Claire hadnt visited her sons flat in months. Not because she wanted to, but because she simply couldnt. The tears had long since dried up; grief had settled into a dull, relentless ache that felt more like a bad habit than a wound.
Sam was twentyeight, never complained about his health, finished university, held down a job, hit the gym, and was dating a girl. Two months ago he went to bed and never woke up again.
Claire had split from her husband when Sam was six and she was thirty. The breakup was the usualsuspectinfidelity, more than once. He vanished with the child support, leaving the boy to grow up without a father, while Claires own parents pitched in. Shed had a few boyfriends over the years but never mustered the courage for a second marriage.
Shed been working hard, too. At first she rented a tiny kiosk in a supermarket to sell spectacles and frames. She was an ophthalmologist, after all. Then she took out a loan, bought a proper premises, and turned it into a respectable Optics shop with a consultation room of her own. She saw patients, fitted glasses, and made a decent living.
Last year they bought Sams onebedroom flat in a quiet suburb of Manchester, gave it a modest facelift, and thought, Great, well live there together.
Dust was everywhere. Claire grabbed a rag, moved the sofa, and a phone fell out from beneath it. She didnt recognise it, plugged it in, and let it charge. Later, back at home with a glint of tears in her eyes, she flicked through the pictures on the screen: Sam at work, Sam on holiday with mates, Sam with his girlfriend.
She opened WhatsApp and, at the top of the chat list, saw a message from an old friend, Dean. The attached photo showed an unfamiliar young woman holding a little boy. The boy was the spitting image of Sam.
Remember that New Years party at Lucys when we were still at university? Lucys friend had a kid. Turns out she lives opposite your flat. The kid looks just like your boy! Thought youd like a souvenir, the text read, dated a week before the tragedy. So Sam knew about this little lad and never mentioned it. Classic.
Claire knew where Dean lived. The next day, after work, she drove to his house. The moment she saw the child, she recognised Sams likeness instantlyhow could she not? The boy was zooming around on a bike, begging to have a go.
She crouched down and asked, Hey, dont you have a bike of your own?
The boy shook his head.
A woman stepped forward, looking barely twentysomething, with garish, overdone makeup that barely concealed a tired face.
What are you? she asked, suspicious.
I think Im his grandmother, Claire replied, halfjoking.
Im Poppy, his mum, the woman said, extending a hand.
Claire ushered them into a nearby café. The boyDanny, as Poppy told herordered an icecream while they sipped coffee.
Poppy explained shed arrived from a small village in Yorkshire six years earlier, just seventeen, after enrolling in a tailoring college. Over the Christmas break, her friend Lucy invited her over; Lucys parents were away visiting relatives. Lucys mate Dean turned up with his friend Sam to celebrate. That night, Poppy and Sam got together, and Sam left his phone, promising to call. He never did.
When Poppy realised she was pregnant, she called Sam. He was furious, shouted at her, and said proper women should sort out contraception themselves. He slipped her some cash for an abortion and, as he left, told her to disappear from his life forever. She never heard from him again.
She dropped out of college, was asked to leave the student hall with a child on her back, and could not return to her villageher mother was long gone, and her father and brother were both heavy drinkers. Now she rents a tiny room from a lonely elderly lady, looks after a toddler while she works, and hands over almost every penny she earns. She cant get a spot in a decent nursery. She works in a private dumpling factory, where the pay isnt great, but its enough to keep the lights on.
The following day Claire helped Poppy move into Sams flat. Thats when a whole new chapter began.
Danny was placed in a respectable private nursery. Claire suddenly found herself juggling new errands: buying clothes for Poppy and the boy, and indulging in the occasional treat herself. Danny mirrored Sam in every waysame gaze, same stubbornness, even the same cheeky grin.
Claire took on a bit of a mentorship role with Poppy, showing her how to apply makeup without looking like a clown, how to dress decently, how to keep a tidy kitchen, and even how to fry a decent Sunday roast. In short, she became her unofficial life coach.
One evening, they were all sprawled on the sofa watching telly. Danny clutched Claires arm, leaned in, and whispered, Youre my favourite. In that instant Claire felt the hollow that had haunted her for years finally fill up with something warm. The weight of grief wasnt a leadball any more; it was just a faint thud under the surface. She realised shed slipped back into a life that actually allowed for laughter. All thanks to that tiny humanher grandson.
Two years later, Claire and Poppy escorted Danny to his first day at primary school. Poppy now works for Claire, effectively becoming her righthand woman. Shes dating a decent bloke whos looking for something serious, and Claire has no objectionslife goes on, after all.
It even looks like Claire might be heading for a wedding herself. A longtime friend has been nudging her in that direction. Why not? Shes attractive, independent, has a great figure, a sunny disposition, and shes only fiftyfour.
