Grandpa, ek! Sam clutched at my wrist, his thin frame swaddled in a coat that was two sizes too big. He shuffled in place, his other hand probing his lips as if he could feel the words there.
I gave my grandson a sideways glance, tightening the scarletandblack checkered scarf around my necka long, woollen piece with a hefty fringe.
That fringe always got in Sams face whenever I leaned over to speak to him. Right now a stray tuft of the fringe brushed his rosy, frostnipped cheek.
Sam winced, rubbed his cheeks with his fingers, and then stared at me with a plaintive look.
Come on, I grumbled, my voice a low growl. What did you say? Ek? Say HERE! Say it right, understand? Come on. My eyes, lined with red veins, locked onto his tiny ones.
Our eyes were like mirrors of each other, almost identical: a miniature copy of the original.
But mine had seen far more; they never wept, they burned with a stern defiance that could scorch. Sams eyes, by contrast, only knew the garden and the playground, and on rare occasions I took him to the local pub to meet the mates I called my friends. His eyes shed quiet tears, the sort that go unnoticed.
Ek Sam whispered.
Here! I shouted.
Ek, ek He repeated, his voice barely audible.
We could have stared at each other forever, the snow falling in endless sheets, draping a white blanket over two kin who barely understood one another, if not for the sudden appearance of a woman. Daisy Whitfield, the cook from the canteen All For A Bite, stood beside us, her smile lit by the twinkling fairy lights strung overhead.
Tom? Is that you? Daisy called out, coughing loudly. And look at that scarf, dear! Red as a Christmas ribbon!
Its mine, I muttered, brushing my nose against her chest as I straightened.
Ah, youre getting grumpy, old man. Whats this about the lad again? Isnt Lucy coming for him? Daisy asked, winking at Sam.
Lucys away on a work trip, I replied, spitting out the words. Shes been here all month. Shes left a knot around your neck, you know!
Remember the first night, Granddad? Daisy teased, flicking the snow off Sams hat with her gloved hand.
I snapped, That night was long ago. Hes been a bother with his wheelchair. Hes got a proper son now, a healthy one. Got it, Sam? I gave him a halfsmile. Sam shrugged. Dont get it. Maybe its better that way.
Whats it to us? Daisy said, blowing a puff of soupscented steam into Sams face. The smell of stew, meatballs and something sweet made his stomach rumble.
She went on, You see, the gardens not feeding him. The old lady, Gal, says shes turning away, and he keeps wailing ek, ek. Let him learn to say here and Ill buy him a bun. Thats my final word. She narrowed her brows, looking me straight in the eye.
I stared back, my hands clenched at my sides. Daisy stared a moment longer, then slapped a gentle tap on my back, making me sway as if I were about to lose my footing.
Now, my last word. I wont let a hungry child stay hungry. Hes not an invalid, hes just slow. Youll catch up, Sam, wont you? she said, nodding.
Sam stared at her, his little eyes tightening as his belly turned uneasy.
Alright, lets head to the canteen. Ive got the day off, and Yvonnes covering for me. Therell be room for everyone at the stove! Follow me, you lot! Daisy announced, marching like a captain leading troops.
Not now, were heading home, I replied, stepping back. I didnt feel like wandering the strangers streets; it was time to get home.
Wed make it to the flat, up to the eighth floor, then ride the lift while I pressed the buttons for Sam, counting each floor. Sam would fidget, Id curse under my breath, hoping hed grow into a decent lad.
Sam would fall quiet, then start his little ek again, the mute fool
And so we left. Daisy watched us go with a sigh.
She wanted to care for someone. It didnt matter who. Warm them, feed them, soothe them. Not for me, of course I wasnt her type. But Sam, that frightened little boy
Winter never seemed to end. Lucy hopped from one assignment to another, I kept taking Sam to the garden, grumbling as I tugged his hat and buttoned his coat with shaking hands. We walked, our scarlet scarf flashing like a beacon in the blizzard over the tired city, while Daisy observed us from the canteens doorway.
One particularly bleak day, she could bear it no longer and dragged us inside.
Im telling you were not going back! Home, Sam! Alexander! I barked, reaching for the aunts hand.
But even I knew wed reached a limit. Beyond that lay darkness and despair. Whether Sam understood or not was another matter; he sometimes sniffed for his mothers coat in the hallway, burying his face in it, while he feared me.
At night hed cry in his sleep, reaching for someone. Id slip my hand in, but Sam would push it away.
Your love is foolish! I muttered. You dont need a mother! Shes probably at the pub, glass in hand, while you whine here
Imagining those evenings, I finally agreed to pop into Daisys workplace.
