Emma Clarke stepped out of the London hospital and, as if the doors were a portal, collided with a stranger.
Sorry, he said, his eyes lingering on her a fraction too long. In the next heartbeat the look turned scornfully indulgent; he turned away, as if the encounter had never happened.
How many such glances had she collected? Tall, willowy girls drew a different staremens eyes, on a sleek beauty, turned from indifferent to clingy, greedy. The unfairness gnawed at Emma; was she to blame for being born this way?
As a chubbycheeked child she had been adored for her round hips and soft limbs. In gym class she always lined up first among the girls. Bullying came from a rotund girl nicknamed Piggy Pep and from a pumpkinlike bully; the worst monikers were the ones she refused to repeat. Children can be cruel, teachers saw the teasing but did nothing.
Emma tried every diet, but hunger was a constant companion and she abandoned each plan. The pounds she shed returned like tide. She was pleasant enough, but her fullness clouded any good impression.
She once dreamed of teaching, then shelved that wish, fearing the inevitable nicknames that would follow. After school she enrolled in a nursing college. When people are ill, they care little for the healers appearance. The male students were absent; the girls busied themselves with romances and weddings, while Emma remained solitary. In lectures the girls asked her to sit in the front row, then hid behind her broad back to avoid the lecturers gaze.
She watched, with a pang, the elegant dresses in shop windowsa world she would never belong to. Emma cloaked herself in loose shirts and flowing skirts to hide the curves she despised. She learned her injections well, painless and swift; the summer patients grew fond of her.
One afternoon she joined a group of teenagers at the ice rink. Their taunts slithered toward her: Look, the meat factorys coming, they laughed. Their jeers made Emmas heart ache.
Her mother tried to set her up with friends sons. Emma went on a few dates. One boy pretended not to see anyone, then turned away dramatically. Another, before a word could be exchanged, pounced. Emma shoved him; he tumbled backward into a puddle. What are you rolling around for? Ive made you happy. Who needs you? he shouted. Tears blurred Emmas vision. She swore off dates, preferring solitude.
On her socialmedia profile she uploaded a picture of Fiona from Shrek. When a man messaged asking how she looked in real life, she replied, Exactly like that, just not green. He took it as a joke, wrote, You must be tired of clingy admirers and using that avatar to scare them off, and suggested meeting. Emma stopped replying at once.
One day a sixyearold boy darted into the ward corridor.
Where are you racing off to? Patients are resting, you cant be noisy, Emma said, catching his hand.
I wanted to glide on the linoleum, the boy admitted honestly.
Who are you with?
Dad, heading to Grandmas. Wheres the loo?
Lets go, Emma led him to the far end of the hallway. Are you sure you can manage yourself?
The boy gave her a tentative, indulgent glance; she felt no offense. Soon the sound of running water echoed behind a door and the child emerged.
Now well go, show me which ward your grandma lies in, she said.
He sighed, floated beside her, and stopped at a door, pursed his lips, and tapped his finger to the corner of his mouth. Emma watched, suppressing a smile.
This one, I think, he said, pointing at the fourth door.
Think? Emma questioned, noting it was a mens ward.
I know the numbers, not the letters. Look, thats five. He pointed at the fifth door.
Ah, you little rascal, Emma feigned irritation.
He burst into laughter.
Whats your name?
Charlie, he answered just as the fifth door swung open, revealing a tall, pleasant man.
Charlie, why are you late? the man asked, then spotted Emma. He gave her a quick glance, judged her appearance, and his interest vanished.
Was he playing? he asked.
Emma recalled countless indifferent, scornful male gazes.
He wasnt playing. Dont scold him, she said, and walked away.
Lets go say goodbye to Grandma, were running out of time, a voice called behind her.
The next day Charlie and his father visited the grandmother again. The man passed Emma without a look; she flicked her tongue at his back. At that moment Charlie turned, laughed, and gave a thumbsup. Emma smiled and waved.
Later she entered the fifth ward.
You look lovely today, Mrs. Margaret, she asked. Has your grandson visited?
Did you see him? What a wonderful boy I wish I could watch him grow.
Its still early for such thoughts. Youll still be babysitting greatgrandchildren, Emma replied cheerfully.
God help us. His soul aches. He grew without his mother.
The mother
No, shes alive. She ran away and abandoned us.
Emma was puzzled.
Charlie isnt my blood, Margaret explained, but we love him as our own. My son married a beauty who later confessed shed had a son elsewhere. Can a marriage start on a lie? My husband suffered a heart attack, and now Im in this hospital.
Two years earlier, Charlies mother had taken a lucrative offer abroad, working as a model; a child didnt fit the image. The women my son dated were similarly beautiful and selfish; Charlie rejected them.
Emma spent the day absorbed in Margarets tale. When she entered to give an injection, she slipped.
Mrs. Margaret, you must try not to worry, Emma said sternly.
Im not worried. Look. Margaret handed Emma a drawinga boy holding his parents hands. It was unmistakably Charlie and his parents.
Charlie is looking for his mother. I think he drew you, Emma.
No, he drew his mother.
He no longer remembers her. She was slender. This drawing shows a large mother, even taller than the father. Thats you, Margaret whispered, tears welling.
Emma sensed the childs need to see himself as larger than the father, a silent rebuff of any handsome man she might imagine.
From then on, each time Emma gave Margaret a shot, they exchanged a brief line. The next visit, Charlie approached Emma directly.
