Kate drifted past the shop windows, eating the pastries with her eyes while she imagined how far a few bob from her threadbare wallet could stretch. The verdict was clear: shed have to tighten the purse strings.
Instead of juggling three odd jobs, she was left with only one, and after her mums funeral the little stash she’d managed to scrape together vanished completely.
So, essentially, Kate was on her own. Shed never married, and shed once been a student studying to be an accountant. Ironically, Kate had never liked numbers, but her dad had insisted on the course, preaching that you cant live on charm alone; you need a solid trade.
I like looking after people, you know, making life a bit easier for them, she had whispered to her father one afternoon, cheeks flushing.
Doctor, then? That would be respectable, he snorted. Doctors are always held in high esteem.
No, I want to be a sister of mercy a sort of nursetype, you know? she replied.
Her dad frowned, A nurse? Thats not exactly a highstatus job, love. Aim higher! Think Napoleon! Be the best, the first, the great! He paced the cramped kitchen, flinging out references to the French emperor as if they were lifecoaching mantras.
Kate tried to focus on her accounting studies; numbers haunted her dreams, swirling around her like restless moths. She woke in a cold sweat, wishing she could tell her dad that not everyone needs to be a conqueror. She just wanted to help someone, to be useful.
When Grandma Elsie fell ill, Kate was the one who lingered the longest by the bedside, while Aunt Gill wrinkled her nose and muttered about the smell. Kate didnt understand what bad smell meant Elsies hands always smelled of fresh scones, garden herbs and honey. She just needs kind words, a fresh set of sheets, Kate thought, reading stories aloud and dabbing the forehead with a cool cloth.
When Elsie passed, the house erupted in sobs and halfhearted curses. Aunt Gill lay halfcollapsed on the sofa, wailing, Take her away already, Im scared of ghosts!
Kate slipped into the bedroom, pressed her cheek to her grandmothers cold hand and wept.
Go away, youll scare us all! her father barked, storming in.
No, Dad, Im crying because life feels empty without her, Kate replied, trying to explain the vision shed had as she closed Elsies eyes a sunlit lane lined with impossible flowers, a gleaming white manor perched on a hill, and Elsies voice whispering, Im home now, love. No need to weep. She kept quiet, fearing shed upset her father further.
She tried to finish her accounting course, but soon dropped out. First, she felt out of place, as if she were living someone elses life; second, her father left home after falling for another woman, and her mother, devastated, fell ill and wept herself into a fever.
Kate begged her father to stay until her mother recovered. He muttered something about life being a oneshot deal and left, leaving Kate and her mother alone.
The family called Kate a bit daft, but she stopped whining. She hustled for any side gig she could find, trained as a nurse, and tended to her mum, even giving her injections herself. Eventually, her mothers health declined to the point where she could barely walk.
Aunt Gill, ever the blunt one, confronted Kate on the street: Whats the matter, love? Youre still single, you couldve found a husband by now. Why waste yourself caring for mum? Its your own fault, and your fathers a right clown.
Kate, usually softspoken, snapped back, Dont talk like that, Aunt Gill. Mum loves dad, even if hes like water to her. She cant live without him. And whos going to replace a mother? Shes an angel on this earth, not some spare part. And you, calling my father a goat, is rude. He chose his path, and I wont let you slur his name.
Aunt Gill huffed, muttered idiot and walked off.
When Kates mother died in her arms, a faint lilac scent lingered, and the old wooden chest by the bedside held only a crumpled handkerchief. The house fell into a grey, sluggish routine. Kate often stared at the sky, seeing fleeting angel wings or strange embroidered blossoms, much like the ones her mum used to stitch.
The silence grew oppressive; Kate felt like a butterfly trapped in a cocoon, ignoring the world outside. She tried to apply for a post at the local NHS clinic, but her strength was waning, and without her mother she felt utterly depleted.
One day, as she lingered by the lift, neighbour Mrs. Emily Parker stopped her with a string of local gossip. Everything will be fine, love. Dont listen to the naysayers. Get some chickens for the summer, or head to the seaside. Find joy wherever you can, she chirped, before walking on.
Up the stairs, a young woman in a sleek white jacket and fashionable boots materialised, trailing a faint scent of exotic perfume. She shot Kate a disapproving glance.
Whats the stare for? Keep your eyes on yourself! the newcomer snapped.
Sorry, I just thought you looked lovely and the perfume is intriguing, Kate stammered, apologising for her rudeness.
Just then a voice from behind called, Hold on, love, youre the one Im looking for. My dads terribly ill, and I need someone to give him an injection. Can you help?
A lanky man in his fifties, with a stern jaw and cold eyes, lay on a hospital bed. Kate stepped forward, speaking gently about how nothing ever truly ends, that theres always a reason to keep going. The mans daughter, Vicky, beamed and thanked her, promising to pay whatever she asked.
Later, Kate found herself in a modest shop, eyeing the last of her pennies. She spotted a young mother with a stroller, her fiveyearold son begging for juice and icecream.
Liam, well get it later. Weve only got a few pennies left, the mother whispered, her voice trembling.
When the woman realized shed dropped her wallet, she burst into tears. A sharply dressed lady in a long coat and glittering earrings intervened, calling her a scam artist and warning others to beware. The distraught mother fled, clutching her child.
Kates heart ached. Wait, here, she said, thrusting the last of her coins into the womans hand. Buy the icecream; itll make him smile.
The woman thanked her, and a faint voice from the hallway muttered, Bless you, dear. Kate walked home in her threadbare coat and scuffed boots, feeling both poorer and oddly richer.
The next morning, a postit on her mailbox announced a parcel. The sender: Martha Nichols, address: the same sleepy village where her grandmother had grown up.
Dear Kate, the letter began, Martha here your grans old friend. We used to play by the pond together. She asked me to send you a little something when the time was right. Inside youll find a handstitched towel, a sachet of dried raspberries, some mushrooms, tea, a pile of goldenwrapped sweets, a funny little piglet toy, and a vintage postcard.
The note continued, Your gran was a goldenhearted soul. She prayed that youd find a good man someday. Youre never meant to be alone, love. Keep the faith.
Kate clutched the tiny icon of the Virgin Mary that lay among the treasures, tears streaming down her cheeks as she whispered, Im sorry, Ive failed Im a mess, but I love you all.
A sudden knock at the door startled her. In the doorway stood Vicky, the neighbour in the white jacket, eyes bright. Hello again! My dads still a mess, and I thought maybe you could help with a quick jab. Ill pay you, of course.
Kate explained she wasnt a qualified doctor, but offered to fetch a proper nurse. Vicky blushed, apologised for the intrusion, and thanked her for the kindness.
That evening, Vickys father, Victor, lay in his cosy flat, a rugged man with a grizzled beard. He mumbled about wanting mushroom soup, the kind Mum used to make back in the country. Kate, remembering the dried mushrooms and raspberries shed received, slipped a bag into her coat and hurried home.
She boiled the mushrooms, brewed the tea, and they all sat down to a fragrant soup, laughing about the odd twists of fate that had brought them together.
In time, Vicky and Victors relationship blossomed, and they married. Victor had enough money to live comfortably, yet Kate still chose to work at the hospital, saying, Helping people is my calling.
When she faced a patients desperate eyes, she would murmur gently, The good Lord has a plan; all we need is a little faith.
