Nothing More Close
Barbara and her daughter had just stepped off the bus at the edge of the village. The sun peeked through grey wintry clouds as the crisp air nipped at our cheeks, and the white snow was so dazzling that Rose had to squint her eyes shut.
Mum, why is nobody living in that house? Rose asked as we passed what looked like the only abandoned house at the fringe of the village.
An old lady used to live there,” I replied. “Never saw any relatives visit her. She was a hundred and two when she passed away.
She kept the fire going herself, but someone from the neighbouring cottages would fetch her groceries, even water. Sometimes, we’d leave food or water on her doorstep, and by morning she’d pick up the money or return the empty bucket. We girls lent a hand, too.
But anyone could have pinched the food or cash! Rose exclaimed, wide-eyed.
No one did,” I laughed. “People thought she was a bit of a witch, so they were cautious. One day, no one took the groceries away from her porch, and we realised she must have passed. Even then, people were reluctant to go in, but in the end, they did and gave her a proper farewell. Ever since, the house has been empty.
A real witch? Rose gasped.
Its just tales, sweetheart. She was an old dear. No one truly knew her agesome would say two hundred, others three. But we found her birth record at the parish officeshe was a hundred and two.
Rose fell silent. Wed already left the deserted house behind, passing tidy, well-kept cottages. The lanes were swept, snow clear from the gardens.
Maybe thats why no one moves instill a bit wary? Rose mused, still not over the story.
Then, a familiar figure caught my eye outside one cottage.
Look, theres grandma, out to greet us! Go on, run to her, I urged my daughter and hurried my own steps.
Gran! Rose cried and tore towards her, while Mum spread her arms wide, ready to scoop her granddaughter into a great, warm hug.
Id grown up here in this village, and coming home always felt like drawing a deep, fresh breath after the citys rush.
Mum! I called, and she hugged me tight with one arm, keeping Rose close with the other.
I just had a feeling, so I baked pies. Every Saturday Id come out hoping youd arrive. No sense freezing out herecome inside, quickly!
Inside, the house was snug and clean, with the scent of freshly baked pies mixed with something older, something that felt like home itselfwoven into the timber, the wallpaper, everything. Just as it always was. I glanced around and smiled, my heart full. Theres truly nowhere like home.
Im so glad you came. Will you stay long? Mum asked, a hint of worry in her voice. And wheres Leo?
Hes working, we just couldnt wait any longer. We had planned to visit over Christmas, but Rose caught a bug, then Leo did too. Well head back Sunday nightwork first thing Monday.
I looked at Mum, seeing how much shed aged. Dad passed two years backeven though he was younger, life in the village can wear you down.
Right, time to get you fed. You must be starving after that journey, said Mum. She disappeared into the kitchen, banging about with pots and plates. Rose trailed behind her like a little shadow.
Mum set the table leisurely, using familiar, comforting movements. The two of us could have eaten everything in sight, but after sampling a bit of this and that, Rose started yawning and leaned her head against her gran’s side.
Tired after your journey, love. And look how youve grown! Soon youll catch up with me. Lets tuck you into bed.
Mum led Rose to the snug little alcove. That used to be my own sleep-nook. The whole cottage only ever had one proper room, partitioned by a wardrobe or a curtain if needed.
Let her sleep, Mum said as she returned. Now tell me, how are you all getting on?
Alls fine, Mum. Oh, we bumped into Mrs. Harris from the next village at the coach stop. She kept calling me Lucy. I told her I was Barbara, your daughter, and yet she kept mixing me up. Do I really look like your sister? Have you got her photograph?
Youve seen it a hundred times,” Mum retorted, turning away.
Id like to see it again.
Alright, she sighed, let me clear up first and Ill show you.
Presently, Mum returned with a shoebox full of photographsmostly old, yellowed black and whites, corners curled, though a few were more recent, full-colour moments.
Thats you as a girl. Here you are in year five. Rose is the spitting image. And this one any guesses?
Thats me! I grinned.
No, that’s your Aunt Lucy, my younger sister, Mum corrected me.
We really do look alike. Almost uncanny.
And this was her last photo, at her graduation. Mum handed me a crisp colour portrait of a pretty fair-haired girl. She was such a beautycouldnt help staring at her.
I gazed at the photograph, trying to spot myself, but not seeing much resemblance to Mum at all. I looked up. Mum hesitated, then took a deep breath.
I suppose its time you knew the truth. You deserve to hear it from me. Lucyshe was your real mother. I never said before. I kept it for your own sake.
