Dear Diary,
How could you sink so low? Little one, are you ashamed? Your hands and feet are wholewhy arent you working? I heard those words hurled at a destitute woman with a child. Margaret Clarke shuffled down the aisles of a massive Tesco Extra in Manchester, her eyes lingering on the rows of colourful packs. She came here each day as if it were a job. She needed hardly any groceriesshe had none to feedbut the bright hall offered a brief escape from her solitude each evening.
When the weather was mild, she found some comfort sitting on a park bench with neighbours. The cold winter left her no choice, and Margaret grew fond of wandering the new supermarket for a distraction.
The place thrummed with shoppers, the scent of freshly brewed coffee, and soft background music. The products, wrapped in vivid foil, looked like childrens toys and managed to coax a smile from her.
She lifted a jar of strawberry yoghurt, squinted at the label, and placed it back. Such a treat was beyond her means, but theres no harm in looking.
As she drifted among the shelves, memories of earlier days flooded back. She recalled long queues at the corner shop, where shopassistants fought like tigers over scarce goods, and the thick grey paper bags used to carry purchases.
A tender smile crossed her face as she thought of her daughter. To please Alison, Margaret would have stood for any line. The thought made her heart thud harder. She paused by a low freezer, leaning a hand on its door.
The image of Alisons laughing face rosecopperred curls, grey eyes, a sprinkle of freckles across her nose, and dimpled cheeks.
Such a beautiful girl, Margaret thought sadly.
Under the wary stare of a clerk, she moved to the bakery section.
Alison had been Margarets sole joy. She had grown into a clever young woman. When she realised a regular job would not bring happiness, she turned to surrogacy, just as Margaret had warned her it would lead nowhere.
At twenty, could a daughter truly heed a mothers counsel? If a living father had been present, perhaps things would have differed. Yet those unscrupulous men dragged an inexperienced girl into the mess.
Alison laughed, rubbing her rounded belly, while Margaret shook her head in grief. How can one give away a child that is his own? I carried him for nine months, she thought, but Alison waved it off: Its not a childits good money.
Complications followed; the birth was difficult, and Alison could not be saved. Within three days of delivering the baby, the little one died. The newborn girl was handed over to her parents, and Margaret received not a pennyher claim fell on Alisons shoulders, not hers.
Margaret buried her daughter and withdrew into a void, as if the world had cracked open and she no longer wished to climb out. It seemed easier that way.
Now she headed to the bread aisle, intending to buy something simpleto prove she was not merely loitering. She felt the few pennies in her coat pocket, counted them, and handed the exact amount to the cashier, tucking the remainder into her fist.
She recalled spotting a young beggar on the second day after the supermarket opened, almost a month ago. The girl had been on her first wandering through the aisles, eyes bright with a mixture of desperation and hope. What had drawn Margarets attention? Perhaps the girls youthful vigor, or the tragic stillness of her pose, or the way she cradled an infant tightly.
How could you sink so low? Margaret thought as she approached the familiar figure. She placed a small jar of loose change on the counter and said, Girl, arent you ashamed? Your limbs are wholewhy arent you working? You still can earn something.
The old woman winced as passersby hurried past, unable to stop because an elderly lady blocked the way.
Thank you for the penny, but please go on your way. I need to gather more, otherwise Ill be in trouble, the young beggar replied.
Margaret shook her head sadly and hurried away, not wishing to be a nuisance or preach morality. She helped as best she could, for no one else seemed to careneither police nor social services. The public had grown so accustomed to panhandlers that they barely noticed them.
All the way home, Margaret could not shake the image of the woman with the child. The grey eyes and youthful voice seemed oddly familiar, as if shed heard them somewhere before. She tried to summon the memory, straining her mind.
She closed the front door, slipped off her warm boots, switched on the light, and carried the loaf to the kitchen. Fifteen minutes later she was sipping a hot sweet tea from her favourite mug, nibbling a slice of hearty oat bread with a sliver of ham.
How hungry she must be in this coldwhat a miserable life, the old woman mused. She glanced out the window, hoping to glimpse the girl, and froze. Two roughlooking men were roughly shoving the young woman into a car.
Panic seized Margaret. She lunged for the phone to call the police, but stopped, fearing she might only make things worse.
She looked out again; the forecourt of the store was empty. Deciding to wait until morning, she retreated inside. From that distance she could never read the vehicles registration.
The night passed uneasily, thoughts of the girl and child swirling. By dawn a strange dream visited her: she saw Alison standing at the supermarket entrance, a baby clutched to her chest, the child blue with cold. Margaret pulled the infant close, trying to warm her, but Alison said, Im not cold, Mum.
Margaret slipped the child from Alisons arms, lifted a corner of a warm blanket, and saw a small pendant on the babys neck.
The pendant, she whispered, then woke with a start. Her eyes fell on the wall clock opposite her. Why did I sleep so long? she wondered. It was already nine oclock. She rose quickly and moved to the window.
The girl with the child was still where she had been. To the right of the supermarket door everything seemed normal.
Thank heavens, Margaret breathed, crossing herself.
Outside it was New Years Eve, a bitter frost biting the streets. The child had been out for over an hour and could freeze by nightfall.
Margaret fetched more bread, assembled ham sandwiches, filled a thermos with sweet tea, and dressed warmly.
When she saw the frantic young woman, the girl covered a bruise on her temple with a scarf.
