My Granddaughter
It wasnt that the girl irritated hernot exactlybut there was something about her that made her uneasy.
She was scruffy, with messy braids, a wrinkled school uniform, and a crooked collar. The girl always looked downtrodden.
Rosemary Darnley frowned. Why was she thinking about that untidy child? She set aside her favourite éclair. Where was George? Hed promised to come earlytoday was the anniversary of her husband Edwards passing.
She thought she heard a knock at the door.
“Whos there? George, is that you? Did you forget your keys?”
“Mrs. Darnley, you left your keys on the chair.”
“What? What keys?”
Rosemary opened the door and saw that same girl. What on earth?
“Sedley? What keys? How did you know where I live? Have you been following me?”
The girl shook her head. She wore an old hat, a shabby coat with a stain on the pocket, and worn-out shoes.
Only now did Rosemary notice the girls striking blue eyes, framed by dark lashes.
She had recently started teaching at the local school after retiring from the college. The girl was oddnever mingling with the others. What was her name? Alice? Yes, Alice Sedley.
“You left your keys on the chair, Mrs. Darnley. I called out, but you didnt hear.”
“Oh thank you. I must have forgotten to put them in my bag. Old age, I suppose,” she joked weakly.
“Youre not old,” the girl said earnestly. “You were just in a hurry.”
“Thank you Alice.”
“Goodbye, Mrs. Darnley.”
“Goodbye”
Rosemary closed the door, lost in thought. Then, on impulse, she opened it again and heard footsteps fading. Alice was slowly descending the stairs.
“Alice,” Rosemary called down. The girl looked up. “How did you know where I live?”
“I live next door. Ive seen you going to work. Sometimes I walk behind youtheres a stray dog near the turn. If I stay close to you, he doesnt growl at me. He snarls when he smells the cats I feed in the basement but Im not scared. I call him Rex.”
“And the address? I asked the ladies on the bench. I told them you taught at my school.”
Rosemary sighed. What a peculiar child. Was she spying?
“Would you like some tea?” she asked abruptly. The girl nodded instantly.
Impolite, reallyshe should have refused.
Rosemary poured the tea.
“Are you hungry?”
Alice shook her head, but Rosemary knew she was. Why was she bothering with this girl?
“Youll keep me company, wont you? George is late, and I hate eating alone.”
She bustled about, piling food onto plates. The girl ate neatly but hungrily.
“Thank you. Your cooking is lovely,” Alice murmured, eyeing the leftovers.
Rosemary packed the food into a container and handed it over.
Alice hesitated. “You shouldnt have but thank you.”
After she left, Rosemary scolded herself. Unprofessional. Tomorrow, the girl might hug her in front of everyone or blurt out something about the meal.
George arrived the next morning, sheepish.
“What was yesterday?” she demanded.
“Thursday, Mum. Todays Friday.”
“Dont be smart, George.”
“Blimey, youre serious. Im thirty, Mum.”
“Yesterday was your fathers memorial. He deserved better.”
“Mum he wouldnt care if we marked it a day late. Lets do it today. Im going back to bedday off.”
“Youre tired? What were you doing all night?”
“You *really* want to know?”
Irritated, Rosemary went to work, braced for Alices theatrics. But the girl just passed by with a quiet “Good morning.”
Cheeky.
All day, Rosemary triedand failedto corner her. After school, she lingered, hoping Alice would appear. Nothing.
Three days later, walking home, she heard a scream.
Alice was backed against a wall, a snarling mutt tearing at her sleeve.
“Get off!” Rosemary shrieked, driving the dog away. “Are you hurt?”
The girls eyes were wide with fright.
“He attacked wanted to kill the kitten!” she sobbed.
Rosemarys heart clenched.
“Wheres home? You should be with family.”
“I cant. They wont let me. Ill hide him under the stairs.”
“Whos *they*?”
At school, she inquired about Alice. Most shrugged. Only old Mrs. Whitby, the maths teacher, knew.
“Troubled home. Mothers gone. Drunk stepfather, maybe a grandmother.”
“But how was she enrolled?”
“Dunno,” Mrs. Whitby muttered, shaking her head.
Rosemary waited, watching Alice dart past the growling dog. The girl sat on a bench outside her building, pulling out a textbook. Studying outdoors?
At home, she argued with Georgedivorced two years ago, restless. “Natasha was perfect for you,” she snapped.
“Boring,” hed said. Now he was chasing excitement.
Needing air, she stepped outsideand heard a slurred shout.
“Alice! Wheres that wretched girl?”
A dishevelled woman lurched near the entrance.
“Excuse me,” Rosemary said. “Are you Alices?”
“Whats it to you?”
“Im her teacher. Where is she?”
“Inside. Asleep.” The woman staggered away.
“Alice?” Rosemary called softly. The girl emerged from the shadows.
“Come home with me.”
“Shell punish me.”
“She wont dare.”
“Theyll send me to care if she loses custody.”
“Who is she?”
“My grandmother. Mums gone four years now.”
“Wheres your father?”
Alice hesitated. “I have a photo. I recognised himin your house.”
Rosemarys breath caught.
George was home when they arrived.
“Whos this?”
“Alice.”
The girl stared at him.
“Staying the night?” he asked.
“Dunno”
In the morning, Rosemary fed her breakfast.
“Lets go.”
“Where? To care?”
“To the shops.”
George watched, thoughtful. “Whered you find her?”
“My student.”
At the store, Rosemary bought her clothes.
“What a lovely granddaughter,” the cashier smiled. “Looks just like you.”
Rosemarys heart swelled.
Alice clung to her old coat. “Theyll sell the new ones and hurt me.”
“What do we do?”
“Dont know.”
“Café?”
“With you?”
“Yes. Fancy teaching me to bake?”
“You cant?”
“Not well.”
“Mum and I used to. Before she got sick.”
They baked, laughed, drank tea. George returned too soon, souring the mood.
“I should go,” Alice whispered.
“Ill walk you.”
“Your name?” George asked.
“Alice. I told you, George,” Rosemary snapped.
“Did she send you?”
Alice shook her head.
“Whos *she*?” Rosemary demanded.
George exhaled. “Mum meet my daughter.”
The story unfoldeda youthful fling, denial, regret.
“I didnt believe her. But Id never abandon a child.”
Tests confirmed it. In court, Rosemary clutched Alices hand.
“Can I live with Gran?” Alice later asked George.
“Fine by me. Shes lonely.”
“And you?”
“Youve got Elena.”
Rosemary walked hand-in-hand with her granddaughter, uncaring of gossip. Shed found her joy.
George grew close to Alice. His relationship with Elena faded.
“Not because of me?” Alice fretted.
“Never. Im keeping you.”
At parents evening, George met Alices teachernow his wife.
“Is it hard, having family as teachers?” classmates asked.
“Nah. Its brilliant,” Alice grinned.
Sometimes, she visits her grandmothercleans, cooks, scolds her to stop drinking.
The woman weeps, kissing her hands. “My granddaughter my blood.”
And though promises are fragile, love endures.
