I still recall that bright Friday afternoon when I, Emily, was heading home from the factory in a cheery mood. My foreman had let me off a little early for a job well done and promised a small bonus. I hopped up the stairs to my flat in a council block, fumbled for the familiar combination on the intercom, and was suddenly drawn to a plaintive crying. It was odd, a mournful wail on such a fine day. I glanced around, saw nothing, reached for the doorhandle again, and the sobbing grew louder.
Where are you, little one? I asked, my patience wearing thin.
Here, came a tiny voice.
I stepped onto the cobbled pavement and saw, at the foot of the steps, a boy about five years old. He was wrapped in a threadbare coat, his trousers ragged and stained, his shoes scuffed. Tears streaked his cheeks, leaving dark tracks. My heart clenched.
Who are you? Why are you crying? I asked.
Im Tommy, the boy sniffed, I just want to go home.
Do you live here? I pressed, trying to work out which resident might be related to him.
I dont know. I cant find my house, Im lost, he replied, his speech surprisingly clear.
Seeing the little fellow shiver, I resolved to bring him inside first and think later. I offered my hand.
Come with me. Ill make you a cup of tea
He took my hand without hesitation, his nose twitching as he followed. I had no idea what to do next, only a sudden, motherly impulse to protect, feed, and warm a child.
Would you like some stew? I have a pot of beef stew on the stove, I said as we entered. He nodded eagerly.
When he spooned the broth, it was clear he was not a picky eater. I thought of my spoiled niece, Margarets daughter, and sighed: Tommy would probably dream of the simple meals Margarets mother makes every day.
I wondered who was looking for him. What shall we do? I mused, when the telephone rang. It was James, the young man who had been courting me.
Hey, Em, what are you up to? he asked.
Im feeding a little boy I found, I replied.
Who? What boy?
Tommy. He was at the entrance.
Where did he come from?
I found him by the stairwell.
Why did you bring him in?
It was cold, he was shivering.
How old is he?
About five.
Tommy, still clutching my sleeve, mouthed that he was four, then corrected himself to four and a half. James warned me to hand the child over to the authorities.
I dont know where his mother is, I said.
Call the police, he urged. You have no right to keep him.
I sighed, resigned, and said, Alright, lets look for his mum together.
We walked to the nearest police station, where a young constable, roughly my own age, greeted us. He seemed kinder than the seasoned officers, perhaps because he hadnt yet become hardened by the job. He listened attentively as I recounted how Id met Tommy. He made a quick call, reported the boy, and told us to wait.
Soon a uniformed woman arrived, led us to a small office, and after questioning Tommy she smiled.
Youre free to go, she said.
What about the boy?
Well keep him here for the time being. His testimony may be useful. She nodded at Tommy, who replied with a bright grin. Relieved, I thanked them.
I left the station and met James outside a coffee shop. He seemed a little irritated at my tardiness.
You know, there was a nice officer there, I said. I felt comfortable leaving Tommy with her.
If youd taken him straight to the police, we could have gone to the cinema, James teased, but I didnt mind.
He was so vulnerable, I couldnt just hand him over to strangers in uniform. You know how they are, I replied.
He waved it off, and our conversation ended. That evening, though the night had been pleasant, I could not shake the image of the little boy. I kept wondering whether his family would ever be found, or if he might be better off in a proper childrens home. James, lost in his own thoughts, didnt notice my preoccupation.
The following Monday, as I was returning home, I again found Tommy waiting by my flat.
Youre back again? I asked, surprised.
I came to you. Do you have any stew? he asked.
None left, but Ill make you something. How about spaghetti?
Yes, please! he beamed, clearly famished. I fed him, trying to learn as much as I could about his parents. He told me that on Friday night, after the police had taken him, his mother had arrived, filed a missingperson report, then scolded him harshly, even spanked him, and forbade him from leaving the house. She had left early this morning, leaving only Uncle Samuel, her husband, at home. Tommy feared him and tried to avoid being seen. When Uncle Samuel fell asleep and snored loudly, Tommy slipped on his coat and came to me.
My heart ached. After he ate, he said solemnly, Ill go home, or my mum will punish me again. She never hurt me before, but I think Ill have to find a new mum soon.
I offered to escort him. His home was not far. As we approached his block, a woman stepped out and called to him.
Hello! Havent seen you around the courtyard today. Went for a walk?
My mum punished me. I slipped away.
Are you hungry?
No, Emily fed me.
Then hurry home before your mother notices.