Good day. Are your hands steady? he asked.
Im not sure, Emma confessed.
Grandma says Im in good hands. When will she be discharged? My birthday is next week, he blurted.
I think shell go soon. How old are you?
Six, he declared proudly. I invite you to my party.
Thanks, Ill come, but I must ask your father first.
Ill ask him now. Charlie darted off.
Emma was distracted, missing his departure. The following day, George and his son waited for Emma at the ward entrance.
Dad, you promised, Charlie tugged at his fathers sleeve as Emma approached.
I remember, George said, looking at Emma. Wed love you to our sons birthday. Hell be six. Heres the address and phone number. Well be there at one on Saturday, if you have no other plans.
Emma blushed. Your details are on my card. I have no weekend plans.
I didnt think of that. Charlie will be waiting. If you dont come, hell be sad and so will my mothershe cant be worried, as you said.
A week of counting days passed. Emma told her own mother about Charlie.
Go, you must. Boys understand more than grown men. Perhaps youll find something with his father? Dont look at me. The boy is searching for his mother.
His father never looks my way, Emma sighed.
Dont exaggerate. He probably cares about the childs feelings, not just his own. Otherwise hed have married another model by now.
On Saturday Emma tied her hair, chose a dress, brushed her lashes, and stared critically at herself in the mirror. No amount of makeup will make me thin.
She had bought a present the previous week for Charlies birthday. Hell be waiting, I must go, she thought, sighing.
She pressed the doorbell; the lock clicked almost instantly. Her heart hammered.
Emmas here, shouted Charlie as he leapt forward, hugging her as far as his small arms could reach. She stroked his cropped hair and handed him the gift.
The colourful box made his eyes sparkle. In the centre of the room a festive table stood. Beside it sat George, next to him a striking blonde; opposite them a silverhaired gentlemanCharlies grandfather, she guessed.
The blonde raised an eyebrow at Emmas entrance.
Meet my rescuer, Emma, George announced. And this is Boris, my husband. You know our son, dont you? And Ivans friend, Svetlana, Margaret said, ignoring the blonde.
The blonde pursed a thin brow. Margaret tried to serve Emma a salad, but her sleeve brushed a wine glass, spilling it onto the blondes lap. The glass clattered, the blonde rose sharply, and a chair thudded behind her. Chaos erupted.
Apologies flew, yet the blonde stormed out, unimpeded. Emma also felt the urge to leave.
Youre not offended, are you? George began.
Offended? I think its time I left too.
My mum baked her special pie. Dont upset her. Ill drive you home.
In the car they rode in silence.
I didnt ask you to escort me. I could have gotten there myself, Emma finally said.
My mum wouldnt forgive me if I didnt see you off. You keep crossing my path. Dont be surprised if she decides to marry us.
I dont love you, nor you me. I wont marry you, Emma replied, her voice trembling. Dont fear, Ill try not to appear in your sight again.
The car halted at a house. Emma fumbled with the locked door.
Open it now, she demanded.
George leaned in and kissed her. Emma shoved him away with all her strength.
Whats this? Tired of pretty blondes? Craving the plump? Decided to have a little fun with me? Ah, yes, I should thank you for the attention. Her eyes flashed with fierce anger, her face flushed.
She hadnt imagined herself so beautiful in that instant. George stared, overwhelmed by emotion. The blondes, confident in their superiority, remained aloof.
Forgive me, for Gods sake. I dont know what possessed me. I never meant to hurt you.
No man has ever kissed me, except when they wanted to make me happy like you. They look at me with pity, dismiss me without even trying to understand, she snapped, exiting the vehicle.
Late August turned cold, rain with wind battered the streets, leaves fell fast. Three weeks had passed since Charlies birthday; Emma had not seen George. She returned from work, slipped off her damp shoes with relief.
Did a young man visit you? her mother asked from the hallway.
What man?
Elegant, handsome. He seemed worried, asked you to call him.
Emma dialed Georges number straight from the kitchen.
This is me. Charlies ill. Could you come? He needs his injections
Ill be there now! Emma replied, rushing to dress.
She left the flat, regretting she hadnt checked for antiseptic wipes or syringes. She dashed to the pharmacy, bought everything.
Charlie brightened when Emma entered. Sweatdamp hair clung to his forehead, showing his fever dropping. She washed her hands, prepared the injection, and handed him antibiotics and vitamins.
You remember I have steady hands, dont you? Dont be afraid, Emma said, noticing the fear in his eyes.
He squeezed his eyes shut, then whispered that it hurt a little.
George watched Emma, his gaze lingering longer than anyone ever had. She blushed, felt shy, and somehow more beautiful. Her heart fluttered like a trapped bird.
George offered to drive her home again.
Shall we go to a café? We never really talked.
Youre doing this for the boy? No need. Ill hope, but you cant love me. Im too heavy.
Youre not heavy. Youre warm, soft, kind. Children never lie; they cant be fooled. Youre dear to Charlie, and to me. I think we could build a solid family.
What if Charlies mother returns?
She wont. She sent a rejection, a divorce settlement. She remarried. The child is mine now. So, will you go on a date with me?
Yes, Emma answered simply.
Every soul has its counterpart, a half that fits whether the world is bright or dark; without it, life feels emptier. Appearances matter littlesometimes the mirror shows a swan where once there was a clumsy duck, a plump girl with a tender, loving heart waiting for the one who truly sees it.
