Left All Alone
Outside the window, a peculiar twilight pressed itself against the glass and Alices mother still hadnt returned. Spinning the wheels of her wheelchair, Alice rolled over to the table, picked up the house phone and dialed her mothers mobile.
The number you are calling is switched off or out of service, crooned a distant, metallic stranger.
She stared, confused, until she remembered the pay-as-you-go was nearly out of credit. With a sigh, she flicked it off.
Her mother had just nipped down to the supermarket, but shed never left for this long before. Never, ever. Alice was a child born with a limp futureher legs wouldnt take her. She was seven years old, bright and brave, but getting about meant turning wheels. There were no grandparents, no one elsejust her and Mum, in a tucked-away terraced house in Reading.
Mum had gone the extra mile, literally, heading to the big Sainsburys in Wokingham because food was always a bit cheaper there. We can be there and back in an hour, Mum always said. But now, the clock hands carved slow holes in the dream. Four hours had melted away. Alices stomach pinched with hunger.
She guided her chair into the kitchen, made the kettle burble, fetched a cold mince pie from the fridge, ate quietly, poured tea.
Still, the house echoed only with the tock-tock of the kitchen clock. She caved again to worry, dialed her mums number:
The number you are calling is switched off or out of service, the same, distant voice replied.
She hesitated, then moved herself to her bed, sliding the phone under the pillow. She left the lamp burningwithout Mum, even dreams seemed colder.
She lay listening to the subtle groan of the old house, and finally, drifted to sleep.
***
Day cracked through the curtains. Sunlight skittered over the made-up bed across the room. Mums bed.
Mum! Alice called out, voice bouncing through the empty hallway.
Only silence answered. She snatched up the phone and dialed again. That same remote, metallic voice. Her breath grew ragged, tears puddled along her cheeks.
***
Out in the waking streets, Oliver strolled home from the corner café, clutching a bag of fresh scones. Breakfast rituals had held him and his mother together all his thirty yearsshe would brew the tea, he fetched something warm and buttery.
Oliver had never married, and love seemed an odd joke fate played without him: too skinny, sickly, never quite the sort to catch a woman’s eye. Childhood illnesses had gnawed at him, and the latest doctors words had ended any hope of children of his own. It made peace easier, somehow.
A shimmer in the grass caught his eyean old, battered mobile, flattened as if a lorry had rolled over it. Technology was Olivers passion and living; he was a programmer and blogger. Even though his own collection of phones put this clunker to shame, curiosity tugged him to pocket it.
Odd, he mused. Better look at it at home.
***
After breakfast, Oliver pried the SIM from the ruined phone and slipped it into one of his own. Most of the stored numbers belonged to the GP surgery, local council, and the benefits office. But at the top sat simply: “Daughter.”
He pondered, then rang.
A small, bright voice burst through: Mummy?
Erno, not your mummy, Oliver stammered.
Where is she? The world wobbled in the girls voice.
Im afraid I dont know. I found her broken phone, popped the card into mine, and called.
My mums missing, the girl sobbed, the world suddenly drenched in pleading. She went out yesterday to the shop and never came back.
He felt a hollow place inside open. Are there any other grown-upsdad, nan, anyone?
No, just me and Mum. She said quietly.
Whats your name? he asked, determined.
Alice.
Im Uncle Oliver. Alice, is there someone next door you could tell?
I cant go next door; my legs dont work. Plus, next doors been empty for ages.
He was stunned. What do you mean, your legs dont work?
I was born like this. Mum says, if we save up enough, doctors can fix me. I get about in my wheelchair.
Do you know your address, Alice? he asked gently.
Yes, number 7 Churchill Road, flat eighteen.
Ill come. Well sort this together.
He hung up and turned to his mother, Margaret.
Oliver, whats going on? she asked.
He quickly explained. Margaret, whod raised him single-handedly through endless nights of illness, fetched her coat at once. Were going together. That poor girl.
They called a taxi, and set off towards the unknown flat where a frightened child waited.
***
Pressing the buzzer, they heard a wavering, childs voice, Whos there?
Alice, its me, Oliver.
Come in
The entrance hall was cold and echoing. The door to flat eighteen was already ajar.
Inside, a frail girl cradled in a wheelchair, wide, solemn eyes rising to meet them. Will you find my mummy?
Whats your mums name? Oliver asked gently.
Claire.
And surname?
Baker.
Lets get you some lunch, Margaret interjected kindly. Oliver, pop to our Sainsburys and grab a few bits.
He was out the door in seconds.
***
By the time he returned, Margaret had the kitchen busy and warm. Together, they made the table and ate. Afterwards, Oliver focused on finding Claire.
He opened his laptop, scrolling local news of accidents from the previous day.
TherePark Lanean unnamed woman was hit by a Ford Fiesta. Taken to hospital, serious condition.
He rang the hospital. On the third try, a nurse answered.
Yes, we admitted a woman from Park Lane last night. No ID or phone found, still unconscious.
