Emily Clarke could not tear her gaze from the sign that read Operating Theatre. The letters swam in her vision after hours of waiting, her heart thudding like a drum. She clutched tightly in her hands the red plastic tractor with a scoop that Tommy, her fouryearold son, had claimed as his own. Tommy had begged for a blue engine like the one on Thomas the Tank Engine, but over time he had fallen in love with the sturdy little vehicle his father had given him.
At last a dark silhouette appeared behind the fogged glass, the doors swung wide, and a weary doctor emerged into the corridor. Emily sprang from her seat and ran to him.
Doctor, how is he? How did it go? she pleaded.
The doctor lowered his head, his mask dangling from his fingers.
Emily, Im sorry We did everything we could
***
Emily lay curled on the tiny bed that had belonged to Tommy, the pillow still holding his scent. On the mirror opposite a smudge of his flourdusted hand lingered, a reminder that she had not wiped it away. It would never be washed again; he would never again press his tired head against the pillow. A salty tear traced down Emilys weatherbeaten cheek, the grief searing her heart from within. A healthy heartsomething Tommy never had. His older brother, Oliver, was twentyone, studying at university and almost independent. And Tommy
Her brief, latestage joy had turned into an immense sorrow. All the scans had shown everything fine, until an unexpected heart defect was found just before birth. The radical surgery had gone wrong, and now Tommy was gone.
***
Emily closed her eyes and drifted into a restless sleep. Once more she found herself on a sundrenched meadow dotted with fragrant, multicoloured blossoms of every shape and size. In the distance stood Tommy, smiling his unchanged smile, wearing his favourite shirt covered in tiny cars. He clutched a large bouquet of daisies.
Tommy! My darling! Emily shouted, but he seemed oblivious, gently turning the petals over in his hands. She ran across the blooming field, arms outstretched for an embrace, but no matter how fast she sprinted, Tommy never drew nearer. He drifted farther away, his figure receding into the horizon. Desperation surged through her as she reached out, only to watch him lift his eyes, smile, and dissolve into thin air, leaving a cloud of daisy petals to drift slowly to the ground.
Emily reached the spot where the petals settled and looked down. In neat white letters formed from the flowers, an address was spelled out on the green grass.
***
Emily jolted awake to the sound of her phone. The screen displayed Oliver.
Yes, love? Emily answered hoarsely.
Mum, Im on the coach now, make something for me!
Emily forced a smile. It had been nearly three months since Tommys death, but she still had Oliver. It was time to pull herself together and keep moving.
Of course, what would you like? Pancakes?
Pancakes would be brilliant, Mum! Im almost there!
Oliver tried to visit every weekend, hoping to distract his parents. He felt the ache inside him each time he thought of his little brother. Life went on, and they would have to bear the grief togetherthat was what families were for.
Emily shuffled to her feet, trudged to the kitchen and opened the fridge. There was no milk. James Clarke, her husband, sat at the kitchen table soldering a tiny circuit onto a laptop. He looked up.
Anything you need? A trip to the shop?
Olivers on his way, wants pancakes. Were out of milk, Emily said calmly. Ill pop out myself, get some fresh air.
James raised his glasses, a faint smile playing on his lips. Shes getting her legs back, he thought.
Emily slipped on her coat and stepped out. A light spring breeze brushed her face, birds sang, the trees were just beginning to show their fresh, bright leaves. Ah, youve missed my fifth spring, Tommy, she muttered, shaking her head to drive away the gloom, and headed toward the high street.
***
She collected milk, Olivers favourite sweets, a loaf of bread and a roast chicken, then made her way to the checkout. From the next aisle, a familiar giggle floated toward her, squeezing her heart with the memory of Tommys laugh. She turned, catching sight of a small wooden figurine that had slipped behind the shelves. Knowing it could not be real, she followed the faint trail, knocking over a cardboard promotional sign in the process.
