A Crack in Trust
Mrs. Thompson, are you in? Its me, Maisie from the third floor! I’ve some hot pasties left for you, and a little favour to ask… Wont you open up?
Mrs. Thompson stood frozen by her window, a teacup gone cold in her hands. Beyond the glass, Novembers pall hung over the courtyard between the blocks of flats; the wind swirled yellow leaves, and the few passers-by hurried, collars turned up. Shed grown used to the silence. The tick of the clock, the gentle hum of the fridge, the way the wooden floor creaked underfoot. The fact that no one knocked anymore.
Mrs. Thompson, I can see your lights on! Dont hide, love, Im ever so nice!
The voice at the door was loud, insistent, shot through with a particular cheerful determination that denied refusal. Mrs. Thompson set her cup on the sill and slowly went to the hallway. She paused by the door and peered through the spyhole. Maisie stood outside, a carrier in her hand, grinning broadly, her frizzy auburn hair tied carelessly back, bright lipstick, a fuchsia puffer jacket.
Come now, its not a castle, is it? Maisie called. Do let me in, or Ill freeze stiff!
Mrs. Thompson slipped off the chain and unlatched the door. Maisie burst inside like a gust of spring, carrying with her the scent of perfume, cold air and something fried.
Baked these this morning and thought Id bring them round to the neighbour Maisie shoved the bag into Mrs. Thompsons hands. Cabbage and mince, still warm. You mustnt be eating properly sat here on your own! You look ever so thin!
Thank you, Maisie, you neednt have…
Nonsense! I dont mind a bit. Ive always loved doing a kindness. Do have one with your tea, please. Make it good and strong youre looking peaky.
Maisie made for the kitchen as if it were her own, flicked on the kettle and fetched two mugs from the shelf. Mrs. Thompson stood at the doorway, bag in hand, quite at a loss. Shed been alone so long that another persons presence felt not quite real almost intrusive.
Sit yourself down now, Maisie commanded. Well have a proper cuppa and a natter. I know how it goes, you lose your husband, the children are off somewhere, and life turns to a fog. My aunt was the same after Uncle Billy died shed have gone barmy from loneliness.
Mrs. Thompson sat at the table. The pasties did indeed smell wonderful. She seldom cooked nowadays, couldnt see the point of fussing just for herself. Usually, she grabbed something ready-made from the shop and shoved it in the microwave, eaten without appetite.
Dont think Im interfering, Maisie poured the tea, ladling in four spoonfuls of sugar for herself. I simply cant help but care, you see. When my neighbours out of sorts, I cant just walk on by. Thats my trouble always worrying about everyone else. My husband says, Maisie, youll save the world and forget yourself entirely. But thats just me.
She talked without pause, her words lively, her gestures broad, laughing boisterously. Mrs. Thompson listened and felt something inside thaw, very slowly. How long had it been since she had a proper chat over tea in the kitchen? Alex phoned her once a week, but their conversations were always brief, just the basics. How are you, Mum? Im well, love. Have you eaten? I have. Need any money? No, thanks. Love you, speak soon. And then, silence, all over again, for seven more days.
You know, Mrs. Thompson, Ive been wanting to invite you for ages, Maisie leaned in, her eyes shining with genuine warmth. We girls meet up sometimes at The Willow Basket, that little café round the corner you know it? Just a natter, swap hellos and stories. Why not come with us? You need a bit of company.
Im not sure, Maisie Im not really
Oh, you simply must, Maisie interrupted. Ill fetch you myself, so you cant wriggle out. Cant be living in a box of walls, its not good for your health, believe me. All sorts stem from loneliness.
Mrs. Thompson nodded, not knowing how to refuse. Maisie gulped her tea, stood up and took a critical look round the kitchen.
Oh, but you do have a lovely place, dont you! And what a tea service that is! She went to the cabinet, gazing at the porcelain set behind the glass: white as snow, edged with a fine gold line. Is that an antique?
My late husband, Colin, bought it for our thirtieth anniversary, Mrs. Thompson said quietly.
Gorgeous! Cherish it, you must. Right, Ill dash, Ive things to do. Eat your pasties, dont be shy. And Ill see you tomorrow at three, agreed?
She was gone as quickly as shed come. Mrs. Thompson remained, staring at the bag of pasties, the mugs, the mark of Maisies lipstick on the rim of one. The silence had returned, but now it felt a little different. Not quite so empty.
