I was barely sixteen when my mother died. About seven years ago my father slipped off to Manchester looking for work and never sent a word home no money, no news. The whole village turned up for the funeral, each person giving what they could. Aunt Maud, my godmother, kept dropping by, offering advice and a listening ear. I scraped through school and, with the help of the neighbours, got a job delivering post to the adjoining hamlet.
Poppy, thats what they called me, was a sturdy girl the sort of folk say youre blood and milk. My face was round and rosy, a button nose, and grey eyes that seemed to hold a spark. A thick chestnut braid fell to my waist.
The most handsome lad in the parish was Jack. Hed only been back from the army two years, and the local girls, even the city belles who came down for the summer, fawned over him. He never minded a bit of work, but he wasnt in any hurry to pick a wife.
One day Aunt Maud knocked on his door and asked him to help fix my fence, which had collapsed. In a village you cant manage a house without a strong pair of hands. I could tend the garden, but the building work was beyond me.
Without much fuss Jack agreed. He arrived, inspected the mess and started barking orders: Fetch that, run there, hand me the tool. I obeyed, carrying everything he asked for. My cheeks flushed deeper, my braid swayed with each step. When he grew tired, I fed him a hearty bowl of stew and a strong cup of tea, while he chewed black bread with white, sturdy teeth.
He spent three days on the fence. On the fourth he simply turned up for tea, and after a modest supper I let him stay the night. He kept dropping by at dawn, slipping away before anyone could see. Word travels fast in a village, you know.
Aunt Maud warned me, Girl, dont get your hopes up. He wont settle, and if he does, youll be stuck with a lot of trouble. When the summer comes, the city flirts will descend youll be green with envy.
I paid her no heed. Soon after, I realised I was pregnant. At first I thought it was a cold or some foul food. Nausea and weakness hit me hard. Then, as if a hammer struck my thoughts, I understood the child was Jacks. I feared scandal, thinking Id be too young to bear a baby. Yet part of me thought perhaps it was a blessing I wouldnt be alone. My mother had raised me, and I could manage. My father had contributed little, apart from the occasional drink. People would gossip, then move on.
In spring I shed my coat, and the whole village began to notice my swollen belly, shaking their heads and muttering about the misfortune that had befallen me. Nick, the local handyman, dropped by to ask what my plans were.
Just give birth, he said. Dont worry, Ill look after the child. Live as you have always lived. He shuffled over the hearth, his cheeks flushed from the fire.
Jack admired me from afar, but he never stayed. I decided myself; the world kept turning. Summer arrived and the pretty city girls poured in, leaving Jack with no time for a country lass like me.
I kept at my garden while Aunt Maud helped with weeding. Bending with a round belly was hard; I hauled halfabucket of water from the well each time. The other women in the village laughed, calling me a big lad.
In midSeptember a sharp pain ripped through my abdomen, as if a knife had sliced it in two. It eased, then returned. I sprinted to Aunt Maud, whose frightened eyes told her all.
Sit down, Ill be right back, she said, hurrying out of the cottage.
I ran to Nicks yard where his truck sat. The holidaymakers were already pulling away. The night before, Nick had been out drinking heavily. Aunt Maud, redfaced, tried to wake him, but he was a mess. Jack stared, clueless, until the panic finally hit him and he shouted, The hospitals ten miles away! We need to get her to a doctor fast!
On the truck? Shed die on the road, a woman whined.
Then you come with us, just in case, Nick snapped, and shoved the door open.
We rattled down a cracked lane, dodging a ditch only to tumble into another. Aunt Maud clutched a sack in the back. When we finally hit the paved road, we sped as if the wind itself were pushing us.
Poppy writhed in the seat beside me, biting her lip to stifle a scream, clutching her belly. Nick sobered up just enough to glance at me, his hands white on the wheel, his thoughts a muddle of fear and duty.
We made it. The midwife took me into the village infirmary and we headed back. Aunt Maud spent the whole drive berating Jack, Youve ruined a girls life! Shes alone, a mother, and youve added more trouble! The truck sputtered before reaching the village, but I had already delivered a strong, healthy boy.
The next morning a nurse brought a tiny bottle for feeding. I stared at my sons crumpled, pink face, my lips pressed together, my heart thudding with a fierce love. I brushed his forehead, marveling at the faint hairs standing up.
A doctor will see you before you leave? the stern old doctor asked.
I shrugged my shoulders, shaking my head. Unlikely, I replied. He sighed and left. The nurse wrapped the baby in a thin hospital blanket and handed me a slip.
Fletcher will drive you home. You dont want to take a coach with a newborn, she scolded.
I thanked her, my cheeks burning with embarrassment as I walked down the wards corridor, head down.
In the car, I clutched the bundle tight, worry gnawing at me. The maternity grant was a pittance, barely enough for a cup of tea. I felt sorry for my innocent son, but when I looked at his sleepy, wrinkled face, my heart swelled, pushing the dark thoughts aside.
The car stalled in a flood of rainfilled puddles. The driver, Mr. Fletcher, a stout man in his fifties, warned, Two days of rain have turned the roads into lakes. I cant get through on a lorry, only a tractor or a big truck. Its still a mile or two to the village. Can you manage on foot?
I nodded, eyeing the endless black slick ahead. My baby slept in my arms, his weight a comforting pressure. I set off, limping along the edge of the massive puddle, my boots sucking into the mud up to my ankles. One shoe got stuck; I paused, trying to free it, then kept going on the other foot.
When I finally saw the village lights flicker, my feet were numb, the cold seeping through my shoes. I stepped onto the dry threshold, shivering, and pushed open the cottage door.
Inside, a baby cot and pushchair waited, a mountain of tiny clothes piled beside them. Nick was asleep at the kitchen table, his head resting on his folded arms. He lifted his eyes as I entered, cheeks flushed, hair dishevelled, my dress soaked through.
Without a second thought he scooped the child up, placed him gently in the cot, and set a kettle on the fire for hot water. He helped me strip the babys blanket, wash my feet, and while I changed my clothes by the stove, a pot of boiled potatoes and a mug of milk waited on the table.
The baby began to cry. I rushed to him, cradled him, and began to breastfeed without any hesitation.
What shall we call him? Nick asked hoarsely.
Tommy, I whispered, my eyes bright with love.
A good name, he said, a smile breaking across his face. Tomorrow well register him and sort everything out.
I dont think its necessary, I began, watching my son suckle.
My son needs a father. Ive had my fun, but I wont abandon him.
I nodded, eyes downcast. Two years later we had a daughter, whom we named after me Hope.
No matter the mistakes you make at the start of life, you can always set them right.