She bent to pick it up and froze: the signs white background bore the same redlettered address that had appeared in her dream.
Tommy, what are you trying to tell me? she whispered.
Emily returned home, her mind racing with the thought that this was no coincidence. Tommy was trying to get a message across, but what? She would have to look up the address later. Not tonight. Tonight her only son, Oliver, would be arriving, and she had to meet him properly, keeping herself together.
***
The evening passed unusually warm and pleasant; Emily even managed a smile while listening to Olivers university stories. He devoured the homecooked meal, and Emily and James watched him with affectionate pridehe was now their only child. When everyone retired to their rooms, night settled over the house. Exhausted, Emily fell into a deep sleep.
She awoke in the dead of night to a soft humming from the bathroom. Her heart leaptshe would never mistake Tommys voice. He was singing the tune from his favourite cartoon about the blue tractor.
She swallowed hard, slipped out of bed and crept toward the bathroom, trying to be as silent as possible. She pushed the door open, but the room was empty. Tears streamed down her face.
What was I expecting? Tommy in the bathroom? Hes gone! Its just my mind playing cruel tricks! she scolded herself.
She turned on the tap, splashed water on her face, and stared at her reflection. Her eyes were rimmed with dark circles, her skin pale. In a sudden burst of anger she lathered soap on her hand and smeared it across the mirror, watching the suds run down, forming vague letters that seemed to spell the address again. A chill brushed her neck, and a thin childs voice whispered, Im waiting for you, Mum
***
Why are you still up? James asked, sitting up in bed, the glow of his laptop lighting his face.
Emily sat in an armchair, laptop balanced on her knees, eyes glued to the screen.
James, come here If you feel what Im feeling, then its not just my imagination
James rose, his heart thudding loudly, and walked over. His gaze fell on a photograph of a little boy, about four years old, captioned Elliot, 4. The boys parents had died in a road accident three years earlier; he had been raised by his grandmother, and after her death he had spent six months in a childrens home.
This address has been haunting me these past days, Emily said, its something Tommy is sending me
She recounted the dream, the supermarket incident, and the bathroom humming. After a moments thought, James said firmly, Emily, were going there.
***
Catherine Anderson, director of the Harrow Childrens Home, led Emily and James down a bright, long corridor, constantly looking back, trying to explain.
When Elliot arrived, we thought it would be temporary. Hes bright, welladjusted, but hes been through so much. Three adoption attempts failed; he retreats whenever potential families visit. He says his mum and dad will come for him. In the last three months hes spoken of an imaginary friend he calls Tommy. He says Tommy told him his parents would be coming soon.
Emily and James exchanged a stunned glance. Could their deceased son really be reaching out to help a lonely orphan?
Take a look, meet him. Maybe you can melt his heart, Catherine said, opening the door to the playroom.
Emily recognized him instantly. The slight, wiry boy was perched among other children, building a tower of blocks while humming Tommys favourite song. Elliot turned, tossed the blocks aside, sprang to his feet and shouted, Mum! Dad! I knew youd come!
***
Catherine expedited the adoption process, genuinely moved by the news of Emily and Jamess loss. Within a month, Emily, James and Oliver travelled to collect Elliot for good. As they reached the doorway, Elliot suddenly pulled his small hand away from Emilys grasp and cried, Mum, wait! Theres Tommy, he wants to say goodbye!
Emilys heart clenched once more, this time with a light, aching sorrow. She understood that nothing could be changed, but life had to go on. Now a tiny, fragile heart depended on her. She would never forget Tommy; she would always love him. But now she had another child to protect, another reason to be strong.
Elliot ran to the far end of the corridor, paused by a window, turned and rushed back into his mothers arms, his brothers arms, and his fathers steady hand. Beyond the window, from a dull metal fire escape, a pure white dove rose, circled the building, hovered above Emily, James, Oliver and Elliot, then rose into the clouds, disappearing into the sky.
