You still have the chance to earn.
She winced as a few shoppers hurried past, unable to stop because an elderly woman blocked the path.
Thanks for the coin, but please go on your way. I need to collect more or Ill be in trouble.
She shook her head sadly and moved away, not wishing to be a nuisance or preach. She tried to help, but nobody caredneither police nor social services. People have become so accustomed to beggars that they look right through them.
All the way home, I could not shake the image of the poor woman with a child. Her grey eyes and youthful voice sounded oddly familiar, as if I had heard them somewhere before. I strained my memory.
I closed the front door, slipped off my warm slippers, turned on the light, and carried the loaf of bread to the kitchen. Fifteen minutes later I was sipping hot tea from my favourite mug, nibbling a slice of crusty bread with a thin slice of ham.
How hungry she must be, I thought, in this bitter cold! What a cruel life.
I glanced out the window, hoping to catch a glimpse of the young woman, but froze in terror. Two roughlooking men shoved her into a car. My heart raced. I reached for the phone to call the police, but stopped, fearing I might make things worse.
I looked out again; the forecourt of the shop was empty. I decided to wait until morning and went back inside. I could never make out the cars number plate from that distance.
That night I lay awake, haunted by the girl and her child. In the early dawn, I dreamed of Emily standing at the supermarket entrance, a shivering infant in her arms. The child was blue with cold, and I pressed her close, trying to warm her, but Emily said, Im not cold, Mum. I pulled the child away, lifted the corner of a warm blanket that covered her face, and saw a large pendant hanging from her neck.
The pendant with the familiar charm, I whispered, then jolted awake. My eyes fell on the wall clock opposite the bed.
Why have I slept so long? I wondered. It was already nine oclock. I rose quickly and went to the window. The girl with the baby was still where she had been, the street outside the supermarket calm.
Thank heavens, I breathed, crossing myself.
Outside, New Years Eve was coming, the frost biting hard. The child had been out for over an hour and could freeze by nightfall. I fetched more bread, hurriedly made sandwiches with ham, filled a thermos with sweet tea, and dressed warmly.
Seeing the frantic old woman, the girl covered the bruise on her temple with a warm scarf.
Dont worry, love, I said, handing her food. I dont want you to starve.
She smiled with her eyes and took the sandwiches, sitting a little way off on a bench. She ate greedily, barely chewing, coughing as she swallowed. She kept watching the baby, who wailed in strangers arms, and hurriedly finished the last bite, washing it down with tea. She brushed crumbs from her coat and rushed back to me.
Thank you, well manage until seven, then theyll take us, she whispered.
Throughout the afternoon I kept glancing at the thermometer outside; the chill deepened. By five in the evening I ladled some soup into a jar and headed back to the supermarket for more provisions. Passing the young woman, I placed a jar of food beside her, slipped a few pennies into her pocket, gave her a cheeky wink, and hurried into the warmth of the sales floor.
I wasnt staying long this time. I needed sausage and pickles for a traditional New Years salad. I could not afford a lavish feast, but I would not go hungry. When I left the shop, the beggar girl was gone, and my soup jar was missing too. She must have found something to eat, I thought, smiling, and made my way home.
Now I will slice the snacks, put the carp in the oven, and set the table. Perhaps one of the older neighbours will stop by.
It was almost ten when I looked out again, wanting to be sure the girl had been taken home to warmth. The street lights twinkled, casting a festive glow over the shopping centre. On a bench under a bright lantern sat a familiar figure, shoulders trembling, tears streaming down her cheeks.
I hurried downstairs in my slippers, wrapped a warm scarf around my shoulders, and burst down the stairs. I stopped beside the beggar, catching my breath, trying to calm my pounding heart.
I have nowhere else to go, she said, her voice breaking.
Hope flickered in her eyes as she clutched a small bundle. She handed me a folded cloth, which she had been holding tightly, and shuffled toward the road.
My thoughts swirled. Her intention was clear: she could not simply walk away from a happy life. I lifted her by the arm and, with a force born of desperation, pulled her toward the nearby fivestorey block.
Inside the warm room I placed the baby by the heater.
Whats your name? I asked, then stopped when I saw a little bear pendant around her neck.
She followed my gaze and said, Dont worry, thats all I have left from my mother.
The old pendant was familiar; I remembered giving a similar charm to my own late daughter, Emily, years ago when money was tight and I had sold a brooch to a jeweller. He tinkered with it, turned it into a pendant, and paid me enough for a gold chain and a modest celebration for my daughters friends at a café.
She asked, May I use the shower?
I nodded, and she slipped away, while I sipped a calming draught of valerian.
So shes a beggar her granddaughter, perhaps? I mused.
I tucked the nowfed child onto the sofa and set a seat for my guest at the modestly set table.
Alice! I called, as if by chance.
How do you know? she asked.
I waved vaguely, I heard you eating.
A cold bead of sweat formed on my brow. It was evidentI had taken in my own granddaughter. The name had been chosen for the unborn girl my daughter had once spoken of.
Alice smiled gratefully, looked at the dishes, and began to eat. I watched her closely, searching for familiar traits.
So tell me, Alice, what has happened to you? I prompted.
She spoke quickly, breathlessly, as if emptying a heart full of pain. She said she had lived with her parents until she was five, even owned a pony. Then they fought, divorced, and her mother left her at a childrens home, signing a refusal form. She could not understand why she was cast away like an unwanted toy. She spent twelve years in an orphanage before being released into adult life.
She was placed in a flat meant for an orphan, but was tricked into a condemned block. There she met Vas, a plumber. When he learned she was pregnant, he vanished. The block was cleared, and she was allowed to stay in a rundown house until she gave birth.
Her new flat was already occupied. She could not fight for herself, let alone with a child in her arms. She turned to begging at stations and the underground. Thats when Igor Grey, a man who ran a small network of the homeless, spotted her. A pretty beggar with a child can bring decent money, he thought, offering her shelter in exchange for the alms she collected.
Thus she and her son lived in a large basement of a tower block, among many other scavengerscripples, the sick, and a surprising number of theatrical beggars. They painted bruises and wounds on themselves, wore fake hunchbacks and pregnant bellies. The real actors earned the landlord good money, unlike Alice, who could not beg effectively.
Days turned into weeks. In the mornings the beggars were sent to collection points, evenings the takings were pooled. Conditions were bearable, but lately the pressure increased. They said money was low, the childs constant cries disturbed the others. Today, no one came for her; she was left to her fate.
She stared at an empty plate, Thank you, I cant imagine how we would have survived this night. She set down her fork and yawned.
Tomorrow well leave, I just need a little sleep.
She slumped back, and almost instantly fell asleep. I woke her, led her to a chair, and placed the baby beside her in a deep armchair.
I sat at the modest New Years table, smiling as the Presidents broadcast filled the room. I would not let my granddaughter and her son go anywhere tomorrow or the day after. They would stay with me. In time I would tell her who I really am, help her stand on her own feet, raise her son. For now, she could find some peace in a proper home.
When the clock struck twelve, I poured a small measure of sweet liqueur for myself and took a sip. I walked to the window, watching the street illuminated by lanterns, admiring the falling snow. I whispered, Thank you, Lord, for this unexpected blessing. Farewell, loneliness. I have a family again.