Dont worry, love, Margaret said, handing over the food. I dont want you to starve.
The girl smiled with just her eyes and took the sandwiches, sitting a short distance away, devouring them greedily, barely chewing, coughing as she swallowed. She kept a watchful eye on the infant, who wailed in someone elses arms, and quickly gulped the last bite, washing it down with tea. She brushed crumbs from her coat and hurried back to Margaret.
Thank you, well manage until seven, then theyll take us, she told Margaret.
Throughout the afternoon Margaret kept checking the thermometer outside; the chill deepened.
By five oclock she ladled a pot of hearty stew into a jar and set off for more provisions.
Passing a young woman, she left a jar of food beside her, slipped a few pennies into her pocket, gave a mysterious wink, and hurried back into the warm aisle.
She wasnt planning to linger. She needed sausage and pickled cucumbers for a modest New Years salad. She could not afford a lavish feast, but she would not go hungry. When she left the store she saw no beggar where shed stood before, and the jar of stew was gone. She must be eating somewhere, she thought, smiling, and hurried home.
Now she would slice the snacks, pop a carp into the oven, and set the table. Perhaps an elderly neighbour would stop by.
It was nearing ten when she peeked out again, wanting to be sure the girl had been taken home. She scanned the festive lights twinkling above the shopping centre. On a bench beneath a bright lantern sat a familiar figure, shoulders trembling, tears streaming.
Margaret rushed through the house. The celebration was only two hours away, yet someone outside was still shivering. She threw a warm scarf over her shoulders, slipped into her slippers, and descended the stairs. Stopping beside the beggar, she steadied her breath, calmed her racing heart, and sat down next to her.
I have nowhere else to go, the girl sobbed.
Hope flickered in the girls eyes as she clutched a small bundle and whispered, Please look after him. She handed the bundle to Margaret and shuffled toward the road.
Margarets mind swirled. The young womans intent was crystal clearshe would not abandon a life of hardship. Margaret rose with effort, lunged after her, caught up, and seized her hand.
Come with me! she shouted, pointing toward the fivestorey block nearby, gripping the girls wrist and pulling her along.
Inside a warm room Margaret placed the infant by a crackling heater.
Whats your name? she asked, stopping when she saw a tiny bearshaped pendant around the childs neck.
The girl followed her gaze, then said, Dont worry, its all I have left from my mother.
Margaret, startled, sat down. She recognised the pendantit had once belonged to Alison, a gift Margaret herself had given her when she was sixteen and short of money. She had sold a jeweled brooch to a goldsmith, who, after much fuss, fashioned a pendant from it, paying her enough for a gold chain and a modest celebration for Alisons friends.
The girl, now shivering, asked, May I use your bathroom?
With a nod, Margaret let her in and poured herself a glass of valerian tonic.
Perhaps this is the beggars granddaughter but that cant be, Margaret mused.
She tucked the fed child onto a sofa and set a place at the table.
Alison! she called, as if by chance.
How do you know? the girl asked.
Margaret waved vaguely, I suppose I heard you eating.
A cold bead of sweat formed on Margarets forehead. No doubt lingeredshe had taken in her own granddaughter, the name the social services had once earmarked for an unborn child.
The girl smiled gratefully, admired the spread, and began to eat.
Margaret watched her closely, searching for familiar features.
Tell me, Alina, what has happened to you? she prompted.
The girl, as if waiting for the question, talked rapidly, chewing while spilling her story. She said she had lived with her parents and a pony until they split, after which her mother left her in a childrens home. She spent twelve years there, then was placed in a council flat that turned out to be a condemned block. There she met Vasily, a plumber, who vanished when she announced she was pregnant. The council let her stay in the crumbling house until she gave birth, only to find the new flat already occupied.
She could not fight for herself, especially with a baby on her hip. She drifted from railway stations, begging for spare change. Thats when Igor Grey, a local gang leader, noticed her. A pretty beggar with a child makes good money, he thought, offering her shelter in exchange for the donations she collected.
Thus she and her son lived in a large basement with other vagrantscrippled, sick, and a troupe of theatrical paupers who painted bruises and feigned injuries to earn more. Their actors brought in cash for the landlord, but Alina, unable to beg theatrically, earned little.
Days blurred. In the mornings the beggars were dispatched to their zones; evenings the takings were tallied. Conditions were tolerable, yet pressure grew. They complained about her constant cries, saying she disturbed others.
Today, no one came for her; she was left to fend for herself. She stared at a halfempty plate and whispered, Thank you, I dont know how we would have survived this night. She set down her fork, yawned, and said, Well leave at dawn; I just need a bit of sleep.
Alina slumped back, quickly drifting off.
Margaret woke her, led her to a bed, and placed the baby beside her in a deep armchair.
Later, Margaret sat at the modest New Years table, listening to the Prime Ministers speech on TV. She knew she would not let her granddaughter and her son go anywhere soon. She would, in time, reveal her true identity, help the girl stand on her own feet, and raise the boy properly. For now, she would give them shelter and warmth.
When the clock struck midnight, Margaret poured herself a small dram of brandy, took a sip of the sweet liqueur, and walked to the window. She lingered, watching the street lit by lanterns, admiring the snowflakes drifting down.
Thank you, God, for this unexpected blessing, she whispered. Farewell, loneliness. I have a family again.
Lesson learned: compassion, even when it costs a few pennies, can rebuild a shattered life and bring one back from the brink of solitude.
