April 12
I drifted past the shop windows today, watching the displays while my stomach growled. I imagined, in my head, what a thin £5 could actually buy and realised Id have to tighten my belt even tighter. The three odd jobs I used to juggle have dwindled to just one, and after Mums funeral theres not a penny left in the empty wallet that once held a few shillings.
If I put it plainly: Im on my own. Ive never married, never even had a serious boyfriend. I started out studying to be an accountant, despite the fact that numbers have always made my skin crawl. It was Father who insisted, You need a steady trade, love. Money doesnt grow on trees.
I like looking after people, I whispered to him once, shyly. Making life a little easier for them, giving them a boost.
A doctor, perhaps? Thatd be respectable, he replied, halfsmiling. Doctors are always held in high regard.
No, I want to be a sister of mercy, I tried again. A nurse, perhaps?
What, a caregiver? A ward maid? Have you lost your mind? He frowned. You should aim high, be a lady of standing! Think of Napoleonhe was a leader, a conqueror! You should strive to be first, the best!
His words struck me like a cold slap. I tried hard to focus on the numbers, dreaming of spreadsheets in the night, waking up in a cold sweat. I wanted to tell him that not everyone needs to be a Napoleon, that I merely wanted to help, to be useful, to be close to someone who needed a hand.
When Grandmother fell ill, I was the one who stayed by her bedside the most. Aunt Gilly kept her distance, muttering about the smell of sickness. I couldnt understand why she said it smelled bad. Grandmothers hands always smelled of fresh bread, herbs, honey. She was just ill, and I thought she needed kind words, fresh linens, a gentle touch.
I read stories to her, wiped her forehead, begged the adults to let me wash her hair. When she finally passed, the house erupted in wails. Aunt Gilly lay halffainted, crying, Take her away quickly. Im scared of the dead! I slipped into the bedroom, pressed my cheek against Grandmothers still hand, and let the tears flow.
Girl! Get out of here! Father burst in. Are you scared?
No, Father, I sobbed, Im crying because life will feel empty without her. Shes at peace now, somewhere beautiful. He stared at me, bewildered. I wanted to tell him Id seen, for a fleeting instant, Grandmother walking down a sundrenched lane lined with wildflowers, a grand white house on a hill bathed in golden light, and heard her whisper, Im home now, dear. Dont weep.
I kept my mouth shut, fearing Id upset him. I tried to continue my accounting studies, but soon gave them up. I felt as if I were breathing through a straw, living someone elses life. Then Father left, having fallen in love with another woman. Mother wept incessantly, her health breaking under the strain.
I begged Father to stay, at least until Mother recovered. He mumbled something about life being short and us having to seize it, then walked out for good.
Mother and I were left alone. Thats when people started calling me the wild one. I didnt complain; I fought for any sidegig I could find, trained as a nurse, and cared for Mother myselfgiving her injections, feeding her, encouraging her. Yet her nervous illnesses kept coming, and eventually she could no longer walk.
Aunt Gilly roamed the neighbourhood one day, sneering, Whats the matter, love? Youre still single, you could have a husband by now. You run after your mother like a dog after a bone. Your fathers a rotter, your mothers a foolmen leave, women stay, and you just sit there whining.
I cut her off, surprising even myself. Please stop, Aunt Gilly. Mother loves Father; hes her water, and she cant live without it. You cant drink water forever, can you? She may be gone, but Ill still look after her, because shes my mother. A husband isnt what she needs. Mothers are our angels on earth. Dont insult Father; whatever happened, its his cross to bear. Hes my dad, and I wont let anyone tarnish his name.
She huffed, muttered stupid, and walked away.
Mother died in my arms. From the open window a distant laugh drifted in, lilac scent tangled with the chill. On the nightstand lay Mothers handkerchief, now empty of the warmth it once held.
The days turned into a grey, viscous blur. I would stare at the sky, sometimes seeing angel wings, other times the intricate stitching of flowers my mother used to make. The house fell silent, oppressive, as if I were a moth trapped in a cocoon. I wanted to find work at the local hospital, but the single parttime job left me exhausted, my body trembling with weakness. Life without Mother felt unbearable.
Ethel! Stop, Ive got news! called Mrs. Ellis, my neighbour, as I turned the corner of the stairwell. Her face was creased with worry. Everything will be fine. Dont listen to the gossip. Get chickens for the summer, or go to the seaside. Collect shells, press them to your ear and youll hear the sea whisper. Find joy wherever you can.
