During the harsh years of austerity in England, I married a woman with three children, abandoned to struggle without a soul to lean on.
«Blimey, Edward, youre really going to marry a shop assistant with three kids? Have you gone barmy?» My flatmate, Simon, smirked as he clapped me on the back in our cramped London bedsit.
«Whats wrong with that?» I barely glanced up from the clock I was repairing, though I caught his eye sideways.
It was the early 80s, and our quiet Yorkshire town moved at its own slow rhythm. For mea thirty-year-old man with no familylife was a monotonous cycle of factory shifts and evenings spent in my narrow, shared room. After college, Id settled into the routine: work, the odd game of darts, telly, and occasional pints at the local.
Sometimes Id watch the neighbours children playing in the courtyard, and the old longing would creep inthe dream of a family. But Id shove it aside. What kind of life could I offer from a dingy rented room?
Everything shifted one damp November evening. I ducked into the corner shop for a loaf of breadsame as always. But this time, behind the counter stood *her*Margaret. Id never noticed her before, but now my gaze stuck. Tired but warm, with a quiet strength beneath the weariness.
«White or brown?» she asked, the faintest hint of a smile touching her lips.
«White,» I mumbled, feeling like a schoolboy caught staring.
«Fresh this morning,» she said, wrapping it neatly before handing it over.
When our fingers brushed, something sparked. I fumbled for coins while stealing glances. She wasnt glamorousjust a woman in a shop apron, early thirties, worn down but with a light still burning inside.
A few days later, I spotted her at the bus stop, wrestling with shopping bags while three children darted around her. The eldest, a boy of about fourteen, gripped a heavy bag stubbornly; a girl held the youngests hand.
«Let me help,» I said, taking a bag.
«No, its fine» she began, but I was already loading them onto the bus.
«Mum, whos this?» the little one piped up.
«Hush, Billy,» his sister scolded.
On the ride, I learned they lived near the factory, in a crumbling postwar flat. The boy was Thomas, the girl Charlotte, the little one Billy. Margarets husband had passed years ago, and shed been raising them alone ever since.
«We get by,» she said with a weary smile.
That night, sleep wouldnt come. Her eyes, Billys voicesomething long buried stirred in me, like a promise waiting just out of reach.
From then on, I became a regular at the shop. Milk one day, biscuits the next, sometimes just loitering. The lads at work took notice.
«Edward, mate, three trips a day? Thats not shopping, thats smitten,» my foreman, Higgins, chuckled.
«Fancied something fresh,» I muttered, flushing.
«Or the shop girl, eh?» he winked.
One evening, I waited for her after closing.
«Let me carry those,» I said, trying to sound casual.
«You dont have to»
«Floatings the tricky bit,» I joked, taking the bags.
As we walked, she told me about the childrenThomas did odd jobs after school, Charlotte was top of her class, and Billy had just learned to tie his laces.
«Youre kind. But dont pity us,» she said abruptly.
«I dont. I want to be here.»
Later, I fixed their leaky tap. Billy hovered, fascinated.
«Can you mend my toy car too?»
«Fetch it, lets have a look,» I smiled.
Charlotte asked for help with arithmetic. We worked through sums. Over tea, we talked. Only Thomas kept his distance. Then I overheard:
«Mum, dyou need him? What if he leaves?»
«Hes not like that.»
«Theyre *all* like that!»
I stood in the hallway, fists clenched. I nearly walked out. But then I remembered Charlottes grin when she solved a tough equation, Billys laughter as we fixed his toy, and I knewI couldnt leave.
Gossip swirled at work, but I ignored it. I knew what I was living for.
«Listen, Edward,» Simon said one night, «think it through. Why take that on? Find a nice girl without baggage.»
«Youre off your rocker, mate! Marry a shop girl with three kids?»
«Sod off,» I grunted, still fiddling with the clock.
«Its not thatthree kids, its»
«Shut it, Simon.»
One evening, I helped Billy with a school project, cutting out shapes as he stuck out his tongue in concentration.
«Uncle Edward, are you gonna stay with us forever?» he asked suddenly.
«What dyou mean?»
«Yknow like a dad.»
I froze, scissors in hand. A floorboard creakedMargaret stood in the doorway, hand pressed to her mouth. Then she turned and hurried to the kitchen.
She was crying into a tea towel.
«Margaret, love, whats wrong?» I touched her shoulder gently.
«Sorry Billy doesnt understand what hes saying»
«What if hes right?» I turned her to face me.
Her tear-filled eyes widened.
«You mean it?»
«Dead serious.»
Then Thomas stormed in.
«Mum, you alright? Did he upset you?» He glared at me.
«No, Thomas, its fine,» Margaret managed through tears.
«Liar! Whats he even doing here? Clear off!»
«Let him speak,» I met Thomass stare. «Say your piece.»
«Why dyou keep coming? Weve no money, the flats a dumpwhat dyou want?»
«You. And Charlotte. And Billy. And your mum. I need *all* of you. Im not going anywhere, so dont hold your breath.»
Thomas stared, then turned and slammed his bedroom door. Muffled sobs came through.
«Go to him,» Margaret whispered. «You have to.»
I found Thomas on the fire escape, hugging his knees, staring into the dark.
«Mind if I join you?» I sat beside him.
«What dyou want?»
«I grew up without a dad too. Mum did her best, but it was hard.»
«So?»
«Just know what its likeno one to show you how to fix a bike or stand your ground.»
«I can handle myself,» he muttered.
«I bet. Youre a good lad, Thomas. But being a man isnt just about fists. Its knowing when to let someone help. For your family.»
He was quiet. Then, barely audible:
«You really wont leave?»
«Never.»
«Swear it.»
«On my life.»
«Dont lie,» he almost smiled.
«Aunt Joan, got anything simpler?» I squinted at rings in Woolworths.
«Edward Carter, youre seriously marrying Margaret? With *three* children?»
«Dead serious,» I said, eyeing a plain band with a tiny chip of sapphire.
I proposed without fussjust a bunch of daisies (shed once said she loved them more than roses). Billy barrelled into me at the door.
«Whore the flowers for?»
«Your mum. And theres something else.»
Margaret froze when she saw them.
«Edward» My voice shook. «Maybe we should make it official? Feels odd, just popping by.»
Charlotte gasped. Thomas looked up from his book. Margaret burst into tears.
«Mum, is it a bad present?» Billy panicked.
«The *best*, love,» she smiled through tears.
We married quietly at the factory canteen. Margaret wore a simple white dress; I had a new suit. Thomas shadowed her all day, solemn. Charlotte decorated with friends. Billy raced around announcing, «This is my new dad! Forever now!»
A month later, the factory gave us a two-bed on the new estate. Higgins even helped us move.
«Alright, newlywed,» he clapped my back. «Just dont expect us to wallpaper for you.»
«Wouldnt dream of it,» I grinned.
And we did it ourselvesThomas plastering, Charlotte choosing patterns, Billy passing tools. Margaret cooked, and we ate on the floor. It was the happiest Id ever been.
Margaret left the shopI insisted she rest. Thomas started technical college, helping me with odd jobs. Charlotte took up ballet. Billy just *shone*.
It wasnt perfect. We had rows. Once, Thomas came home leglessfirst time out with mates. I didnt shout, just sat opposite him.
«How is it?»
«Rubbish,» he admitted. «Heads pounding.»
«Good. Means youll think twice next time.»
The years rolled on like chapters in a well-thumbed novel, and one rainy autumn evening, as I watched Billynow towering over meteach his own son to mend a broken toy car, I realized the circle had closed. The love wed built had taken root, deep enough to outlast us all.
