The Return to Life
Karen Whitaker hadnt set foot in her sons flat for months. She didnt want to, she couldnt. The tears had long dried up; grief had settled into a dull, unrelenting ache that seemed to have no way out.
Sam was twentyeight, never complained about his health, finished university, held a steady job, hit the gym, and was seeing a girl. Two months ago he went to bed and never woke up.
Karens marriage had ended when Sam was six and she was thirty, the usual story of infidelity, repeated more than once. The ex never paid child support, vanished, and Sam grew up fatherless, his grandparents stepping in. A few men drifted into her life, but none ever coaxed her into marriage again.
She worked hard. First she rented a tiny stall in a supermarket to sell spectacles and framesshe was an ophthalmologist. Then she got a loan, bought a proper premises, and turned it into a respectable Optics shop with her own consulting room. She saw patients, fitted glasses, and built a modest business.
Last year they bought Sam a onebedroom flat on the same block as theirs and gave it a light renovation. It could have been a fresh start.
Dust lay thick on every surface. Karen grabbed a cloth, pushed the sofa aside, and a sleek black phone slipped from the cushions. She fumbled for it, plugged it into the charger, and stared at the screen, tears welling again. The gallery was full of Sams life: him at work, on holiday with mates, smiling with his girlfriend.
She opened Viber. At the top was a message from Dennis Clarke, a friend from university. A photo accompanied itan unfamiliar young woman cradling a boy who looked exactly like a miniature Sam.
Remember the New Year we spent at Lenas place, back when we were still undergrads? She had a friend who was renting opposite her. I ran into that friend and her little boyhes a spitting image of your Sam! Thought you might like a picture. The message had been sent a week before the tragedy. So Sam knew this boy and never mentioned it to his mother. The story twisted itself tighter.
The next day, after her shift, Karen drove to the address Dennis had mentioned. A skinny lad on a bike chased after a bigger boy, pleading, Let me have a turn. Karen bent down.
Dont you have a bike of your own? she asked.
The boy shook his head.
A young woman appeared, barely past twenty, her makeup garish, smearing her pretty face. Who are you? she demanded.
I think Im his grandmother, Karen said, halfjoking, and Im Karen Whitaker.
Im Emily Harper, the woman replied, his mother. Nice to meet you.
Karen drove them to a nearby café. The boyDannyordered ice cream; Karen took a coffee. Emily began to tell her story.
Six years earlier shed left a small village in the Midlands at seventeen, enrolled in a tailoring college. Over the Christmas break, her classmate Lena invited her over. Lenas parents were away visiting relatives. Lena was friends with Dennis, who came to celebrate the holidays with his mate Sam. That night Emily and Sam slipped away together. Sam left his phone, promising to call, but never did.
When Emily discovered she was pregnant, she called Sam herself. He was angry, shouted at her, and handed her a wad of cash for an abortion, then told her to disappear forever. She never saw him again.
She dropped out of college, was evicted from the dorm with the baby, and had nowhere to go. Her mother was long dead, her father and brother were in the bottle. She now rented a single room from an elderly widow, watching Danny while she worked. Almost every penny she earned went to the landlady; the nursery shed hoped for was always full. She worked in a small dumpling shop, low pay but enough to keep a roof over their heads.
The following day Karen moved Emily and Danny into Sams flat. A new chapter began for her.
Danny was placed in a respectable private nursery. Karen found herself buying clothes for both Emily and the boy, spending hours picking out outfits, teaching him to tie his shoes, watching the way his eyes mirrored Sams. He copied Sams gestures, his stubborn streak, everything.
Karen took Emily under her wing. She showed her how to apply makeup without looking like a circus act, how to dress smartly, how to keep a tidy home, how to cook a proper meal. In short, she taught her everything a woman could need.
One evening they sat together, the TV murmuring in the background. Danny flung his arms around Karen, hugging her tightly, and whispered, Youre my favourite, Grandma.
In that instant Karen felt the hollow that had haunted her for years dissolve. The weight of grief that once pressed down like a stone was gone, replaced by a warmth she hadnt known in years. She realized she had stepped back into a life that held room for joy, all because of this small, stubborn boy.
Two years passed. Karen and Emily walked Danny to his first day of primary school. Emily now worked as Karens righthand in the optics shop, indispensable and trusted. Emily had a boyfriend, serious about settling down. Karen had no objectionslife goes on, after all.
Soon, a longtime friend, a steady, respectable man named Graham, began urging her to consider marriage. Why not? At fiftyfour, Karen was still striking, independent, with a fit figure and a gentle temperament. She smiled, feeling the future open before her, a future she hadnt imagined she could have again.
