A woman wipes her hands and, groaning from the ache in her back, walks to answer the door. The bell had chimed softly, but this was the third ring. Shed been cleaning the windows and hadnt reached the hallway straight away. Standing there is a young girl, quite sweet but pale, with tired eyes.
“Margaret, they say you might have a room to let?”
“Oh, these neighboursalways sending folks my way! I dont let rooms, never have.”
“But I heard youve got three bedrooms.”
“So what? Why on earth should I have to rent them out? Im used to my own company.”
“Right. Sorry. They said you were kind, and I thought”
The girl blinks back tears welling in her eyes, turns, and starts down the steps slowly, her shoulders shaking.
“Come back, love! I havent said no! Young ones these days, so quick to cry. Come in, lets talk. Whats your name? First-name terms, shall we?”
“Lily.”
“Lily, eh? Bet your dads a teacher or something like that, hmm?”
“I dont have a father. Grew up in a childrens home. No mum either. Kind souls found me on a doorstep and took me to the police. Wasnt even a month old.”
“All right, no need to fret. Lets have a cuppa and chat. Hungry?”
“No, I bought myself a scone.”
“A scone, she says! Oh, you youngsters, never looking after yourselves, and by thirty, youll have ulcers. Sit down, theres hot pea soup. Well warm the tea. Plenty of jammy husband passed five years ago, but I still stock up for two out of habit. Eat first, then help me with the windows.”
“Margaret, could I do something else? Feeling dizzyworried I might topple off the sill. Im expecting.”
“Even better! Just what I neededa girl in the family way. Very principled, I am. Did you land yourself in this?”
“Why assume the worst? Im married. James was at the same home. Got called up for service. Came home on leave recently. My landlady found out and gave me notice straight off. Need somewhere by weeks end. We lived close by. Butwellcircumstances.”
“Ah circumstances What am I to do with you? Move my bed into the spare room? Fine, take mine. And not a penny in rentdont argue, or Ill be cross. Fetch your things.”
“Wont take long. All mine and Jamess things are in a bag by the flats. The weeks up, and Ive been trailing about since morning.”
So they became two. Lily was studying fashion design. Margaret had been on disability for years after a train crash, so she stayed home, knitting lace doilies, collars, and baby booties to sell at the village market. Her work, delicate as sea foam, sold well. Money wasnt tight, especially with garden produce. Saturdays, they worked the plot. Sundays, Margaret went to church while Lily stayed home, rereading Jamess letters. Lily rarely wentstill getting used to it. She complained of backaches and dizziness.
One Saturday, Lily grew weary quickly in the garden, and Aunt Margaret sent her inside to rest with old records theyd bought together. That afternoon, after raking, the mother-to-be lay down. Margaret was burning dry stalks, watching the flames when she heard Lily shout, “Mum! Mum! Quick!” Heart racing, forgetting her bad knees and back, Margaret dashed inside. Lily clutched her stomach, crying out. In a flurry, Margaret got a neighbour, and they sped to hospital in an old Rover. Lily groaned, “Mum, it hurts! Too soonnot due till mid-July. Mum, pray for me, you know how!” Tears streamed as Margaret prayed fiercely.
From admissions, Lily was wheeled away while the neighbour drove a weeping Margaret home. She prayed all night, begging the Virgin Mary to keep the baby safe. By morning, she rang the hospital.
“Your daughters fine. Asked for you and James at first, cried a bit, then slept. Doctor says no more risk, but shell stay a fortnight. Haemoglobins low. Feed her well when shes back.”
When Lily returned, they talked past midnight. She spoke of James.
“Hes not just any orphan. We were at the home together, always. Schoolmates, then sweethearts. He cares for memore than love. See how often he writes? Want his photo? Heresecond right, smiling.”
“Handsome” Margaret didnt want to upset her. Her glasses were old, the image tinyjust blurry figures. “Lily, whyd you call me mum back there?”
“Ohjust scared. Habit from the home. Everyone was mum or dad there. Mostly shook it off. Only when nervous. Sorry.”
“I see” Margaret sighed, slightly deflated.
“Aunt Margaret, what about you? No photos of your husband or kids? You dont have any, do you?”
“No. Had a son, but he passed as a babe. After my injury, no more. My husband was my childspoiled him, adored him. Buried him, put photos away. Too painful, even knowing hes with God. Hid them to avoid tears. He needs prayers, not weeping. But ask James for a bigger photowell frame it. Have spares somewhere.”
On Christmas Eve, they decorated, speaking of baby Jesus, watching for the first star. Lily fidgeted, rubbing her back.
“Somethings off, love. Half-listening. Whats wrong?”
“Aunt Margaret, call an ambulance. Its time.”
“What? A week early!”
“Miscalculated. Hurrycant bear it.”
Within half an hour, they reached hospital. On Christmas Day, Lily had a beautiful girl. That same day, Margaret sent a telegram to the new father.
January was busy. The baby brought joy but needed constant care. With Jamess blessing, Lily named her Margaret. The aunt wept. Little Maggie brought sleepless nights but happy chaos. Even Margarets aches felt lighter.
One unseasonably warm winter day, Margaret ran errands. Returning, she saw Lily with the pram.
“Well walk longer, all right?”
“Go on. Ill start lunch.”
Inside, Margaret spotted a framed photo on the table. She chuckled. “Found it, did she? Picked his youngest shotyoung ones hate old photos.”
Soup simmered when Lily returned, the neighbours lad helping with the pram. They unwrapped the sleeping baby, tiptoeing to the parlour.
“Lily,” Margaret smiled, “howd you find Henrys photos?”
“What do you mean?”
“This one?” She pointed.
“That? You asked James for a bigger picture. He went to the studio. I found a frame on the shelf.”
Hands trembling, Margaret picked it up. It wasnt Henry. A young sergeant grinned cheekily. She sat, pale, staring blankly. Lily wept hysterically, clutching smelling salts.
“Mum, look at me! Whats wrong?”
“Lily, open the wardrobetop shelf. Bring all the photos.”
Lily fetched albums and frames. One showed James?
“Goodness! Whos this? James? Nothis is old. Who is it, mum?”
“Henry, my husband. Lily, love, where was James born?”
“Dont know. Came to our home from Manchester. Train crashthey said his parents died.”
“Oh, what a dreadful mistake! My boy, Williamthey showed me Recognised a shirt like yours. His face was unseeable. William! Youre alive! Your wife, your girlhere, and I didnt know! Lord, you brought Lily to me. Pass that photo.”
Bewildered, Lily handed it over. Margaret kissed it, drenching it in tears. “William, my sunshine, my boy!”
“James,” Lily whispered.
“Call him James, but this is my son, Lilymy son! Look at his fatherspitting image!”
Lily still doubted.
“Lily, a birthmark? Star-shaped, above the right elbow? All I had after the crashage, shirt. His arm was hurtcouldnt find it. Why so quiet? Is there one?”
“There is. A star. Oh mum, darling, there is!”
They clung together, weeping, oblivious to little Maggies cries from the nursery.
