How can anyone sink so low? Little one, arent you ashamed? Your hands and feet are fine, why arent you working? the words that echoed at the homeless woman with her child.
Margaret Whitaker shuffled down the aisles of a massive supermarket on Oxford Street, eyeing the brightly coloured shelves. She came here every day as if it were a job. She didnt need much to keep a family fed she had none. So each evening the lonely old lady fled the quiet of her flat for the lightfilled market.
When the weather was mild she could sit on a bench with her neighbours and pass the time, but winter gave her no choice, and Margaret grew fond of the trips to the new hypermarket.
The place bustled with shoppers, the scent of freshly brewed coffee hung in the air, and soft music played in the background. The rows of packages, their neon wrapping looking like childrens toys, lifted her spirits.
She lifted a pot of strawberry yoghurt, squinting to read the label, then set it back. It was beyond her means, but a look never hurt. As she wandered among the abundance, memories of the past flooded back.
She recalled long queues at the grocers, where shop assistants, fierce as tigers, fought over scarce goods. She remembered the thick grey paper bags used for purchases.
A smile crept onto her face as she thought of her daughter, Emily. To make Emily happy, Margaret would stand in any queue. The thought of her daughter quickened her pulse. She paused at a low freezer filled with frozen fish, leaning heavily on it.
The image of Emilys laughing face appeared a mop of coppery curls, huge gray eyes, a sprinkle of freckles across her nose, and dimples on her cheeks.
How beautiful she was, Margaret thought sadly.
Under the disapproving gaze of a shop assistant she moved to the bakery counter.
Emily had been the only joy in Margarets life. Shed grown into an intelligent girl. When she realised a regular job wouldnt bring her happiness, she turned to surrogacy, just as Margaret had warned her it would bring no good.
At twenty, who listens to mothers? If only her father had lived, things might have been different. How could those scoundrels persuade an inexperienced girl into such a mess?
Emily only laughed, rubbing her rounded belly. Margaret shook her head mournfully. How could she give away a child that had lived nine months inside her?
Emily waved it off: Its not a baby, its good money.
Complications followed; a difficult birth claimed Emilys life. They hadnt even tried hard enough. Three days after the childs birth, the infant died.
The newborn girl was handed over to her parents. Of course, Margaret received not a penny the contract was with Emily, not her.
Margaret buried her daughter and was left alone. With no relatives, she sank into a void and never tried to climb out. It was easier that way.
Now she headed for the bread aisle, needing to prove she wasnt just wandering aimlessly. She felt a few small coins in her pocket and made her way to the checkout. The days entertainment was over; she could head home. She counted the amount she needed, handed it to the cashier, and kept the rest hidden in her fist.
She remembered spotting a young beggar on the second day after the supermarket opened, almost a month ago. At the time shed been on her first tour of the place, taking in everything. What had drawn Margarets eye to the destitute woman? Perhaps her youthful appearance, or the tragic stillness of her pose, or the way she clutched a baby tightly.
How can anyone sink so low? Margaret thought as she approached the familiar figure. She set down a small tin of coins beside the girl and said, Little one, arent you ashamed? Your hands and feet are fine, why arent you working? You still can earn something.
The old woman winced as a few passersby hurried by, unable to stop because an elderly lady blocked the path.
Thanks for the penny, but I must be on my way. I need to collect more, otherwise itll be trouble, the beggar replied.
Margaret shook her head sadly and moved on, not wanting to be a pest. She had learned to help quietly; nobody cared about the beggars not the police, not social services. Everyone had grown so accustomed to almsgiving that they ignored it.
All the way home the old woman could not get the homeless mother and child out of her mind. Their grey eyes and youthful voice seemed oddly familiar, as if shed heard them somewhere before. Margaret strained her memory.
She closed the front door, slipped off her warm lowheeled boots, turned on the light and carried the loaf to the kitchen. Fifteen minutes later she was sipping hot sweet 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! What a miserable life, the old woman mused.
She glanced out the window, trying to spot the young woman, and froze. Two roughlooking men were shoving the girl into a car.
Margarets heart leapt. She reached for the phone to call the police, then stopped, fearing she might make things worse.
She stepped to the window and saw the forecourt of the supermarket empty. Deciding to wait until morning, she went back inside. She couldnt make out the cars number from that distance anyway.
That night she lay awake, thinking of the girl and her child. At dawn a strange dream visited her. She saw Emily standing at the supermarket entrance, a baby in her arms, the child blue with cold. Margaret pressed the child close, trying to warm her, but Emily didnt respond.
Im not cold, Mum, the child said.
Margember pulled the child from Emilys arms and lifted a corner of a warm blanket that covered the girls face. She saw a large doll with a pendant around its neck.
The pendant, she whispered.
She woke with a start, the wall clock ticking opposite her. Why did I sleep so long? she wondered.
It was already nine oclock. She rose quickly and went to the window.
The girl and baby were still where shed seen them. To the right of the supermarket door everything was calm.
Thank God, she sighed, crossing herself.
Outside it was New Years Eve and a bitter frost bit the air. The little girl had been out for over an hour; she could freeze by nightfall.
Margaret fetched more bread, slapped together ham sandwiches, filled a thermos with sweet tea and dressed warmly.
