Stolen Happiness
March 28th
The garden seems to call me these daysperhaps because the sun has finally returned to Gloucestershire after a mild winter, earlier than expected for Marchs end. Almost all the frost and snow have melted, exposing little shoots of green. I know the chill will be back, as it always does in England, and yet, today the sunlight was so inviting that I found myself outdoors reinforcing the leaning fence and fixing up the old woodshed. I caught myself daydreaming about adding some hens, maybe a piglet; even a dog and a cat crossed my mind.
But thats enough. I laughed at myselfsurely, I’ve had my fill of adventure. Still, how I long to till the vegetable patch, hands deep in the soil, inhaling that earthy scent, just as I did as a child running barefoot through grandmas garden. I want to sink my toes into the soft, damp, soil once again. Theres life yet, I caught myself saying out loud, the words hanging in the gentle air.
A voice startled me. I turned to see a girlhardly more than a childat the gate. She wore a regulation grey trench coat, the kind given out at local colleges, and thin, cheap shoes. Not the weather for bare legs and those dainty tights, I thought. She fidgeted on the spot. Hello, I said, more briskly than I intended.
Excuse me, could Imay I use your loo? she managed, nervously.
Well, I suppose. Straight ahead, turn left at the corner.
I couldn’t help but watch her dash around the house. What a childfragile, trembling in those sorry pumps. Thank you, youve saved me, she said, returning with a bit more colour in her cheeks. Im looking for a room to let. You dont by chance have something, do you?
I wasnt planning to. Why do you ask?
I I want to rent a room. I cant stand the student halls. Too much smoking, drunkenness, boys wandering everywhere
How much can you pay?
Five pounds a week I dont have more.
Oh, just come in for now.
Could I pop to the loo again? she pleaded.
Go on, then
I followed her in, curiosity pulling at me. Whats your name? I asked, as she slipped off her coat in the hallway.
Emily, she whispered, almost too timidly.
So, Emily, why have you really come here? I pressed, something inside me sharpening.
She fidgeted, eyes darting nervously. I I Her voice faltered. Could Iermuse the loo again?
I frowned. Really? Are you quite alright?
She shook her head, tears threatening. It just hurts I can’t bear it.
All right, go on. When she returned, I pressed again, Be honest. Are you here to steal? Theres nothing worth the trouble, I promise. Who sent you?
No one. I came on my own. Are you Mrs. Anna Smith?
I am. Why?
You You dont recognise me Mum? Its me. Emily. Im your daughter.
Agony and disbelief warred inside me. Not a muscle in my wind-chapped face moved; I simply stared. I forced out her name, Emily my Emily…
Yes, Mummy, its me! At the home, they never gave me your addressIts not allowed, they said. But I convinced my teacher, Miss Harrisshes such a kind woman at collegeshe helped track you down. We found your name, your old records, then your address And now, here I am.
Silent tears burned tracks down my cheeks. Emily, my darling my child
She threw herself into my arms, sobbing, Oh, how long I searched, Mummy! I wrote lettersthey laughed at me, said youd left me, abandoned me like an old shoe. But I always believed, Mummy I always believed
Tentatively, I wrapped my arms around her soft wool jumper, fingers rough and knotted from years of work and grief. My own darling, come home at last.
We sat for ages clinging to each other. Conversation felt pointless; there was nothing left to say. Later, remembering my childhood and grandmothers wisdom, I rushed about brewing fennel tea, fussing and nursing my Emily. My reason for livingshe was here. And suddenly, life stretched ahead again, full of purpose. I had savings put aside; maybe a new coat for her, fix up the garden, and yesa piglet after all?
***
DiaryApril 20th
Mum?
Yes, love?
Mummy
Go on, sweet.
Emily picked up a scone Id baked that morning. Her cheeks had rounded out nicely since she came home, and dressing her in new clothes gave me a lightness I hadnt felt for years. She looked just like a little doll.
Muuuum
What is it, darling? I teased.
Mum, Ive fallen in love.
Now theres news. Oh?
Yes! His name is William. Hes wonderfulhe wants to meet you.
My heart twisted. I thought, perhaps this is it; happiness never seems to stay for long.
Mum, whats wrong?
Nothing, darling. Youve grown so fast, my dear. I wish I wish Id had more time. Forgive me, Emily
Oh Mum Youre being silly, honestly. She squeezed me, almost cross. William and I plan to give you all the grandchildren you can handle. You know how much I love you, how long I looked for you!
Meeting William went better than I expected. He was a decent village lad, steady, hardworking. The kind you could trust. I caught myself thinking, She could do far worse than William.
We didnt have much, but at least we managed. My old job at the textile mill was gone with the recession, so I joined a sewing co-op. It paid better, and I kept both Emily and William dressed in respectable clothes (Only the finest high street brands, Id joke). William never idledhe built a new fence, replaced the bottom two beams of the house with his brothers, improved the shed for the piglet. The cottage seemed to hum with happiness, more lively by far with Emily in it.
My heart thawed, old wounds faded. I wished to live with renewed strength, redeeming past regrets, enduring as best I could against the weight of memories. Sometimes, late at night, the shame and sorrow surged againthose old wounds I could never quite forget.