***
So began a new pattern. Maisie came every day, sometimes in the morning, sometimes in the evening, always with some reason: needing salt, seeking advice, or just popping in for a chat. She drew Mrs. Thompson into conversation, took her shopping, pressed her to join in the noisy meet-ups at the café with three more ladies loud, lively, always gossiping about neighbours, prices, or the telly.
At first, Mrs. Thompson felt quite out of place. These women were different rougher, franker they laughed at things shed never found funny, used words that embarrassed her. But Maisie would take her arm, pull her close and say, Heres my friend, Mrs. Thompson, a proper lady, she was a teacher. And it sounded almost like pride.
Gradually, Mrs. Thompson grew accustomed. She found herself looking forward to Maisie’s visits, getting ready for the outings, feeling a little life return. It wasnt the sort of company she knew before Colin died, back when they attended the theatre or had colleagues over. But that was all gone now those friends had moved, grown ill, some had died. Only these inexpensive café gatherings and chats over plastic cups remained. Yet it was something, and it was better than silence.
Mrs. Thompson, have you still got that brooch you wore the other day? Maisie asked one afternoon as they sat in the kitchen, sipping tea with Digestives. It was just lovely. Amber, wasnt it?
Yes, amber, Mrs. Thompson nodded. It was my mothers.
Could I just have a good look? I do love old treasures they bless my very soul!
Mrs. Thompson fetched her trinket box and handed Maisie the brooch. Maisie turned it over in the light, admiring it.
Isnt it darling! Oh, could I possibly show it to my daughter, Helen remember, I mentioned her? Shes graduating university soon and wants something vintage for the ceremony. I’ll just show her, and then bring it right back, promise!
Mrs. Thompson hesitated. The brooch meant so much a memory of her mother. But Maisie looked at her with such open hope, such gratitude, that to refuse seemed uncivilised.
Very well, she agreed. But please take care.
I will, as though it were my own eye! Oh, thank you, you angel!
A week passed. The brooch didnt return. Mrs. Thompson hinted, but Maisie simply waved her hand, Helens still undecided adores it, can you imagine? Just a bit longer and Ill return it. Then another week went by. Maisie said Helen had lost it by accident, but shed find it not to worry.
Mrs. Thompson did worry. She lay awake, replaying it in her mind, blaming herself for her trusting nature. And when she tried to speak about it directly, Maisie took offence.
You dont think Im deceiving you, surely? Maisie sounded genuinely hurt. Me the one whos rescued you from all this loneliness? I came every day, gave you a friend, someone to lean on? Well! If you cant trust me, perhaps we shouldnt speak after all.
No, no, Maisie I didnt mean Mrs. Thompson was frightened by the thought of losing Maisie and returning to the dreadful silence. Forgive me, I only That brooch means so much, you see?
All right, all right. Itll turn up. Helens been searching everywhere. Dont worry, please?
And Mrs. Thompson tried not to worry. In truth, she forced herself. Maisie resumed her visits, again bringing pasties and proposing walks. Now, though, she occasionally asked for a little loan.
Mrs. Thompson, have you a couple hundred pounds till my pension comes? My boys ill, needs medicine and Im short. Ill pay you back in three days when Im paid, I promise!
Mrs. Thompson gave it to her. Maisie was her friend, almost a sister; the only person who came, who cared about her life. Two hundred pounds. Five hundred. The money was never repaid, and when Mrs. Thompson gently reminded her, Maisie seemed so genuinely wounded that Mrs. Thompson was left ashamed of her own pettiness.
I thought we were friends, Maisies voice trembled. Id give a limb for you, and here you are, counting pennies.
***
Alex called on a Wednesday evening. Mrs. Thompson was getting ready for bed, sitting in her faded dressing gown, barely watching a programme about cottage DIY.
Hello, Mum, Alexs voice sounded tired. How are you?
All right, love. And you?
Works relentless. Listen… I was thinking perhaps you could stay with us this weekend? Marinas craving your stew, and the children miss you.
Im not sure, Alex Ive things on.
What things? he sounded surprised. Mum, youre at home all day.
Im not. Ive a friend now; Maisie from the third floor. Lovely woman, always popping in, keeping me company.
Mum, do you know her well?
Of course, I do. Weve chatted for two months. Shes got me out in the world again Id have faded away otherwise.
Alex was silent for a moment, and she heard his sigh.
