Mother
Oi, whiskers! Who do you belong to? Lizzie froze, eyeing the large ginger tomcat perched outside her flats door.
Naturally, the cat gave no reply. He didnt so much as twitch at Lizzies appearance, refusing to even shift his position. Only his torn ear gave the faintest flicker, as if to say, Yes, yes, I hear you! But you wont get a word out of me!
Fine, be like that! Lizzie sniffed, rummaging in her worn handbag for her keys.
The cat, as though understanding her, shuffled just enough to let her squeeze past on the doormat but didnt leave, keeping a wary eye on her movements.
At last, she uncovered her keys and fussed with the lock, glancing warily at her uninvited guest.
She and her husband, Arthur, had bought this flat barely two months before. Modest, two rooms their absolute dream. Some mightve said that in an old five-storey block, you should aspire to more. Perhaps they were right, but Lizzie and Arthur would have laughed at such advice. Only half a year before, the thought of having their own home was fanciful. Theyd lived in her grandfathers tiny room in a shared house and counted themselves lucky to be allowed even that autonomy.
Lizzie, just dont go falling out with the neighbours! Arthurs mother, Mrs. Mildred Carter, had said when helping her scrub the room before the wedding. Theyre good people. Though theyre rather partial to a tipple.
Oh? Is that what makes them good, exactly? If they drink? Lizzie had grinned as she wrung out the rag and swept her wild hair from her face.
Her mane as Arthur affectionately called her curls was impossible. No matter the pins or slides, the riot of tangles would escape and dance over her forehead, making her resemble a dandelion gone to seed.
Its complicated, Mrs. Carter would sigh, shaking her head. Life never treated them gently, and not everyone manages to handle it well.
This, Lizzie understood. An orphan raised by foster parents whod washed their hands of her as soon as she turned eighteen, she knew all about people clinging to self-pity and forgetting those who relied on them.
Lizzies own mother had left her when she was barely three, alone on a station bench with a note in her coat pocket and a battered, one-eared teddy rabbit. Shed sat, as her mother had instructed, clutching her floppy-eared Steff, waiting and whimpering, afraid to leave her seat, desperate for the loo but certain her mother would be cross or worse if she budged.
Her mother never returned, but a kindly policeman did. He asked questions; Lizzie only shook her head, unable to answer, her tears dried up by then, hunger making her stomach ache, her hands icy. Only when the man picked up the rabbit and asked, Whats his name then? did she thaw, whispering, Steff
He patted the rabbit, then gently stroked Lizzies head. Was your mum gone a long time?
That broke her resolve; she cried so hard the station man radioed for backup, trying his best to calm her, while people nearby looked curiously at the child whod been so quietly patient for so many hours, but none had intervened.
Why her mother had abandoned her, Lizzie only learnt years later, when a strange woman accosted her outside school just before she left arms outstretched, crying: My darling girl, Ive found you! Give your mum a hug, Ive missed you so
By then, Lizzie lived with foster parents and six other children, all shapes and ages. The couple ensured no one was cold or hungry; each child had chores, clubs, schoolwork, and knew the day they turned eighteen, they would have to make way for another foster child. The Carters believed in duty and provision, but not in warmth or trust.
Yet, Lizzie could not run into that outstretched embrace. Though part of her ached for itlong, lonely nights cuddled with Steff under the pillow made it so. Shed dreamt of that moment, of being found, loved and kept. How unfair, she thought, that a childs only family was a battered soft toy.
So Lizzie longed for her mother. Longed for the day she would come, hug her, and take her home, just like children in the books did. She didnt understand but she did know, watching her friends with their own mothers, that some children have that luck.
But standing before her that day, weeping and reaching for her, Lizzie felt nothing but suspicion. Adults often told her she couldnt possibly remember that railway bench, so young as shed been. Eventually, she stopped arguing. But she didnt forget. If not the details, then the feelings: the noise, the fear, and the knowledge she had been left.
Her foster sister Natalie, in Lizzies class, stepped between Lizzie and the stranger, shielding her. Whos this then, Liz?
I dont know Lizzies head reeled, the world spinning madly.
Sorry, madam, youre mistaken! Off with you. This is my sister, and weve never seen you before. Natalie grabbed Lizzies hand and pulled her away, Well tell mum, she called over her shoulder.
Lizziewhose relationship with Natalie was rocky, at bestsqueezed her hand, and so they trotted home together, fingers entwined. When their foster-mother raised an eyebrow, both merely shrugged. What?
From that day, Lizzie had a sister. Natalie, herself unwanted by her drinkaddled father, longed for family just as bitterly.
Lizzie did meet her mother again a week later. She came to school every day, pleading, but now waited and just asked, Please, talk to me, darling!
That darling irritated Lizzie, but Natalie just shrugged, Let her call you what she wants. Its just words.
And it was Natalie who advised her to have the talk.
Youve nothing to lose. Ask her. Demand an answer. Probably, this will be your only chance, and maybe then youll stop thinking it was your fault.
How do you know I think that? Lizzie gaped.
Dont we all? We all think we must have done something wrong
And you feel that way?
I do.
You never said so!
I never had to. You havent either. Who talks about these things, Liz? We just cry and keep quiet. Ive sobbed my heart out. But its time to grow up.
In the end, the talk with her mother brought nothing much. Lizzie demanded, You left me.
Forgive me, darling.
Dont call me that! It makes my skin crawl!
All right, all right! Why did you do it?