He sprinted away, shouting, Bye, Emily!
I turned to the woman.
Does his mother drink? I asked.
Worse, she sighed. Shes an addict. She fell from a pretty young woman to a wreck in just a year.
Then you cant leave a child with her!
I cant call social services; my conscience wont allow it. Victoria was always a good girl. I was close to her mother, Vicky. She died before Victoria gave birth to Tommy. Victorias marriage fell apart, she divorced, then met this devil He ruined her life.
She stopped, but I understood. She fed him when she could, though Victoria forbade it, claiming she loved him. Now Uncle Samuels presence made things worse.
Without a word, I asked for her phone number.
With a heavy foreboding, I went home. That evening James called. Hearing my downcast voice, he asked what was wrong. I confessed that Victoria had taken Tommy again.
You should have taken the child to foster care, James said.
I dont know what to do.
Then stay out of that family. Stop clinging to the boy.
I cant help it.
Jamess tone grew sharp. Youre making a mistake, Emily.
I fell silent, picturing a courtroom where I might adopt the child. Its madness, I muttered to myself, yet the image of bringing a happy Tommy into my home lingered.
Ill call you tomorrow, I told James.
No, are you upset, Em? he asked.
No, just a headache. Ill go to bed, I replied, lying for the first time to my lover.
After hanging up, I phoned my sister Margaret, with whom I was close. After a brief exchange, I told her everything.
Ive taken a liking to Tommy, even from a distance. You know I adore children. Id love to meet him, she said.
Hes wonderful!
Do what you think is right. He didnt appear in my life for nothing. How long have you been with James?
What does that have to do with anything?
It matters. Hes been draining your time for two years, using you, yet never clarifies where youre heading.
I feel like I dont want to see him any longer, I admitted.
Or maybe you just think so?
Im not sure
The conversation lingered all evening, and Margarets words rang true: the boy could not stay where he lived. I decided not to wait. The next morning I called in sick, planning to visit Victorias neighbour again.
She called back at dawn with alarming news.
Tommy is in hospital with a concussion!
Later I learned his mother had not returned home the previous day. Police were still searching for her. Uncle Samuel, drunk on narcotics, demanded to know where his son was. Tommy could not escape. Fortunately the neighbour heard his cries, summoned the police, and an ambulance whisked him away.
Ill never leave him again, I vowed. That very evening I went to the hospital. The same constable, Clarke, and a young woman from social services were there. They recognized me, listened to my concerns, and explained that adoption was possible only if the mothers parental rights were stripped a difficult process.
What other options exist? I asked.
The care board can advise, but there are routes, the officer replied gently, his eyes warm.
A social worker named George, who had been with the boy, noticed my interest and offered to help complete the paperwork. He escorted me home after my visit.
Would you care for a cup of tea? I said impulsively. It felt strange, but I did not pull the offer back. George accepted.
Over tea he listened to my worries about Tommys future and voiced his support.
Hes a bright lad. Id take him myself if I could, he admitted.
He took my number, promising to keep me informed about any news concerning Tommys mother. The next morning, as I was just about to leave for work, my phone rang.
Emily, weve found Victoria. She died last night from an overdose.
How do I tell Tommy? I stammered.
Dont rush. He hasnt asked about her yet. It seems he senses something.
All this time James had not called. Later that night I received a terse message from him: I hope you see I was right. If not, choose: me or your filthy streetkid!
Rage surged through me. I wanted to fire back, but then George called again. Emily, would you like to visit Tommy together this afternoon?
Absolutely, I replied, but lets speak on a firstname basis; formalities feel odd now.
I never answered James that night. The small struggles with Tommy had drawn George and me close, while James waited, thinking I was merely sulking. A week later he called again; I answered calmly and suggested we meet in person.
Id rather discuss this facetoface. Some things need a proper goodbye. I realise I never loved you, I said.
James was stunned into silence. I turned and walked away. He tried to call back, but I hung up. Thus ended our twoyear romance.
A month later I finally secured foster care for Tommy.
Congratulations, George said.
Thank you. I could not have done it without you.
Its my pleasure. Not everyone would take in a child of a drugaddicted mother.
I fell in love with Tommy the moment I saw him, George confessed, blushing.
And I fell for you, I replied, a shy smile spreading across my face.
Months after, encouraged by Tommys bright spirit, George proposed.
Hurrah! shouted baby Tommy, I have a new mummy and papa! We need a brother!
A year later, Tommys wish was fulfilled, and everything settled into a quiet happiness.