When the frantic girl saw Margaret approaching, she covered a bruise on her 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 took the sandwiches, sitting a short distance away and devouring them greedily, swallowing almost without chewing, coughing as she did. She watched the baby wail in anothers arms, shoved the last bite into her mouth, washed it down with tea, then quickly brushed crumbs off and hurried back to the old woman.
Thank you, well manage till seven, then theyll take us, she said, looking at Margaret.
For the rest of the day Margaret kept glancing out the window at the thermometer; the frost deepened.
By five in the evening she ladled soup into a jar and set off for more provisions.
Passing the young woman again, she placed the jar beside her, slipped a few coins into her pocket, gave a knowing wink and hurried back into the warm market.
She wasnt going to linger. She needed ham and pickled cucumbers for the traditional New Years salad. She couldnt afford a lavish feast, but she wouldnt go hungry. When she left the store, the beggar was gone, and the soup jar was missing. She must be eating somewhere, Margaret thought, smiling, and hurried home.
Now she would slice the snacks, pop a carp into the oven and set the table. Perhaps an elderly neighbour would drop by.
It was nearing ten when Margaret looked out again, wanting to be sure the girl had been taken home to warmth.
She scanned the festive lights glowing outside the shopping centre. On a bench beneath a bright lamppost sat a familiar figure. Her shoulders trembled; the girl was crying bitterly.
Margaret rushed about the house. In two hours the celebration would begin, and someone was still out in the cold. She threw a warm scarf over her shoulders, slipped into her slippers and dashed down the stairs. She stopped by the beggar, breathing heavily, trying to calm her pounding heart, and sank beside the girl.
I have nowhere else to go, the girl whispered, grief thick in her voice.
Hope flickered in the girls eyes as she clutched the old womans hand, then she pressed a tightly wrapped parcel into Margarets palm and shuffled toward the road.
Margarets mind swam. The young womans intention was plain now. She would not simply disappear from a happy life. Summoning her remaining strength, Margaret lunged after her, caught up and turned her back.
Whats this? What are you up to? Come with me! she shouted, pointing toward a fivestorey block nearby, seizing the girls arm and pulling her along.
Inside the warm room Margaret placed the baby beside a turnedon 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.
The old woman stared at the pendant, recognising it as the one shed once given to Emily. Years ago, when money was tight, Margaret had sold a silver brooch to a jeweller, who fashioned the pendant from it. He paid her enough for a gold chain and a modest dinner for her daughters friends at a café.
The girl slipped off her coat and asked, May I use the shower?
With a nod, Margaret watched her disappear, then sipped her valerian tonic.
So the beggar is her granddaughter but that cant be, Margaret mused.
She laid the fed baby on the sofa and ushered the guest to the table.
Alice! Margaret called casually.
How do you know? the girl asked.
Margaret waved vaguely, Probably heard you eating.
A cold bead of sweat formed on Margarets brow. No doubt remained she had taken in her own granddaughter. The name Alice had been chosen by the authorities for the unborn child Emily had carried.
The girl smiled gratefully, admired the dishes and began to eat.
Margaret watched her closely, searching for familiar features.
Well, tell me, Alice, what happened to you? she prompted.
The girl, as if waiting for the question, spoke rapidly, her words tumbling as she tried to empty the pain shed carried.
She said shed lived with her dad and mum until she was five, owned a pony, then her parents fought and split. One day her mother simply left her at a childrens home, signing an abandonment form. She didnt understand why. Twelve years she spent in a care home, then was moved into a shabby flat meant for orphans, but it turned out to be a condemned council block. There she met Vasily, a plumber. When he learned she was pregnant he vanished. The block was cleared, she was allowed to stay in a rundown house until the birth, only to find someone else had already taken the new flat.
She could not fight for herself with a baby in her arms. So she drifted through stations, begging in the underground, until a man named Greg Sykes, who ran a shelter for the homeless, spotted her.
A pretty beggar with a baby makes good 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, among many others like her beggars, the disabled, the sick, and a great many theatrical paupers. The theatrical ones painted bruises and wounds on themselves, wore fake hunchbacks and pregnant bellies, performing for the landlords profit, unlike Alice who could not beg.
Days turned into weeks. In the mornings the beggars were sent to collection points; evenings the takings were pooled. The conditions were bearable, but lately they pressed harder on her. They complained there wasnt enough money and that a crying baby disrupted everyone.
Today no one came for her; she was left to her fate. She stared mournfully at a halfempty plate.
Thank you, I dont even know how wed have survived the night, she whispered, dropping her fork.
Ill leave in the morning, dont worry, I just need a little sleep, she added, yawning.
Alice slumped back, dozed off almost instantly.
Margaret roused her, led her to a chair and settled the baby beside her in a deep armchair.
The old woman sat at the New Years table, smiling as the presidents speech played on the television. She would never let her granddaughter and grandson go, not tomorrow, not the day after, never. They would stay with her. In due time shed tell them who she truly was, help the girl stand on her own feet, raise the boy. Until then, shed give them a proper home. Shed had enough of hardship.
When the clock struck twelve, Margaret poured herself a dram of sweet liqueur and took a sip.
She walked to the window, watched the street illuminated by lanterns, admired the falling snowflakes and thought, Thank you, Lord, for this unexpected happiness. Farewell, loneliness. I have a family again.