All right, Mum. Im glad youre occupied. Just take care, wont you? And your belongings. Not everyones trustworthy.
What are you saying? she snapped. Maisies like a sister! Youve never even met her, and youre already judging!
Im not judging, Mum. Just never mind. Love you. Night.
He hung up. Mrs. Thompson sat with the phone in her hand, feeling a rising sense of injustice. See? Even her own son wasnt pleased shed found someone to be close to. It must be easier for them when shes alone and silent, not cluttering up their busy lives. Now shes needed elsewhere, and it unsettled them. Selfish, thats what it is.
The next day, Maisie arrived with a plan.
Mrs. Thompson, listen! She waltzed in, dropped her coat and made straight for the kitchen. Remember me telling you about that spa retreat my friend manages in Bath? Huge discount! Ive an idea: lets go together in April when the weathers milder. Imagine two weeks on the minerals, some treatments, the country air!
Mrs. Thompson hesitated. She hadnt travelled for ages. The last trip was with Colin to Devon, three years before he passed. The idea of going seemed both daunting and a bit exciting.
Its bound to be expensive, she said cautiously.
Not at all! With our discount, its just £400 each! A bargain for such a place! Ive half saved up already you start saving too, and well be ready by April.
Im not sure, Maisie… My pensions not much, just £300 a month.
Oh, come now! Im sure youve got a little nest egg, havent you? You and Colin always worked, always put by. Four hundred is nothing! Youll remember this for years the best thing you ever did. Otherwise, you might moulder away here.
Mrs. Thompson considered. She did have some savings about £2,500 in the bank, set aside by Colin just in case. Shed never touched it. But a health spa with Maisie for company well, perhaps
All right, she said. Lets try.
Maisie beamed.
I knew youd say yes! Look, Ill go with you to the bank tomorrow so you can withdraw it machines can be a muddle.
Perhaps thats wise, Mrs. Thompson agreed.
The next day they went to the branch a ten-minute walk away. Maisie, cheerful as ever, laid out their plans, listed what theyd pack, which medicines to include. At the bank, Mrs. Thompson drew out £400 and handed it to Maisie.
Ill take it to my friend and pay the deposit, Maisie said, carefully putting away the notes. Ill bring you the receipt, just to be official.
The receipt, of course, never came. At first, Maisie said her friend was on holiday, then the paperwork wasnt ready, then something else. Mrs. Thompson worried, but couldnt quite bring herself to demand answers. Maisie was just as caring and kind as ever albeit now, she sometimes wanted more.
Mrs. Thompson, any chance you could lend me your tea set for a bit? Helens wedding next month, and weve nothing nice for the table. Ill return it, sparkling, I promise!
The tea set. That precious set, Colins wedding anniversary present. Mrs. Thompson looked at Maisie and found herself speechless. It was too much too dear.
Maisie, that set it means so much to me.
Oh, here we go again, Maisie pulled a face. All Ive done for you and you nitpick over crockery! Ive given you life, a friend youd be an utter recluse if not for me! This is your gratitude?
Maisie, I really am grateful, I am Mrs. Thompson could feel her legs tremble. But that set
You know what? If you cant trust me, perhaps we should stop seeing each other. I dont need friends who count every spoon! I thought you were different.
Maisie grabbed her bag and started for the door. Mrs. Thompson was gripped by fear. Not again. Not that awful loneliness.
Wait, Maisie take the set. Only, please look after it.
Maisie turned and smiled.
Thats better. Friendship must have trust, dont you think? Ill guard it with my life, promise.
***
It was Marina Mrs. Thompsons daughter-in-law who rang three weeks later, sounding worried.
Hello, Mum, its Marina. Alex is at work, so I thought Id call. Is it true you made a large withdrawal from the bank?
Mrs. Thompson bristled.
How did you know?
Alex checks your statements hes your bank proxy, remember? Theres a withdrawal of £400. Is everything all right?
Yes, I took it out. What of it?
Mum, what was it for?
Marina, its my money Mrs. Thompsons voice was frosty. I can spend it as I like.
Of course, Mum, you can. Its just Alex and I worry. You mentioned a neighbour who visits often. We just fear if
If what? Mrs. Thompson cut in. That Im losing my marbles? That I cant judge someones character? That Ill be taken in, just because Im old?
Not that, Mum please, Marinas voice was gentle, cautious. But some people take advantage of those who are lonely and vulnerable. We dont want anyone using you.