Right, thats the ticket, Tom! Whats on at home? Ive got a cake! Lets go! she shouted, her voice echoing through the bustling canteen.
The place was packed to the rafters. Cheap, hearty, and as satisfying as a homecooked meal. The menu was simple soup, roast, buckwheat merchantstyle, a little salad, and compote. Occasionally wed serve pilaf, a recipe Daisy learned from a suitor, not from a pot but still delicious sweet carrots, finely diced onions, rice grains separate, glossy, buttery, with just enough meat.
Enjoy, you lot! Daisy called out when thanked.
She cooked as if for her own family, a bustling bunch of chubby children and a hardworking husband. Hed have a schnapps with salted herring, chat about politics, then croon a song. She always wanted three kids, gender didnt matter; she just craved the warmth of a little one suckling at her breast, laughing with a toothless grin. Shed make porridges, compotes, soups feed them! But life didnt go that way
Why Daisy was alone, she never spoke of it. She lived, and that was that. Little did the world know how many women like her existed in England
A few heads turned, glancing at the man, the boy, and the cook. Some regulars rose, bowed their heads.
Thats how the taverns patrons, drunkards and thieves, would greet the owner, thank him for not turning them out.
Daisy also welcomed them. A full belly makes a kind heart, shed say. A fed man is a good man.
Come on, Sam, the hungry one! Daisy opened the staff room door, revealing a small pantry with two tables, a bed, and a wardrobe. Cold? Weve got a stew for you! Sit down, lad. Heres a chair, as snug as a bear for the tiniest one. And for you, Granddad. She puffed her chest like a horse, then vanished behind the door.
I reluctantly stripped off my coat, shivering. Id been feverish for days, bones aching, longing for tea with jam, a bun, and a proper nights sleep. Then Sam
When Sam was born, Lucy told his father straight after discharge.
Did we drop him? she asked, frowning. Didnt watch him properly?
No, I didnt want to leave. It would have been better never to have had him, Lucy muttered resentfully.
Dont worry! Itll work out, everything will be fine! Sam! Sammy! the young man cooed, leaning over the cot where Sam squirmed in his blankets.
Months passed, then vanished.
Lucy realised shed given birth for herself, that the promised itll work out never materialised. She wept, remembering her father.
Lucy? Whats this? I whispered into the phone, surprised. We hadnt spoken in a year and a half, ever since the fallout at her birthday party when shed shouted me out, saying I was a burden.
Hed left, moving into a flat left by relatives. His wife, my mother, had passed long ago. Her heart was gone. Lucy slipped on new boots with fur lining, then fell.
That evening wed planned to go to the theatre for The Nutcracker at the Palace. Tickets came by chance, a huge joy! Lucy had a new dress, a taxi waiting, but an ambulance arrived, and Lucy stayed home, watching as her mother was taken away. The tickets were thrown away.
Since then Ive despised The Nutcracker, and Lucy despised the father whod barred her from the palace.
Lucy! Dont you get it? Mums dead! her father whispered, clutching a tie. Mums gone!
Lucy seemed stonecold, heartless, always demanding from others. She expected Sam to meet every standardtalk, sit, goon schedule. He couldnt.
She never told anyone, but she blamed herself for Sams condition. She hadnt wanted him, hadnt tried. Sam fought inside her, struggling to break free, while Lucy screamed nonsense, fell from a chair, and Sam was born on the floor, silent
Even now he never cries out, even in the garden when the other kids play war and run about. He merely mutters faintly, unsure.
When Lucy finally accepted that Sam wouldnt be her pride, she grew cold to him, trying to push him onto me.
Lucys work trips meant I took Sam in. Mornings Id whisk him to the garden, evenings home, wash, comb, fry eggs for the two of us. We ate in silence, forks clinking. Id have a nip, and the teacher inside me would awaken.
After washing up, Id sit with a sleepy Sam on the sofa, hug him, and watch Youth episode after episode. Sam was bored watching portraits and strange pictures, so Id point with his tiny finger, urging him to repeat after me.
Sam tried. Hed watch my lips, touch them, then his own, exhaling something that sounded like a word. Hed stumble, Id get angry, the magazine would fly, and Sam would drift off to sleep.
Did I love Sam? I wasnt sure. Perhaps I loved him without truly understanding. I didnt know how to help.
Alright, lads, dig in! Sam, grab a spoon! Daisy burst into the room, balancing a tray piled high with plates.
The boy turned away and started crying.
In the garden, Galina Egorovna clamped his lips, trying to spoon soup into Sams mouth. The boy twisted, Gal swore.
Aunt Daisy would scold
But it didnt go as planned.