Could I have her name?
We dont know. Are you a relative?
Not exactly Ill come to the hospital.
He turned to Alice. Any photos of your mum?
Yes. She fetched an album, flipping it open. Thats us last Christmas.
Your mums beautiful! Oliver took a picture on his phone. Ill go and look for her.
***
Claire blinked awake under a glaring white ceiling. Memory flickereda car, an impossible noise.
She tried to move. Pain rippled everywhere.
A nurse appeared. Youre awake?
How long have I been here?
Two nights.
My girl I left my daughter alone
Stay calm. The nurse pressed Claires shoulder. Yesterday, a young man came. Said he found your broken phone, left this for you.
I need to call
The nurse dialed “daughter” and held the phone to her ear.
Mum! a tiny voice burst in.
Alice, my darlinghow are you?
Im alright! Granny Margaret and Uncle Oliver are with me.
Whos Uncle Oliver? Claire stammered.
Dont stress, love, or Ill take that phone, called the doctor at the door. Let me give you a check.
Sweetheart, Ill ring soon, Claire whispered as the nurse took the phone away and set up a drip.
After a while, the nurse relented, dialing one more time.
Darling
This is Margaret Evans. Im a pensioner. My son found your phone and tracked you and your daughter through that little SIM card. Dont worrywhile you recover, Ill look after Alice. I promise. Here, she wants to speak.
Mum, dont worry, just get better, Alice chirped.
Listen to Granny Margaret, Claire sighed, holding onto the words like a life raft.
Time to rest, insisted the nurse.
***
The next evening, a nurse popped in. Claire Baker? Visitor for you.
In shuffled a thin, awkward man with kind eyes and a sheepish smile.
Hello Claire, Im Oliver. I hope you dont mind my being familiar. I dropped by to see youbrought you a hamper from Mum.
Claire blinked. I dont even know who you are.
He explained how hed found her crumpled phone, how it led him to her little girl, how they pieced things together.
Hows Alice? Claires voice shook.
Oliver fetched the phone Margaret had left. After a moments fiddling, a video call opened: Alice, beaming.
Mum! Are you in pain?
No, darling, much better. How are you?
Granny Margaret visits every day!
Mother and daughter spoke while Oliver busied himself at the window, patient. Afterwards, Claires eyes brimmed with gratitude.
I owe you everything.
None of that, Oliver grinned. Always here, Claire. And call me Oliver.
He taught her to use the simple phone, and left.
***
Two weeks passed.
The driver whod struck Claire appeared at the hospital, accompanied by a solicitor, and handed over two hundred thousand pounds in compensation.
The next day, Claire was discharged. Oliver collected her and wheeled her home.
Mum! Alice shrieked, hugging her so fiercely it seemed she might leap from the chair.
Claire wept, holding her girl. Then she turned to Margaret.
Thank you, Mrs Evans.
Please! Margaret wiped her eyes. Alice is like a granddaughter to me now.”
“And now that I have the compensation,” Claire said, opening her purse, “please, let me repay you”
Margaret stopped her firmly. Put that away! Youll need every penny for Alices treatment. Oliver’s found a clinic already.
Mum! Alice yelled excitedly, Uncle Oliver says Ill have my operationtheyll fix my legs!
***
Claire and Alice spent a fortnight at a London clinic. Metal rods were fitted; there would be more operations, three years of pain and hope. Doctors promised, one day, that Alices feet would carry her across playgrounds and fields.
For now, Alice still rattled around in her chair, metal cold against her bones.
But fate seemed to twist between triumphs. Margarets heart failed. She was rushed to hospitalcritical.
Claire sat by her bed for three nights, holding her hand, returning home only to cook soup and sleep a few hours. Oliver stayed with Alice during the night.
On the fourth morning, Margaret opened her eyes, found Claire there by the window, and spoke quietly:
My dear, I havent much time left. Marry Oliver hes good, steadfast. Together youll help Alice find her feet.
Would he even want me? Claire whispered.
He will. Margaret smiled. He truly, truly will.
***
On a fine September morning, Margaretwith shaky hands but a proud heartheld Alices hand as she carried a bouquet of flowers and wore a brand-new school uniform. If not for her height, anyone would have thought it was her first day of school.
It wasthe first time Alice entered a classroom on her own feet. Three years of distance learning over, and now she was ten. Shed earned nothing less than top marks at home, but now the world of bustling corridors and laughter waited.
Nana, Im a bit scared, Alice admitted.
Nonsense, Alice! Youre bravelook, there are your mum and dad, Margaret smiled.
Claire hurried up. Feeling nervous, darling?
Shes worried, but shes got us, Margaret said.
Oliver held out his hand, grinning. Come on, Alice. Lets walk together.
With you, Dad, Im not scared at all, Alice beamed.
And off they trotted toward the future, chatting brightly; behind followed Claire and Margaret, just as happy, in the surreal light where every ending is only the beginning of another dream.