I nodded and walked on. A young woman in a crisp white coat and fashionable boots descended the stairs, perfume wafting like something out of a magazine. She gave me a sharp glance and snapped, What are you staring at? Keep your eyes on yourself!
Im sorry, I murmured, you look lovely, and the perfume is enchanting. I didnt mean to be rude.
She turned away, but a voice behind us shouted, Watch out, love. Her father bought three flats on the top floor. The girls a pampered one, always hopping from salons to holidays. He used to be a decent man.
I was bewildered. Why would you say that? I asked Mrs. Ellis, who had caught up with us.
Consider him almost dead, she said, hurrying off.
I wandered into the corner shop, not to stock up but just to buy something small. I need to get back to work, even if its just for a while, I thought. What can I afford?
A young mother with a stroller, clutching a fiveyearold boy, looked lost. The boy begged for juice and icecream.
Liam, well get it later, she whispered. Weve got only a few pennies left, just enough for some pasta.
She turned to me, eyes brimming, My wallets gone missing! I retraced my steps and its nowhere. What do we do now?
A sharply dressed lady in a long coat and expensive earrings, pushing a cart full of groceries, interjected, Scam! Dont listen to her. There are plenty of beggars these days, even hiding behind children!
The strollerwoman glanced away, cheeks flushing, and hurried off. I felt a pang in my chest watching the child tug at the shelves. Something inside me snapped.
Wait, I called, take this. Buy something to eat, maybe an icecream for the boy. I have enough money; I wont even notice. I handed over my last pounds, feeling the weight lift from my pocket, and hurried out in my worn coat and battered shoes.
A voice behind me said, Bless you, little one. The Good Lord has looked after you.
I walked home with nothing left but a few potatoes and two wilted carrots. Even if I found a job tomorrow, the pay wouldnt arrive straight away. I gazed at the sapphire sky, the scent of that perfume still lingering, and thought of the little boat races Father and I used to have on the creek. He lives far away now, barely calling.
The postbox held a notice, surprising mewho would send me anything? I went to the post office. The large parcel was addressed to Ethel Harper, 12 Willow Lane, Kent. The sender: Martha Nickeridge. My heart hammered; that was Grandmothers maiden name. I had never seen the address before.
Miss! Take the parcel, please, the clerk urged.
My hands shook as I unwrapped the package: a handembroidered towel, a sachet of dried raspberries, dried mushrooms, tea, a box of goldenwrapped sweets, a toy pig, and an old postcard.
Dear Ethel, it read, Martha Nickeridge hereyour Grandmothers friend from the village. We grew up together by the lake. One day we promised to send each other a parcel after a set number of years. I knew she would soon pass, so I kept my word. Enclosed is a small icon of the Virgin Mary; may it protect you. Your Grandmother was a remarkable woman, always praying that you would find a worthy partner. You must never be alone; life is cruel to those who stand solitary. Trust in love, and it will find you.
I clutched the icon, tears spilling over. Im a failure, I whispered to the heavens. Ive achieved nothing, Im alone, but I love you all so much.
A sudden knock jolted me. I sprang up, opened the door, and there stood my neighbour, Vicky, in a white jacket, eyes wide. Hello again, she stammered. My fathers ill again, doctors keep coming, hes become volatile. I was told you can help. He needs an injection, and Im desperate. Ill pay whatever you ask.
I told her I wasnt a qualified nurse, that a proper doctor should be called. She persisted, pleading with her soft eyes. I followed her into her flat, which was surprisingly tidy. Her father, a stern man in his midfifties, lay in bed. I stepped forward and spoke about how nothing ever truly ends, that he still had strength, that Vicky needed someone to lean on. She whispered, The Lord will see to it.
Vicky flitted about the room, asking, Dad, what would you like for dinner? He replied, A mushroom soup, like the one Mother used to make. I hurried back home, grabbed the bag of dried mushrooms and raspberries, and the icon, and returned to them. We all ate the fragrant soup together, sipping raspberry tea, feeling a brief warmth settle over the room.
Soon after, Vickys father Victor and I married. He had more than enough money, but I kept working as a nurse, feeling that caring for others was my true calling. Whenever I saw eyes filled with pain, I would quietly say, The Lord will make a way; you just have to believe.