She set a stool beside us, placed plates before herself and the guests, and sighed. I began to eat. Warmth spread through my chilled body, a gentle scent of bay leaf and salty pickles easing the cold from the workshop where Id spent the day.
Weve known each other for how long, eh? Daisy said, looking at Sam. About thirty years, right? Weve argued, made up, even I once proposed to youyes, yes! She nodded, feeding Sam a spoonful of soup. Good? See, you must always eat well, Sam. If it isnt tasty, you dont eat. And you must live for joy.
Where does that joy come from, Daisy, when the lads alone, without mum, and I cant manage him? Sam asked, his voice trembling. Should we give him medicine? Lucy refuses a diagnosis, but its breaking his life! I snapped, my lips tightening.
Joy comes from everywhere. Without it, lifes bleak, Daisy answered firmly. You must grin and carry on.
Sam opened his mouth like a fledgling, reaching for the spoon dangling midair, then awkwardly brushed my shoulder.
Sorry, Sam, I got distracted, she said, scooping a larger portion and feeding him.
Soup vanished quickly, followed by a meat patty oozing rich gravy, then mash, upon which Aunt Daisy painted funny faces, then smoothed them back into a neat mound for Sam.
Tea followed, and Daisy served a slice of apple cake, the one she promised, which she often brought when visiting. She kissed her friends wife and settled onto a sturdy stool, radiating warmth.
I loved her pies. My wife never baked, so I accepted Daisys cakes gratefully, never jealous of her friendship with my mate.
I also loved listening to Daisy sing, her low voice resonating from deep within, filling the room, making everything melt and hum in time.
I hummed along, Sam joining in softly. Then all fell silent, except for Sams faint recitation of the last line of the song about a horse galloping across a poppy field.
He was that horseyoung, clumsy, stumbling through life, trying to keep his footing, always tripping, always scared.
We lingered a while at Aunt Daisys, then I jolted upright, shaking my head to banish sleep, telling Sam it was time to go home.
Daisy helped dress the boy, then straightened up and said, Tom, give me a ring if you need anything. Ill help.
I nodded.
A few days later I fell ill. I awoke unable to get out of bed. I still had to rouse Sam, feed him, take him to the nursery, get ready for work but my body refused. A coughing fit twisted me under the blankets, then a dizzy spell hit, and darkness fell.
Frightened Sam sat at the edge of my bed, halfclad in his trousers and sweater.
Look at you, all dressed, I whispered, smiling. Sam, I love you, hear? I love you very much!
It was the first time Id said that aloud. Id been shy before.
Now I knew I had to say it.
Uh you dont get it, do you? Poor thing
Sam lunged, pressing his face to my chest, kissing my chin, then hugging my neck tight.
I was everything to him: mother, father, anyone. And Sam understood.
Soon Daisy knocked on the door, urging Sam to open it. The door finally gave way, revealing me, greyhaired and frail.
Whats the use? Daisy snarled. Call the doctor? Youre a hypochondriac! Youll die, Lucy will mourn you, Lucy will pull you from the grave! And Ill she snapped, hauling bags into the kitchen.
She later gave me painful, embarrassing injections in the bare spot of my back.
Sam turned his head to my head and stroked my hair.
Dont touch me, whats that? the boy whispered.
We all froze; Daisy nearly dropped the syringe.
See, he says! Dont cry, itll pass! Why the fuss? she murmured, delivering another shot.
I groaned, then roared with laughter, flipping onto my back, grabbing Sam, rolling him over me, shaking him under my arms.
Youre lying, lad! Im not whining! Why should I whine when youre here? I muttered.
Something clicked in Sam. Words flowed, sentences formed, and one summer afternoon, sitting with me on the riverbank, he swatted a mosquito off my hand and said clearly,
I love you, understand?
I understand, I shrugged, tears spilling from joy.
Daisy told us to be happy, and she was right. Joy sat beside us, barefoot, chatting. Lucy ran off, fed up with the boy. To hell with her.
The duograndfather and grandsonbecame regulars at All For A Bite. Daisy always watched from the window when her shift was on, and even when it wasnt, she still came to feed us.
Lets make a deal, Daisy, I said one day. Just friendship and respect between us, okay? No funny business.
Of course! she laughed. You still need feeding, so the lad turns out right.
I was annoyed at first, then changed my mind. It felt good to be fed, to be cared for.
The next time I bought her flowerschrysanthemumsfrom the florist. Sam observed me sniffing, pursing my lips, then finally handing her a bouquet.
The chrysanthemums have long since wilted in the garden! Sam remarked, recalling a rhyme DaisyAnd as the winter sun finally melted the snow, Sam and his grandfather walked hand in hand back to the canteen, their hearts warmed by the simple promise of another shared loaf.