She was late having you and didnt want to. Carried heavy buckets, slogged in the fields, even went to the steam baths, hoping to…well. But you came anyway, a beauty even as a baby. I was fifteen then, helped Mum with everything, took care of my little sister.
After school, most young people went to the city. I stayedcouldnt leave Mum and Lucy. No men around, so I stayed single, not wanting to marry a drunk or a widower just for the sake of it.
But Lucy, she was restlessleft after finishing school for London. Came back nearly two years later, not aloneshe had you with her. You were just a tiny scrap, I was afraid to even hold you. And Lucy it was as if shed given all her beauty to you.
Shed grown thin, nervous, sometimes silent and moody, other times giddy and laughing. Two days later, she simply ran offleft you behind and returned to London. Had to get her next fix. She was on drugs, which we only found out later. Soon after, she diedoverdosed. I went to London to arrange the funeral. Mum was too ill to come.
Mum wanted to hand you over to the orphanage, but I refused. I thought, its just me, but at least Ill have one child to love, and you, after all, were my own family by blood. People in the village never twigged, and those who did kept quiet. Lucy had only appeared for two days before vanishing again. I fixed it with the registrar at the county hospitalthey put you down as mine, as if Id given birth to you. It cost a bit of money, of course. So you became my daughter, and I changed your name. Lucy had called you Barbiewhat an odd name! I called you Barbara, proud and proper.
A year later, your father came. Hed been in the army, and Lucy never told him she was pregnant. When he came back searching, friends told him shed had a baby, then died. He was discharged from the army after an injury, and he stayed on here. Mum accepted him too, though she and Lucy had never been married. In a place like this, every good man is precious. Later we married properly and had a good life. He never knew about Lucys drugs.
Thats why I kept my silence. Why should you carry pain of knowing your mother died like that? But truth will always come out. I raised you as my own. Do you remember the saying: Not the mother who gave birth, but the one who raised the child?
I sat there, speechless, the weight of so many years of secrecy pressing down.
Where are you going? asked Mum, alarmed, as I stood and headed for the door.
I just need to be alone for a moment. I threw on my coat and slipped outside.
Why did she have to say it? Why now? Mother an addict, died from an overdosewho could imagine this, even in a nightmare? At least my father was real, or was he? Whos to say? God, what am I thinking? She was my mother Mother? She gave me up for a hit. What kind of mother chooses that over her child?
But was I not happy all this time? I always had a real Mum. And a real Dad. They loved me. What about the one who left? She was never there: not for my illnesses, not for my first steps. Mum could have put me in a home but kept me safe. I cant even bring myself to call her by any name but Mum.
Right now, I havent a clue what to do, but Id simply have fallen to pieces if Id heard this as a child. What do I think now? Shes in there, shes hurting too
The bitter wind chilled me, so I returned to the warm kitchen. Mum still sat at the table where Id left her.
Im sorry, Mum. Youre my mother. I love you, I whispered, hugging her close.
And Im sorry for keeping silent all these years.
Why are you sitting in the dark? Roses little voice piped up from the alcove. Oh, Mums picturewerent you pretty!
Mum took the snap from her, gathered the photos, and tucked them away.
Oh Gran, I wasnt done! Rose protested.
Theres nothing there for youlook at us while you can, love.
That night, I couldnt sleep for hours. I could hear Mums quiet sighs; her old bed springs creaked as she turned from side to side. I got up and went over.
Are you awake?
She turned back the edge of the blanket. Its cold on the floor. Climb in!
I snuggled under the covers, pressing against her warmth, just like long ago.
Still worrying, are you?
Not anymore. Youre my true mother. I dont want or need any other. Lucy was your sister, thats all.
We whispered together for ages. Then I rose.
Get some sleep, Mum. Youre the best. You always were, always will be. I tucked the blanket around her just as shed done for me as a child, slipped back to my own bed, and soon drifted into the softest sleep.
The next morning, Mum saw us off at the bus.
Dont miss us too much, Gran. Well be back soon! cried Rose.
I hugged Mum close one last time and breathed in her lovely, familiar scent.
Go on, youll catch a chill
The bus had long since left, but Mum stood gazing after us down the snowy lane, tears freezing in the corners of her eyes.
So, at thirty-three, I learned that my mother died when I was just months old, and that Id been raised by her elder sistermy steadfast Mum.
At first, I was angry about the secret kept so long. But then I realised it didnt matter. After all, both women were sisters, a family as close as any in the world.
Nothing, truly, could ever be more close.