Well, thank you for your concern, Mrs. Thompson interrupted. But Maisie is kind and generous; shes the only one who cares. Not that you or Alex
Thats not fair, Mum, Marina sounded hurt. Alex and I are working our socks off. Two kids, a mortgage. We cant get across town every day. Its not that we dont love you.
If you cared, youd find the time, Mrs. Thompson replied coldly. Once a week, and you call that enough? Sorry, Marina, Im busy. Goodbye.
She hung up and slumped on the sofa, heart thudding and hands shaking. She knew she was unfair. Knew Alex and Marina really were run off their feet, paying the mortgage, tending to the children. But in that moment, she didnt care. They believed she was useless, to be managed, never trusted. It stung.
Maisie came round that evening, as lively as ever, laden with biscuits and news. Mrs. Thompson poured tea, sat across from her, thinking here, at least, was someone who understood her, who needed her. Yes, someone who had needs. But wasnt that what friends were for?
Mrs. Thompson, I mentioned wanting to buy Helen a special set for the wedding. Theres a lovely ceramic lot at The Willow Basket, on sale for just £200 reduced from £350! Why not go halves with me? Ill pay you back as soon as I can.
Maisie, I have nothing spare just now, Mrs. Thompson was weary. I gave you £400 for the spa, remember?
Oh but you still have your savings, dont you? Or you could just put it on a credit card theres interest-free for six months now. Youd barely notice.
At my age, Maisie? Ive no need of credit.
Oh, everyone does it now! I bought the fridge on mine, no trouble at all. Come, well go tomorrow, youll help me pick the best one youve such taste. Help Helen out, shes clueless about these things.
Mrs. Thompson wanted to refuse, but Maisie had moved on, laughing about the neighbours. The moment was lost. The next day at two oclock sharp, Maisie came to the door.
Come along, Mrs. Thompson! Wrap up warm, theres a brisk wind.
Together they boarded the bus for the big shopping centre, a world of noise and glare that unsettled Mrs. Thompson. Maisie guided her through the aisles to the kitchenware.
Look at this beautiful, isnt it? Perfect for Helen so cheerful! Six bowls, six plates, salad servers, the works! All for £200.
Its a lot of money, Mrs. Thompson said quietly. And why get credit? Cant we choose something less dear?
Its her wedding! You cant be stingy. And its only half, Ill pay you the rest when I can. Please, Mrs. Thompson, you love me like a sister, dont you?
Maisies look was so pleading that Mrs. Thompson couldnt say no. She nodded. Maisie called the assistant and arranged credit in Mrs. Thompsons name.
Passport? the clerk asked.
Here you are, Mrs. Thompson passed it over.
Brilliant, just sign here, here and here.
She barely skimmed the fine print, everything a blur amid the queues and piped-in music. Her head spun, and she longed for home. Finally, Maisie took the box and, with a cheerful Thank you, Mrs. Thompson! Youre a marvel! they headed out.
Just then, a familiar voice called her name.
Mrs. Thompson?
She turned to see Marina, her daughter-in-law, clutching bags and bristling with anxiety.
Mum, what are you doing here?
Oh, Marina, we were just
Hello, Maisie cut in stiffly. Youre Mrs. Thompsons relation?
Daughter-in-law, Marina replied directly. And you?
Friend. Maisie. Weve just snagged some crockery for my daughters wedding.
I see, Marina shot a glance at Mrs. Thompson and the box. Mum, could I have a word? Alone?
Marina, were in a hurry started Mrs. Thompson.
Please, its important.
There was something in Marinas tone that forced Mrs. Thompson to comply. Maisie pursed her lips.
Ill wait at the doors, then, and left them.
Marina steered Mrs. Thompson to a quiet corner.
Mum, what have you just bought?
A crockery set for Maisies daughters wedding.
Who paid?
I did. Ive taken a loan, but Maisie will cover half, she swore.
You took a loan? Or Maisie did?
Me, but Shes promised to repay. Marina, its my business, Im an adult.
Mum, listen please, Marina spoke urgently. Alex checked up on Maisie. Shes notorious in this area for targeting elderly women. She worms her way in, borrows money and precious things, then disappears. Mum, shes using you.
Thats a lie! Mrs. Thompsons voice rose. Maisies my friend she looks out for me! Youre just jealous Ive someone else in my life.
