The Thompsons had taken in an old womanpractically a stranger, a distant relative they barely knew. She was not only unfamiliar, but blind and feebleminded, the sort of person who seemed to have slipped completely out of her own mind. It was a baffling act of kindness, yet they did it.
They lived in the tiny village of Little Hemsby, a place where life moved slowly. The Thompsons were poor, with three children and two grandchildren from their eldest son, a modest but crowded household. Rough around the edges, not highly educated, but honest enough to feel a pang of conscience. They didnt send the old lady to a care home or visit her each night; she lived at the far end of the lane, far beyond their own cottage, and could no longer look after herself. So they brought her in.
They cleaned her threadbare clothes, wrapped a fresh handkerchief around her head as proper, fed her from a spoon and set her upon a simple bed. On the wall they hung a colourful rug with painted deer, though she could not see it. Their days fell into a rhythm of cabbage soup, porridge, cheap instant noodles, tea sweetened with a spoonful of sugar, shuffling her to the loo and helping her dress when needed. All the while she muttered in a thin, tremulous voice, spouting nonsense that sounded like the ramblings of a frail mind.
One evening, the old womanEthel Mirfieldcroaked, Theres a thief in the shed! The Thompsons rushed to the outbuilding and found their drunken neighbour, Harold, pilfering potatoes and cabbage. The coincidence shocked them.
Weeks later Ethels voice quivered, Rory mustnt go to the city. The car will crash. Trusting the ramblings of their unhinged guest, they barred young Rory from traveling with his mate, David. The car later shattered in a terrible collision; David survived, but Rory would have been killed had he been inside.
Ethel kept babbling, though she could not remember, see, or even lift a spoon to her mouth. She begged for a National Lottery ticket, pleading with a shaking hand. Her husband, Peter, drove to the nearest town and bought one. When the numbers were called, the Thompsons heard the news: a windfall of moneysomething like three to five hundred thousand poundswas theirs. They never spoke the exact sum; they simply said, a fortune, and smiled.
With the winnings they bought Ethel a new dressing gown, a tin of biscuits, a beautiful quilt, and a fresh set of clothes. Though she could not see with her eyes, they claimed she saw the world in another way, and they swaddled her in beauty. Everyone loved her, despite her constant daydreams and forgetfulness. She could no longer feed herself or reach the bathroom unaided, but she always smiled, perched on the fine quilt in her crisp gown and tidy headscarf, like a doll. She ran her rosary beads through her fingers, whispered gentle words in that thin voice, and nodded her head, as if approving the peace that finally settled over the little cottage.