Mum, you alright? Emily would ask when Id wake stifling a sob.
Im fine, darling, go back to bed.
Mum, can I sleep next to you?
Of course, pet. Id move over and let her cuddle in. My child, so small and dearmy heart brims over with love. This is what they call mothers lovethank you, God, for granting me this taste of it.
The wedding was beautiful. Emily and William stayed on in my house. I blossomed, like a poppy in summer. Even colleagues at the co-op noticed grim Mrs. Smiths new smile. On tea break one day, I whispered, Im going to be a grandmother. Isnt it wonderful?
A lucky woman, that Anna Smith; see how she dotes on her girl, they would sigh.
And when little Anthony arrivednamed after my own mother, Emilys NanI was over the moon. Hes a lovely one, Id coo. Id hardly held a baby since Emily, so long ago; holding him was happiness tingling all the way to my scalp.
They built a big new house. There was a room for me, of course. William and his brothers started a little builders firm, opened a supplies shop, kept busy. Not rich, but content.
Then more good news: a granddaughter on the way. I sewed her dresses, knitted cardigans, and prepared all manner of little trinkets for baby Grace. The house was full of childrens laughter.
Things were good, but often, I felt a burning in my chesta pain that wouldnt leave.
My darling Mumwhy didnt you say you were poorly? Where does it hurt?
Im alright, sweetheart, really
***
But it was too late. The hospital did all they could.
Doctor, please, shes my mother
Im sorry, Emily. We did everything we could.
***
Emily, my love its time. Ive lived more than enough. They wrote me off years ago, but you saved me when you came.
Mum, dont talk like that
I need to tell you Its hard, but listen, dont interrupt, darling Im not your real mother, Emily. Forgive me
Mum! Dont ever, ever say that again. You are my motherno one else could be. Promise me youll never say otherwise
Yes, my darling Theres my journal, Emily. Forgive me. I love you, so very much.
I love you too, Mum Mum Mum
***
Emily, did you get anything to eat?
I will in a bit, Will. Go on
I sat alone in Mums old room, reading her diary. Her lifepitiless, misshapen, both rotted and joyfullay bare in those pages.
Her mother, stern and upright. Father lost in the war. Baby Annaa wild flower with too big a heart. Fell in love (what a reckless love!), ran off with a rogue, danger and laughter swirling together. In the end, it all came crashing down. Her lover disappeared, arrested, never to be seen again.
A childlost to winters frost during a botched escape. The doctors told her shed never have children. Her mother left her a little cottage. She returned, tried to rebuild her life, but the shame and loneliness lingered. At church, she prayed for forgiveness, for another chance.
And Godsomehowsent Emily. Mum couldnt resist; she just wanted to play mother, just for a while. She feared Emily would learn the truth: that she wasnt really her mother, it was all a mistake, a bureaucratic mix-up that brought them together.
But eventually, she stopped being afraid. She started to live, simply, humanly, believing at last she deserved it.
Forgive me, darling Emily, for stealing you from your real mother. Such is my stolen happiness.
***
Mum, I wept, my own Mum. I do hope you can hear me. I always knew, I found out early onyour records didnt match. I tracked down Anna the other year. She didnt want me; shed moved on, had her own family. She tried to pay me off, told me not to come back. But you you loved me, cared for me, gave me everything you could.
I thank God every day I found you. However it happened, whoever decided it, up there somewhere, sent me to you. How do I go on without you, Mum?
***
Gran, was Granny Anna a good person?
She was, darling.
And was she pretty?
The prettiest, Gracie.
Who named her Anna?
I think her mum or dad didmaybe your great-grandfather or great-grandmother.
And did you name me after her, Mummy?
Yes, I did, and Daddyhe loved his grandma very much too.
Is she watching me?
Of course, sweetheart. Shes looking out for you, always.
I love you, Great-Granny Anna, Grace said, laying her dandelion crown on the tidy stone.
And I love you, darling, the birch tree whispered. And the wind, carrying all our secrets, murmured, We love you, too.And so, in the hush of the old churchyard, beneath the gentle May sun, Grace danced and sang her nonsense song, twirling in her yellow dress as the birch trees swayed. Emily watched her daughters laughter spin through the air, and for a moment, she saw reflected in Grace both herself and Annathree lives, knit together by longing, loss, love, and the mercy of second chances.
Each year, they returned on Annas birthday, arms full of wildflowers, pockets brimming with memories. Emily never forgot how happiness had come to her, unasked and imperfect, but shining all the same. She tended Annas garden with Grace by her side, planting lilies and sweet peas, teaching her which weeds to keep and which to pull, how every root needed tending before it could truly bloom.
Sometimes, on rainy afternoons, shed open Annas old sewing kit and mend something small just to feel her mother closer; sometimes, she dreamed she heard Annas voice in the garden, scolding crows, humming a lullaby, never bitter now but belongingfinallyat peace.
And at dusk, as the last gold light spilled over the gate and the laughter of children rang out from the porch, Emily would close her eyes and whisper, Thank you, sending her love and forgiveness out to wherever her mothers gentle soul might be.
Because, in the end, happinesswhether stolen or givenis still happiness. And love, wherever it comes from, is never a mistake.
