A man wiped his hands dry and, wincing from the ache in his back, shuffled to answer the door. The bell had chimed softly, but this was the third time. Hed been cleaning the windows and hadnt made it to the hallway straight away. Standing there was a young woman, pretty but pale, with tired eyes.
«Arthur, they say you might have a room to let?»
«Blimey, these neighboursalways sending folks my way! I dont let rooms, never have.»
«But I heard youve got three bedrooms.»
«So what? Why should I have to rent them out? Im used to my own company.»
«Right, sorry. They said you were kind, and I just thought…»
The girl blinked back tears, her shoulders shaking as she turned to leave.
«Hold on, love! I havent said no yet. Young ones these days, so quick to cry. Come in, lets talk. Whats your name? First-name terms, eh?»
«Charlotte.»
«Charlotte, is it? Bet your dad was a schoolmaster or something, wasnt he?»
«I never knew him. Grew up in a childrens home. No mum either. Some kind soul found me on a doorstep and took me to the police. Wasnt even a month old.»
«Alright, no need to fret. Lets have a cuppa and a chat. Hungry?»
«No, I had a pasty earlier.»
«A pasty, she says! Young folk never look after themselves, and by thirty, theyve got stomach trouble. Sit downtheres hot pea soup. Well warm the kettle. Plenty of jam in the cupboard. My wife passed five years back, but old habits die hard. Well eat, then you can help me clean the windows.»
«Arthur, could I do something else? Im feeling dizzyafraid I might fall off the sill. Im expecting.»
«Even better! Just what I neededa pregnant lass. Im a proper stickler, I am. Got yourself in trouble, have you?»
«Why assume the worst? Im married. James is from the same home. Hes been called up, but he visited on leave. My landlady found out and gave me the boot. Got a week to find somewhere. We lived nearby, but wellhere we are.»
«Ah here we are indeed. What am I to do with you? Suppose I could shift my bed to the spare room. Fine then, take my room. And dont you dare offer rentI wont hear of it. Go fetch your things.»
«Wont take long. All mine and Jamess bits are in a bag by the block. The weeks up, and Ive been trudging about since morning.»
So they became two. Charlotte was studying dressmaking. Arthur had been on disability years after a bad rail crash, so he stayed home, knitting lace doilies and baby booties to sell at the market. His work was delicate as sea foam and sold well. Money wasnt tight, especially with veg from the garden. Saturdays, they worked the plot together. Sundays, Arthur went to church while Charlotte stayed home, rereading Jamess letters and replying. She rarely attendedwasnt used to it yet. She complained of backaches and dizzy spells.
One Saturday, Charlotte tired quickly, and Arthur sent her inside to rest with old records theyd bought together. After raking, the expectant mother lay down. Arthur was burning dry stalks, lost in thought, when Charlotte cried out, «Dad! Dad, come quick!» Heart pounding, forgetting his bad knees, Arthur rushed inside. Charlotte was clutching her belly, weeping. In a panic, Arthur flagged down a neighbour, and they sped to hospital in the old Rover. Charlotte groaned, «Dad, it hurts! Its too soonIm due mid-July! Dad, pray for me!» Tears streamed down Arthurs face as he whispered prayers.
From admissions, Charlotte was wheeled away while the neighbour drove a shaken Arthur home. He prayed all night, begging God to keep the baby safe. At dawn, he rang the hospital.
«Your daughters fine. Asked for you and James, cried a bit, then slept. Doctor says the risks passed, but shell stay a fortnight. Haemoglobins low. Feed her up when shes home.»
Once discharged, they talked till midnight. Charlotte spoke of James.
«Hes not just any orphan. We grew up together, sweethearts since school. He looks after me. More than love, really. See how often he writes? Want to see his photo? Heresecond from the right, grinning.»
«Handsome lad» Arthur didnt want to upset her. His glasses were old, and the photo was smalljust blurry shapes in uniform. «Charlotte, whyd you call me dad back there?»
«Oh, just slipped out. Habit from the home. Everyone was mum or dad there. Mostly kicked it nowexcept when scared. Sorry.»
«I see» Arthur sighed, faintly disappointed.
«Uncle Arthur, what about you? No photos of your wife or kids. You dont have any, do you?»
«No. Had a son, but he died a babe. After the crash, couldnt have more. My wife was like a child to medoted on her. She was my world, like James is yours. Once she was gone, I put the photos away. Even knowing shes with God, it hurt too much. Hid them to spare myself the grief. Now she needs prayers, not tears. But ask James for a bigger photowell frame it. Got spares somewhere.»
On Christmas Eve, they decked the halls, waiting for the first star. Charlotte fidgeted, rubbing her back.
«Somethings off, love. Youre miles away. Whats wrong?»
«Uncle Arthur, call an ambulance. Its time.»
«What? Youre a week early!»
«Mustve got the dates wrong. Please hurryI cant bear it.»
Within half an hour, they reached hospital. On Christmas Day, Charlotte had a beautiful girl. That same day, Arthur sent James a telegram.
January was a whirlwind. The baby brought joy but kept them busy. With Jamess blessing, Charlotte named her Annie. Arthur wept. Little Annie was a delight, though sleepless nights followed. Still, happy troubles. Arthur even forgot his aches some days.
A rare warm winter day came. Arthur nipped out for errands. On his return, he spotted Charlotte with the pramout for air.
«Well walk a bit longer, alright?»
«Course, love. Ill start lunch.»
Inside, Arthur spotted a framed photo on the table. He chuckled. «Found it, did she? Picked the youngest onekids never like the old ones.»
The soup simmered as Charlotte returned. A neighbours boy helped with the pram. They unwrapped sleeping Annie, tiptoeing to the parlour.
«Charlotte,» Arthur smiled, «howd you know where Margarets photos were?»
«Sorry?»
«This, here.» Arthur pointed.
«You asked for a bigger photo of James. He went to a studio. Found a frame on the shelf.»
Hands trembling, Arthur picked it up. It wasnt Margaret. A young sergeant grinned cheekily. Arthur paled, staring blankly. Charlotte sobbed, pressing smelling salts to his nose.
«Dad, look at me! Whats wrong?»
«Charlotte, open the wardrobetop shelf. Bring the photos.»
She fetched albums and frames. One showed James?
«Good Lord! Whos this? James? No, its too old. Who is it, dad?»
«Margaret, my wife. Charlotte, where was James born?»
«Dunno. He came to the home from Manchester. They said his parents died in a train crash.»
«Oh, what a cruel mistake! My boy, Williamthey showed me Recognised his little shirt, but his face My William! Youre alive! Your wife and child are here, and I didnt know. God brought you to me, Charlotte. Give me that photo.»
Bewildered, Charlotte handed it over. Arthur kissed it, tears falling. «William, my boy, my sunshine!»
«James,» Charlotte whispered.
«Call him what you like, but this is my son, Charlottemy son! Look at his mothers picturespitting image!»
Charlotte hesitated.
«What about his birthmark? A star above the right elbow? Thats all I had after the crashage and shirt. His arm was hurt I couldnt find it. Why so quiet? Is there a mark?»
«There is. Star-shaped. Oh dad, there is!»
They clung to each other, weeping, deaf to little Annies cries from the nursery.
