The Return to Life
Clara Whitfield had not set foot in her sons flat for ages. She didnt want to, she could not. The tears had long dried up. Grief had settled into a dull, unrelenting ache, a kind of hopelessness that simply lingered.
Her son, James, was twentyeight. He never complained about his health. He had finished university, held a decent job, went to the gym, and was dating a girl. Two months before everything changed, he fell asleep one night and never woke.
Clara and her husband had split when James was six and she was thirty. The reason was the usualinfidelity, more than once. He stopped paying child support and vanished. James grew up without a father; Claras own parents helped where they could. Suitors occasionally drifted into her life, but she never gathered the courage to marry again.
Clara earned a living on her own. At first she rented a tiny stall in a supermarket in Leeds to run a little shop selling spectacles and frames. She was an ophthalmologist by training. Later she took out a loan and bought a modest premises on the high street, turning it into a respectable Optics shop that also housed her own consulting room. She gave eye examinations and helped people choose glasses.
Last year they bought Jamess first flat: a onebedroom, modestly sized unit on the same block where Clara lived. A small renovation was done. It could have been a home, a proper home.
Dust, endless dust, swirled through the hallway. Clara grabbed a rag and began wiping the floor. She shoved the sofa aside and, from its depths, a phone fell outJamess phone. She could not locate the charger, so she set the device on the socket to charge.
Later, back in her own flat, tears brimming, Clara scrolled through the photos on the phone: James at work, James on holiday with mates, James with his girlfriend. She opened Viber and at the top of the list was a message from a friend named Dennis. A picture accompanied ita young woman she didnt recognize, holding a little boy. The boy was a spitting image of her own James.
Remember when we used to hang out at Lenas on New Years, back when we were still at university? She had a friend I met that friend with a kid; she lives in the flat opposite yours. That kid looks just like you, mate! Thought Id send a snap for old times sake, the text read.
The message had been sent a week before the tragedy. So James had known this and never told her! That was the twist of the tale.
Clara knew where Dennis lived.
The next day, after work, she drove to the address. The boy was instantly recognizablehow could she not recognize her own blood? He was chasing after a small lad on a bike, pleading to get a turn.
Clara bent down and asked, You dont have a bike of your own?
The boy shook his head.
A woman approached. She looked to be just over twenty, her makeup loud and clashing with her pretty face.
Who are you? she asked.
I think Im his grandmother, Clara replied.
Im Maya, his mother, the woman said, extending a hand. Nice to meet you.
Clara took them to a nearby café. The boy, called Dim, ordered an icecream; Clara got a coffee.
Maya explained how, six years earlier, she had arrived from a small village in the North of England at seventeen. She enrolled in a college to train as a seamstress. Over the Christmas break, her friend Lena invited her to stay at Lenas flat. They were in the same class. Lenas parents had gone away for the holidays to visit relatives.
Lena was friends with Dennis. He came to celebrate the New Year with Lena and his friend Sam. It was then that Maya and Sam got together. Sam left his phone for contact and promised to call, but never did.
When Maya realized she was pregnant, she called Sam herself. He was angry, shouted at her, and said proper women should think about contraception themselves. He handed her money to terminate the pregnancy and told her to disappear from his life forever. She never saw him again.
Maya dropped out of college, was forced out of the dormitory with her child. She could not return to the villageher mother had died long ago, and her father and brother drank away whatever hope remained.
Now she rented a single room in the flat of an elderly lady. She looked after her son while she worked, handing over almost every penny she earned. A place in a proper nursery was out of reach. She worked in a private dumpling factory, paid modestly, but they managed.
The following day Clara helped Maya move the boy into Jamess flat. And Claras life began to change.
Dim was placed in a respectable private nursery. Clara found herself buying clothes for both Maya and the boy, and she delighted in doing so. He looked just like Jamessame gaze, same gestures, even the same stubborn streak.
Clara took on a mentor role with Maya. She taught her how to apply makeup properly, dress herself, look after her own wellbeing, cook, and keep a tidy home. In short, she taught her everything.
One evening, they were sitting together watching television. Dim wrapped his arms around Clara, pressed his cheek to her shoulder and whispered, Youre my favourite, Grandma.
In that instant, Clara realized she had not felt that hollow emptiness in her soul for a long time. Grief no longer weighed on her like an iron anchor. She understood that she had slipped back into a normal life, one where joy could find a foothold. All of this had happened because of that small, bright child.
Two years later, Clara and Maya walked Dim off to his first day of primary school. Maya now worked for Clara, becoming her indispensable righthand. Maya had a boyfriend who was looking for something serious. Clara had no objections; life goes on, after all.
It seemed Clara herself might soon become a bride again. An old, trusted friend kept nudging her toward marriage. Why not? She was attractive, independent, with a fine figure and a gentle temperament, and she was only fiftyfour.
The world around her swirled like the dust in that flat, but now it glittered with possibilities, as if a strange, surreal dream were finally settling into a gentle, waking reality.
