How can you sink so low? My dear, arent you ashamed? Your hands and feet are fine, why arent you working? the words were flung at a beggar woman with a child.
Margaret Hughes shuffled down the aisles of the massive Sainsburys on Oxford Street, eyes lingering on the brightly coloured packets that lined the shelves. She visited the store each day as if it were a job. She didnt need much to feed a large familyshe had none. So the lonely old woman fled her solitude each evening for the lightfilled shop floor.
In summer the weather eased her burden; she could sit on a bench with neighbours and chat. Winter left her no choice, and Margaret grew to love her trips to the new supermarket.
The place thrummed with shoppers, the scent of fresh coffee, soft music in the background. The products, wrapped in vivid designs that resembled childrens toys, lifted her spirits and coaxed a smile.
She lifted a pot of strawberry yoghurt, squinting to read the label, then placed it back. The yogurt was beyond her means, but looking was free.
Scanning the abundance, memories of the past flooded back.
She recalled long queues at the ration counters, where shopgirls, fierce as cats, fought over scarce goods. She remembered the thick grey paper bags that once held their purchases.
A smile crept over her face as she thought of her daughter. To please her, Margaret would stand in any line. The thought of her child quickened her heartbeat. She paused beside a low freezer of frozen fish and leaned heavily on it.
The image of her daughter, Lily, with a tumble of copper curls, stormgrey eyes, a sprinkle of freckles across her nose and cheek dimples, flashed in her mind.
What a beautiful girl, Margaret thought sadly.
Under the disapproving gaze of a shop assistant, she moved toward the bakery counter.
Lily had been Margarets only joy. She had grown into a clever girl. When she realised a job would not bring her happiness, she turned to surrogacy, just as Margaret had warned her it would not lead to good.
At twenty, who listens to their mother? If a living father had been there, things might have been different. Yet the unscrupulous men had dragged an inexperienced girl into the scheme.
Lily laughed, rubbing her rounded belly. Her mother shook her head in grief. How could she give up a child that had been in her womb for nine months?
Lily brushed it off: Its not a child, its good money.
Then came a difficult birth, and Lily could not be saved. After three days the baby died. The newborn was handed to the parents. Margaret received not a pennyher involvement was overlooked, the contract was with Lily, not her.
Margaret buried her daughter and was left alone. No relatives remained; she sank into an emptiness that felt easier than trying to climb out.
Now she headed to the bread aisle, intent on buying something simple, a reminder that she was not merely wandering. She felt a few small coins in her pocket and walked to the till. Todays entertainment was over; she could go home. She counted the amount she needed, handed it to the cashier, and kept the rest clenched in her fist.
Two weeks after the supermarket opened, Margaret had first noticed the young beggar on the second floor, almost a month ago. Back then she had been on her inaugural stroll, taking in everything. What had drawn the old womans attention? Perhaps the girls youthful appearance, or the tragic stillness of her pose, or the way she cradled the infant tightly.
How can you sink so low? Margaret thought, drawing near the familiar figure. She set a small tin of change on the counter and addressed the girl: My dear, arent you ashamed? Your hands and feet are fine, why arent you working? You still can.
The old woman grimaced as a few passersby hurried past, unable to stop because an elderly lady blocked the aisle.
Thank you for the penny, but please go on your way. I need to gather more, otherwise Ill be in trouble, the girl replied.
Margaret shook her head sadly and moved away, not wanting to be a nuisance or lecture. She had decided to help, and she did it quietly. No one seemed to careneither police nor social services. The begging had become so commonplace that it attracted no attention.
All the way home, Margaret could not shake the image of the beggar and her child. Their grey eyes and young voice seemed oddly familiar, as if she had heard them somewhere before. She strained to remember.
She closed the front door, slipped off her modest warm boots, turned on the lights, and carried the loaf to the kitchen. Fifteen minutes later she was sipping hot sweet tea from her favourite mug, nibbling a slice of wholemeal bread with a thin slice of ham.
How hungry she must be, the old woman thought. On this cold night! What a cruel life.
She looked out the window, trying to spot the young woman, and froze in terror. Two roughlooking men were shoving the girl into a car.
Margarets heart raced. She reached for the phone to call the police, then stopped, fearing she might only make things worse.
She walked to the window and saw that the forecourt of the shop was empty. Deciding to wait until morning, she returned inside. From her distance she could not make out the licence plate.
She spent a restless night thinking of the girl and the child. At dawn she dreamed a strange vision. She saw Lily standing at the supermarket door, a baby in her arms, the child blue with cold. Margaret pressed her close, trying to warm her, but Lily did not react.
Im not cold, Mum, the baby said.
Margaret lifted the child, brushed away a corner of a warm blanket covering the babys face, and saw a large pendant on a necklace.
A familiar pendant, she muttered, startled awake. Her gaze fell on the wall clock opposite her.
Why have I slept so long? she wondered. It was already nine oclock. She rose quickly and approached the window.
The girl with the child was still where she had been. To the right of the shop entrance everything looked normal.
Thank heavens, Margaret exhaled, crossing herself.
Outside it was New Years Eve, a biting frost hanging in the air. The girl had been out for more than an hour; she could freeze before nightfall.
Margaret fetched a loaf, made quick ham sandwiches, poured sweet tea into a thermos, and dressed warmly.
Seeing Margaret approach, the girl flinched, covering a bruised temple with a warm scarf.
Dont worry, love, Margaret said, handing over the food. I dont want you to starve.
The girl smiled with her eyes and accepted the sandwiches. She sat on a bench a short distance away, devouring the food greedily, swallowing with barely a chew, coughing as she ate. She watched the child wailing in anothers arms, then hurriedly gulped the last bite, washing it down with tea. She brushed crumbs from her coat and hurried back to the elderly woman.