Its not that. Were worried for you, Mum! Shes taken your brooch, money for a spa that doesnt exist, your tea set the one Colin gave you! Cant you see?
Shell return it! She promised!
She wont, Mum you know it, deep down.
Those words hurt most, because Mrs. Thompson did know. Deep inside, she knew shed never see the brooch again, or her money, or the china. Owning up to it would mean admitting shed been naivea fool. That the last three months were a sham. That she was alone.
Go away, Mrs. Thompson whispered. Go, Marina. Dont ever tell me what to do.
Mum…
I said, go!
Marina looked at her long and hard, her gaze full of pain and something indefinable. Then she left, quickly. Mrs. Thompson, shaking with anger and fear, drifted back to Maisie.
Lets go, she said coldly.
They rode home in silence. Maisie cradled the box on her lap, her face closed. Once they reached the flats, it was Maisie who broke the silence.
That was your daughter-in-law? She say something about me?
Yes, Mrs. Thompson kept to the truth. She said you were using me.
Maisie stopped in the courtyard, set the box on a bench.
And you believed her?
No, Mrs. Thompsons answer was quiet.
Mrs. Thompson, listen, Maisie caught her hands, looking her straight in the eye. I know your familys slandering me, telling you Im a villain. Its not true I care about you, really. The brooch will turn up. The spa is just being organised, thats all. Helens nearly done with the tea set, youll have it soon. Ill pay back for the crockery. You trust me?
Mrs. Thompson looked into Maisies overly made-up eyes. How badly she wanted to believe. She still, desperately, wanted Maisie to be a true friend.
I trust you, she murmured.
Maisie hugged her, smelling of cheap scent and cigarettes.
Good, then. Dont listen to outsiders. Only we know about true friendship, right?
***
The next two weeks, Mrs. Thompson ignored Alex and Marinas calls. They phoned every day, but she hit “ignore.” The pain was too much. Maisie still visited, but not as often now, and she seemed more distant, always busy, always a new excuse. The tea set was promised as soon as possible. The spa receipt was always in the post.
Sleep deserted Mrs. Thompson. She’d lie awake, mulling conversations with Maisie and her family, gnawing doubts ever-present, though she batted them away. No, Marina was wrong; Maisie cared, she was just busy these days, that was all.
Her blood pressure played up, her head ached, her vision swam. A few times she felt faint in the kitchen, but shed just sit and wait it out. She never called anyone pride wouldnt allow it.
On Saturday morning, the doorbell rang. She answered, thinking it would be Maisie. Instead, Alex and Marina stood there, bags of shopping in hand.
Hi, Mum, Alex looked pale and tired. We came anyway. You wouldnt answer, so we had to come in person.
I told you, Im fine, she replied, frostily.
Please, Mum, lets not quarrel, Marina said, busying herself in the kitchen. We brought food. Come, well cook and talk.
She wanted to send them away, but couldnt. They were her family. She sat at the table, listening as Alex set over the plates and Marina started the soup. They moved as if she were fragile and it only annoyed her more.
Mum, tell me honestly, Alex sat opposite her. Did Maisie return anything? The brooch or the money?
Not yet, she will, Mrs. Thompson wouldnt meet his eyes.
Mum Ive spoken to the police. Shes well-known for this. Its a pattern.
It cant be, she whispered, but her hands shook.
Mum, youre clever, Marina took her hand. Youve taught children for years. Dont you feel its wrong? Cant you see that shes used you?
Shes my friend! Shes the only one who cares! You two are always at work you dont bother with me.
Mum, thats so unfair Alexs voice hardened. We work to keep the house, feed the kids, pay the mortgage. We cant cross town daily. But we ring, we invite you, we love you. And yet you give every last thing to a con woman!
Get out, Mrs. Thompson rose and pointed at the door. Go, now! I want you gone.
Mum…
Out!
They left. She slammed the door, then slid to the floor in the hall, clutching her head, sobbing. She realised her family were right. Shed always known deep down. But to say it out loud meant acknowledging her own foolishness.
Maisie didnt come for three days. Then, abruptly, she did, all smiles.
Mrs. Thompson, love! Just passing and thought Id call in.
Maisie, Mrs. Thompson stood in the doorway, not stepping aside. You promised me my tea set.
Oh, yes, about that set, Maisie waved her hand. My Helen silly girl! broke a cup or two when she washed it, but dont fret, Ill buy you new ones!
