My brother kept an eye on his sister while our mother was at work. Yet no one could have imagined what would follow.
Mrs. Margaret Lawson first noticed that Sam Gordon had stopped coming to class in midNovember. At first she thought the boy was simply ill autumn brings colds, after all nothing out of the ordinary. But a week passed, then another, and Sam was still absent. During breaks I found myself waiting for the moment Sam would slip into the room, sit at his windowside desk and pull out his beloved blue maths notebook. Yet his desk seemed to have vanished from the familiar picture of the classroom.
By the end of the second week my anxiety was unbearable. There was no word from his parents no phone call, no note. It was strange. Sam had always been a diligent pupil, quiet but earnest. He loved mathematics, rarely missed lessons, and his notebooks were always immaculate. It cant be that simple, I thought, leafing through the class register.
After school I went to the school office.
Mrs. Valerie Peters, do you happen to know whats become of Sam Gordon? I asked, sitting on the stool by the desk. He hasnt turned up for ages.
The secretary lifted her head from the papers, adjusted her glasses and snorted.
Nobodys called. Perhaps there are problems at home again. You know how that part of town is.
I knew the area well rows of ageing terraces with flaking paint, courtyards where rubbish often piled up by the front doors, noisy gangs of teenagers who seemed to claim every corner bench, and the endless squabbles of neighbours that travelled through thin walls.
I frowned.
But we cant just leave him like that. He does have a mother, doesnt he?
Indeed he does, Valerie replied dryly. But what sort of mother?
I rose in silence.
Fine, Ill sort it out myself, I muttered, pulling my coat tighter.
Nothing for you to sort out, the secretary grumbled after me. If you want, go look.
I offered no reply. I hurried across the school yard, a single question whirling in my mind: what had happened to Sam?
The stairwell of the Gordon house reeked of damp and tobacco smoke. The bulb in the landing flickered, and the steps were smeared with grime. I climbed to the third floor and knocked on the door, its brown paint peeling.
Is anyone home? I called, but only silence answered.
I knocked again, louder. After a minute the door cracked open and Sam peered out.
Mrs. Lawson? his voice trembled.
Sam, hello. Why havent you been at school? Whats wrong?
He stayed silent, looking lost and exhausted. His cheeks were hollow, dark circles shadowed his eyes.
May I come in? I asked gently.
Sam glanced around as if checking for unseen witnesses, then opened the door wider.
The flat was small and untidy. In a corner a threeyearold girl busied herself with a plastic spoon. Sam quickly shut the door behind me so the child wouldnt feel the chill from the hallway.
Thats my sister, Lily, he whispered.
Sam, tell me whats happening, I said, sitting on a chair. Wheres your mother?
At work, he replied, bowing his head.
And why isnt Lily at nursery?
Mother never managed to arrange it, he muttered. She said she was too busy.
I sighed.
So youre looking after her while mums away?
Sam nodded.
And school?
He hesitated, then whispered, I cant make it. I cant leave Lily alone; shes too small.
A tight knot formed in my chest. My pupils never spoke of such hardships.
Sam, I said softly, meeting his eyes, have you eaten today?
He shrugged.
I dont know maybe this morning.
I stood.
Fine, this cant go on. Stay here. Ill be back shortly.
Where are you going? he asked worriedly.
To get food, I replied, pulling my coat tighter. And a bit of help.
He opened his mouth to protest but fell silent.
I left the flat, phone in hand. I knew I couldnt simply abandon these children.
An hour later I returned. Sam opened the door again, this time his gaze less startled.
Youre back? he asked.
Of course, I answered cheerfully, stepping inside with heavy bags. I promised, didnt I? Wheres your kitchen?
He pointed uncertainly.
I hurried to the indicated corner and set the parcels on the table: loaves of bread, a bottle of milk, a bag of oatmeal, a few apples, even a small tin of biscuits. Sam stared at the spread, his eyes widening.
This all for us? he asked.
And who else would it be for? I replied with a smile. Wheres the pan?
What will you do with it? he asked, wary.
Ill cook dinner, I said firmly. Now go and play with Lily.
Sam lingered in the doorway, his fists clenched.
You really intend to do all this yourself? he asked hesitantly.
I turned, rolled up my sleeves and said, Naturally. Who else if not me?
