The Return to Life
Eleanor Whitaker had not set foot in her sons flat for a long time. She neither wanted nor could. The tears that once fell had long since dried up; the grief had settled into a dull, unending ache and a sense of hopelessness.
James was twentyeight when he died. He had never complained about his health, had finished university, held a good job, went to the gym and was seeing a girl. Two months before the tragedy he simply lay down to sleep and never woke.
Eleanors marriage to Thomas had ended when James was six and she was thirty. The cause was the usual oneinfidelity, on several occasions. He stopped paying maintenance and vanished. James grew up without a father, supported by his grandparents.
A few suitors had drifted through Eleanors life, yet she never gathered the courage for a second marriage.
She earned a living on her own. At first she rented a modest stall in a market in Manchester to run a small shop selling frames and spectacles. As an ophthalmologist, she later secured a loan, bought a premises and turned it into a respectable Optical. The practice included her consulting room, where she examined patients and fitted glasses.
The previous year they bought James a onebedroom flat on the same block where Eleanor lived. A modest refurbishment was doneenough to call it a home.
Dust lay everywhere. Eleanor grabbed a cloth, moved the sofa, and from beneath it a phone slipped outJamess phone. She could not locate the device at first, then placed it on charge.
Later, back at home, tears in her eyes, she scrolled through the images on his phone: James at work, on holidays with friends, with his beloved. She opened Viber and, at the top of the list, found a message from an old friend, Dennis. It carried a photograph of a young woman with a boy. The child bore an uncanny resemblance to her little James.
Remember we spent New Years at Lenas when we were still at university? She had a friend who now rents opposite. Her son looks just like yours. I sent a picture as a keepsake, the text read, dated a week before the tragedy. So James had known this boy and said nothing to Eleanor. What a twist of fate!
Eleanor knew where Dennis lived. The next day, after work, she drove to his house. The moment she saw the childTommyshe recognized him as her own bloodline. He was chasing a boy on a bicycle, pleading for a turn.
She bent down and asked, Dont you have a bike?
The boy shook his head. A woman, appearing barely twentyone, approached. Her makeup was garish, marring an otherwise pleasant face.
What are you? she demanded.
I think Im his grandmother, Eleanor replied calmly.
Im Elsie, his mother, the woman said, introducing herself.
Eleanor took them to a nearby café. Tommy ordered an icecream, and Elsie a coffee.
Elsie recounted that six years earlier she had left a Yorkshire village at seventeen, enrolling in a tailoring college. Over the New Year break, a friend, Lena, invited her to stay. Lenas parents were away visiting relatives. Lena was close to Dennis, who came to celebrate the holidays with his friend James. It was then that Elsie and James had a brief affair. James left his phone for contact, promising to call, but never did.
When Elsie discovered she was pregnant, she called James herself. The meeting turned sour; James shouted at her, insisting that respectable women should manage contraception themselves. He handed her money for an abortion and told her to disappear from his life forever. She never saw him again.
Elsie abandoned college, was forced out of the dorm with her child, and could not return to the villageher mother was long gone, her father and brother drank. She now rents a small room from an elderly widow, watches her son while Eleanor works, and hands over almost all her earnings. A place in a proper nursery remains out of reach. She works in a private dumpling shop, earning modest wages, but they manage.
The following day Eleanor helped move them into Jamess flat. Life for her changed entirely. Tommy secured a spot in a decent private nursery. Eleanor found herself buying clothes for both Elsie and the boy, enjoying their company. He resembled James in every wayeyes, gestures, even stubbornness.
Eleanor assumed a mentorship role over Elsie, teaching her proper use of makeup, dressing well, caring for herself, cooking, and keeping order. In short, she guided her through everything.
One evening they sat together watching television. Tommy wrapped his arm around Eleanor, pressed his cheek to hers and whispered, Youre my favourite.
In that instant Eleanor realized the void that had haunted her for years had finally faded. Grief no longer pressed down like a stone. She understood she had stepped back into a normal life, one that made room for joy. All of this, she thought, owed itself to that small, bright boyher grandson.
Two years later Eleanor and Elsie escorted Tommy to his first day at school. Elsie now worked for Eleanor, becoming her indispensable righthand. Elsie had found a steady boyfriend, intent on a serious relationship, and Eleanor raised no objections; life must go on.
It seemed Eleanor herself might soon marry again. A longstanding, good friend urged her toward it. Why not? She was still attractive, independent, with a fine figure and a gentle nature, and at fiftyfour she felt ready for a new chapter.