Broke it? Mrs. Thompsons voice was thin.
Yes, accidents! But never mind, easy to fix. By the way, could you spare another bit of cash maybe £50, or £100? Helen needs a dress and Im so hard up. Will you help?
Mrs. Thompson stared and, at last, saw. Saw the hardness behind Maisies smile, the calculation. The friendship the pasties, the chatter, the hugs it had all been an act. Very well performed, maybe, but an act all the same.
No, Mrs. Thompson said.
What do you mean, no? said Maisie, the smile gone.
No, I wont lend you more. And please bring the tea set. Now. Go and get it.
Youre being silly, said Maisie, lips curling. That family of yours has filled your head with rubbish! I told you, a few pieces broke, but Ill get you new ones.
You wont bring anything back, will you, Maisie? Mrs. Thompsons voice was suddenly calm. Not the brooch, nor the money, nor the set.
Of course I will! What are you talking about? Were friends!
We arent friends, said Mrs. Thompson, and closed the door.
Maisie stood outside a full minute, then banged on the door.
Mrs. Thompson! Open up! Dont be daft! Nobody else wants you I was the only one who felt sorry for you! Youre so ungrateful!
Mrs. Thompson listened as Maisie ranted, then went silent, then her steps retreated. The silence afterwards was total.
She returned to the kitchen and looked in the cabinet. Where her tea set had stood, there was now only a void. She ran her hand across the shelf. Then she sat and wept properly, for the first time since Colins death. Before, thered been something to cling to the knowledge of a life well-lived. Now, there was only emptiness, shame, and a crushing sense of stupidity.
***
The next day was Sunday. The bell rang. Mrs. Thompson didnt check the spyhole she opened. Maisie stood glaring, a box in her hands.
Heres your damn tea set! She dumped the box and stormed off. Dont ask me for a thing ever again!
Mrs. Thompson dragged the box to the kitchen. The set inside was shattered not a cup or two, but everything. Saucers, plates, even the teapots spout. And a stale, acrid smell, as if the pieces had been left to moulder.
She picked out the one cup she might glue back together. It was ugly with cracks, the gold rim worn away. It was hopeless.
She took a breath and dialled Alex.
Mum? worry in his voice. How are you?
Alex, she could hardly speak. Could you come round?
Were on our way, he said at once. Hang in there, Mum.
She hung up, carried the cup halves back to the table and sat. The china felt so light, almost weightless. Fragile, like her life.
Alex and Marina arrived an hour later. They saw the box, the broken set, Mrs. Thompson hunched at the table, clutching the ruined cup. Marina sat beside her, arms around her, wordless comfort and Mrs. Thompson wept again, but this time with relief, not shame. For they were here. They hadnt abandoned her.
Im sorry, she whispered. Sorry, Alex. Sorry, Marina.
Its all right, Mum, Alex took her other hand. The important thing is you know now. Well report it maybe something can be recovered.
Dont, Mrs. Thompson shook her head. Let her keep it. I want none of it.
Marina studied the cup.
We can mend it with glue, she said quietly. Itll show the crack, but it will hold.
Yes, Mrs. Thompson agreed. I suppose we could.
They sat together in the kitchen long after. Marina made a strong pot of tea in a plain, sturdy mug this time; the fine china was gone forever. They chatted about anything that came to mind, old stories, work, the children. Mrs. Thompson felt herself, bit by bit, coming back to life. It hurt, but her family was here.
That evening, Alex suggested,
Mum, maybe you could move in with us, or at least visit more? The girls miss you; they ask after you all the time. I know its not easy, with all your memories here. But you mustnt shut yourself away.
Ill think about it, Mrs. Thompson replied quietly.
They stayed late. Marina made meatball stew the very one Mrs. Thompson used to cook for Alex as a child. When they left, it was dark. The flat was quiet, but not so lonely now. Mrs. Thompson fetched glue, spread newspaper on the table, and pieced together the cup. Her hands shook, the crack stayed visible, but she was patient.
The phone rang. Alex again.
How are you, Mum?
Mrs. Thompson looked at the crooked, newly-mended cup the visible join, the unhidden flaw.
Well be round tomorrow, with the girls. Youll cook your stew, deal? Alex said.
She turned the cup in her hands. She could never use it for tea again but it was whole, or nearly.
All right, she said softly. Ill do my best.