I fetched eggs, butter, found the bread and set the kettle. The pan sizzled as I melted butter in it. Sam watched in silence, unsure how to react.
Sam, why are you just standing there? I asked gently. Go sit with Lily. Shes probably bored.
He glanced at the room where Lily was perched with a doll, watching us from a corner.
Shes always so quiet, he murmured.
Then lets cheer her up, I replied, chuckling. Dinner will be ready soon.
He shuffled out of the kitchen, and I continued cooking. Within twenty minutes a plate of scrambled eggs, sliced bread, mugs of tea and a small bowl of apples graced the table.
Everythings ready! I called. Come eat!
Sam and Lily sat down. Lily eyed the food shyly, but after a bite she brightened.
Its tasty, she whispered, clutching her spoon.
Of course it is, I winked. I tried my best.
Sam ate quietly, stealing quick glances at me. At last he asked, Why are you doing all this?
I set my fork down and looked at him. Because you matter to me, Sam. Youre my pupil and I care for you. Thats only natural.
His cheeks flushed and he buried his face in his plate.
After the meal I began clearing the table. Sam tried to help, but I stopped him.
Better you tidy Lilys toys. Ill manage here.
Ten minutes later I entered the room; everything was spotless, toys gathered, the floor swept.
Good job, I praised. Tomorrow Ill speak with the neighbour. I think she can drop by now and then while your mother is at work.
The neighbour? Aunt Lena? Sams eyes widened.
Yes, shes very kind. Ill talk to her and everything will settle. And you, Sam, will come to my house for lessons.
Come to yours? Why? he asked cautiously.
For your homework, I replied. You cant keep missing school.
He lingered a moment, then nodded. Alright.
I smiled. Thats the spirit. Things will get better, youll see.
Thus began our evenings at my modest cottage. After my own lessons I would take Sam home, and together we dove into mathematics and literature. Occasionally we set the books aside and simply talked.
Mrs. Lawson, Sam once said, drawing circles in his notebook, I sometimes wonder what if you hadnt come?
Someone else would have, I answered, smiling.
No, he shook his head seriously. No one would have.
I considered his words, then shifted the topic. By the way, youre in my maths class, not philosophy. What about problem three?
Sam blushed, then returned to the exercises. He understood that my help meant more than just checking homework.
Gradually his school life improved. Teachers stopped scolding, neighbours noticed he no longer loitered aimlessly. Occasionally, escorting him home, I saw his mother, exhausted after her shift, trying hard to give the children more time.
Thank you, a neighbour once said as I passed the landing. If it werent for you, I dont know what would have happened to Sam.
Its nothing, I waved off. Hes a bright lad. He just needed a nudge.
Pride warmed my voice.
Years passed. Sam grew confident, no longer asking why I spent evenings with him; he simply accepted my help as a given and repaid it with diligence.
How do you manage it all, Mrs. Lawson? he asked one day, leafing through a history book. You have your own work too.
I manage because youre sharp, Sam. You pick things up quickly, I replied with a grin.
He looked away, a hint of embarrassment, but my words lingered in his mind. He studied harder.
Six months later he returned to regular classes, his diary filling with As. I felt a deep satisfaction watching my effort bear fruit.
Time moved on. I left teaching at that school long ago, retired to a quiet cottage, and sometimes former colleagues dropped by, complaining about new pupils and how the school had changed. I listened, but my thoughts kept drifting back to those children I had helped.
One sweltering summer afternoon a knock came at the door. I dabbed my hands on the apron, stepped cautiously, and opened it. A tall young man stood there, a bouquet of wildflowers in his hands.
Good afternoon, Mrs. Lawson, he said, his voice unmistakably familiar.
Sam? I asked, eyes narrowing in surprise.
He smiled and nodded. Yes, thats me. I came to visit.
Come in, I replied, opening the door wider, a little bewildered.
We sat at the kitchen table for a long while. Sam spoke of university, of his mother finally landing a good job.
Thank you for everything you did for me, he said suddenly, his tone serious.
Oh, Sam, I replied gently. I only helped a little.
No, he insisted. You gave me a future. Without you I wouldnt have made it.
Tears welled in my eyes.
The important thing is youre happy, I whispered, my voice a little shaky.
We talked on, recalling the past. When Sam finally left, I remained seated in the quiet, watching the flowers on the table, and thought that perhaps there is nothing more important than being there when someone truly needs you.