Thank you, well manage until seven, then theyll collect us, she said.
The rest of the day Margaret kept peeking out the window at the thermometer on the wall; the frost grew stronger.
By five in the evening she ladled a pot of soup and set off for the supermarket again.
Passing the young woman, she placed a tin of soup beside her, slipped a few coins into her pocket, gave a mysterious wink, and hurried back into the warm aisles.
She was not staying long; she needed sausage and pickles for the traditional New Years salad. She could not afford a lavish feast, but she could avoid hunger. When she left the store, the beggar was gone, and the soup tin had vanished. She must be eating somewhere, Margaret thought, smiling, and hurried home.
Now she would slice the snacks, put the carp in the oven, and set the table. Perhaps an elderly neighbour would drop by.
It was nearing ten when Margaret glanced out again, wanting to be sure the girl had been taken home to warmth.
She scanned the festive lights twinkling above the shopping centre. On a bench under a bright lantern sat a familiar silhouette, shoulders trembling as she wept bitterly.
Margaret rushed about the house. In two hours the celebration would begin, yet someone was still out in the cold. She pulled a warm scarf over her shoulders, slipped on her slippers, and hurried down the stairs. She paused beside the beggar, breathing heavily, trying to calm her racing heart, and sank next to her.
I have nowhere else to go, she said, her voice trembling.
Hope flickered in the girls eyes as she clutched a small bundle and whispered, Please look after him.
Margarets mind cleared. The young womans intention was plain: she would not abandon a happy life. She rose with effort, chased after the girl, caught up, and turned her around.
What are you up to? Follow me! Margaret shouted, pointing toward a fivestorey block nearby, grasping the girls hand and pulling her along.
In the warm room Margaret placed the child beside a turnedon heater.
Whats your name? she asked, but stopped when she saw a bearshaped pendant around the girls neck.
The girl followed Margarets gaze and said, Dont worry, its all I have left from my mother.
The old woman stared at the pendant, recognizing it as the one she had given to Lily years ago. When Margaret was sixteen and short of money, she had taken a beautiful brooch to a jeweller, who, after much hesitation, turned it into a pendant. He paid her for the brooch, and the money bought a gold chain and a modest dinner for Lilys friends in a café.
The girl slipped off her coat and asked, May I use the shower?
Receiving permission, she disappeared, while Margaret sipped a calming tonic.
So the beggar is her granddaughter but that cant be right, Margaret thought.
Later she laid the fed child on the sofa and set a place for the guest at the table.
Alice! Margaret called as if by chance.
How do you know? the girl asked.
Margaret waved vaguely, I suppose I heard you eating.
A cold bead of sweat formed on Margarets forehead. No doubt remainedshe had taken in her own granddaughter. The name Alice had been chosen for the unborn child Lily had once carried.
The girl smiled gratefully, admired the spread, and began to eat.
Margaret watched her closely, seeking familiar features.
So, Alice, tell me what happened to you, she prompted.
The girl, as if waiting for the question, spoke rapidly, spilling the pain she had hoarded.
She said she had lived with her father and mother until she was five, even owning a pony. She remembered that fondly, closing her eyes dreamily. Then her parents fought and soon divorced. Her mother, one day, simply left her at a childrens home and signed a refusal form.
Why this happened, Alice could not understand. One day she was tossed out of a fairytale like an unwanted toy. She spent twelve years in a care home before being released into adult life.
Alice ended up in a flat meant for orphans, but was deceived into staying in a condemned block slated for demolition. There she met Vasily, a plumber. When he learned Alice was pregnant, he vanished. The block was cleared, and she was allowed to remain in the shabby dwelling until she gave birth.
But her new flat had already been occupied. Alice could not fight for herself, let alone with a child in her arms.
She began to wander train stations, begging in the underground. Thats when Igor Grey, a man who ran a shelter for the homeless, spotted her.
A pretty beggar with a child could bring decent money, he thought, offering her a room in exchange for the alms she collected.
Thus she and her son lived in a large basement of a tower block, alongside many others in similar plight. There were cripples, the sick, and a great number of theatrical beggarspeople who painted bruises and wounds on themselves, wore fake bellies and hump backs, and performed for the landlords profit. The genuine actors earned the landlord much, unlike Alice, who could not beg well.
Days turned into weeks. In the mornings the beggars were dispatched to various points; in the evenings the takings were tallied. Conditions were tolerable, but lately the pressure grew. They complained that money was scarce and a crying child disturbed the others.
Today, nobody came for her; she was left to fate. She stared mournfully at a halfempty plate.
Thank you, I dont even know how we would have survived the night, she whispered, placing her fork down and yawning.
In the morning well leave, dont worry, I just need a little sleep, she added, collapsing onto the chair and instantly falling asleep.
Margaret woke her, carried her to a bed, and settled the baby beside her in a deep armchair.
The old woman sat at the New Years table, smiling as the prime ministers speech blared on the television. She would never let her granddaughter and grandson go, not tomorrow, not the day after, never. They would stay with her; that was right. In time she would reveal her true identity, help the girl stand on her own feet, and raise the boy. For now, she would let them settle into a decent life, having endured enough.
When the clock struck midnight, Margaret poured herself a small measure of sweet liqueur and took a sip.
She walked to the window and watched the street illuminated by lanterns. Watching the snowflakes drift, she whispered, Thank you, Lord, for this unexpected joy. Farewell, loneliness! I have a family again.
The night taught her that kindness, even from a stranger, can rebuild a shattered life, and that caring for others brings its own healing.