It was hard, truly! No help, no support. Your father threw me out.
Why?
I told him you werent his.
Were you?
No.
Then why say it?
I was angry. We fought so much. Young and foolish
And then?
I argued with my mum and thought to leave. But where with a child? I left you, knowing someone would take you in. I left a note, didnt I? I said Id come back
And you thought the note was enough? What sort of a person are you?
Im sorry! If youd only let me make it up
What do you mean to fix? Will you give me back the years I lived without you? I dont want to see you again. Dont come back.
So you wont forgive me?
I dont know. But even if I did, Id never forget!
Whats to forget? You were so little! You remember nothing!
Lizzie just walked away. From that moment on, she wouldnt let anyone tell her what she could or couldnt feel.
Natalie understood. Its your call. If you think its right, dont be sorry. Forget, and go on.
Oh, you are clever, Nat
Not yet, but Ill be. I want to learn.
What do you want to be?
Psychologist. Maybe then Ill know how to live.
Theyd laugh over that for years. When Natalie married and had her little daughter, shed say, Its all nonsense! No one knows how to live right. Not me, not you, not a soul.
So, whats the secret, Nat?
Oh, you know Live in a way that those you love are warm and content, and that strangers dont envy you from their armchairs, watching some telly drama about your life.
Youre doing well.
I try, giggled Natalie, deftly wrapping her babys nappy.
Watching her, Lizzie learned to be more patient with her troubles.
So what if it was just a box room in a shared house? It was central and near work. A little DIY, and life was nearly perfect. Arthurs mother was right their neighbours, though sad and lost, never bothered them, and had earned sympathy.
It took Lizzie a long while to learn how to pity, to empathise for none had ever pitied her, except, perhaps, Natalie.
In the end, it was Mrs Carter and Granddad William who helped her most.
Mrs Carter was hearty and stubborn but also generous in a way Lizzie hadnt known. She took Lizzie as her owna feat that Natalie had called heroic.
Dont get your hopes up, Liz, Natalie had warned, helping her dress for the first meeting with Arthurs family, Youre not exactly a prize. An orphan, no house, nothing to your name. Didnt even get a council flat.
But Im on the list!
Do you remember your queue number? Youll get it when pigs fly. Dont mention it to Arthurs mother. Not until youve got the keys in your hand.
Lizzie understood dont expect too much, but dont be prickly, either.
At first, Mrs Carter rubbed her the wrong way too loud, too large, too busy. Lizzie, never used to care, received it with wary politeness, but inside kept her guard up, recalling Natalies advice.
But Mrs Carter seemed to understand this and never pushed. And when Lizzie and Arthur were ready to move out, she didnt argue.
Granddads getting on, shed said one night. Time we moved him in with me. You two swap be independent. He needs someone watching nearby.
Granddad William would just chuckle, nodding his old, whiskered head, and on weekends would drag Mrs Carter out jogging, or to the park, before dousing himself in cold water afterwards.
Did I do right? Mrs Carter would ask.
Of course. The young need to make their own mistakes. Only help when asked. But Lizzie treat her gently. Shes proud, that one. Dont overdo it.
Mrs Carter took this to heart and only visited when invited, offering advice sparingly, remembering how youngand occasionally foolishshe herself had once been.
Lizzie had struggled with accepting pity.
Of course you dont want to be pitied! Granddad William had said, when shed shrunken at the idea. But whats so dreadful about it? On this fair isle, years back, we didnt say love half so much as we said pity. It meant all the tender feelings one could hold for loved ones. When someones ill, what do they need? Love, with all the song and dance? Or a bit of care?
Lizzie considered. The latter, I suppose
There you are, clever girl! And when someones soul aches?
Care again?
Exactly! But dont squander it. Theres no use pitying a drunk husband you cant change, or indulging a child whos naught but troublesome things only get worse. We must pity wisely.
I do pity you, Granddad.
I know, and I value it because youre fond of me, not just because Im old.
I am fond of you!
As I am of you!
And who should we pity, then?
Those our hearts direct us to. Family, friends, pets but properly, with sense. No use tossing a sausage to a stray as you nip out the grocers; true care means making room at home. You must do it with your head and heart together. When you do, good things come of it.
That conversation was in Lizzies mind now, as the ginger cat waited outside her door. Here she stood in the flat she and Arthur had finally managed to buy with a good bit of help from Mrs Carter and Granddad William, mind and it seemed this ginger tom was hoping for a bit of kindness as well. To her surprise, he let her stroke him, but when she beckoned him inside, he darted up the stairs, leaving her puzzled.
Well, pardon me for offering! she huffed. But as she closed the door, the ginger returned, trotting not alone but with a kitten dangling from his moutha tiny, mewling replica of himself.
I say! Lizzie scooped up the little ginger marvel, as the tom ran off again.
Moments later, he was back, a second bundle in his jaws even feistier, kicking and wriggling. Unable to carry this one without a drop, the tom tried again and again until Lizzie, laughing, intervened.
Some mother you are! she chuckled, collecting them all and opening the door wide. Well? Is that the lot, or should I expect an army?
The cat entered cautiously, eyes darting from Lizzie to the kittens in her arms.
Go on, then! Dont be afraid! And wheres their mother, eh?
The cat made no reply, instead grabbing a kitten and padding purposefully around the hall.
Ooh, hang on, I get it, Lizzie fetched an old tray. The tom placed the kitten there and seemed to demonstratethere was a torn-up newspaper, just right for little paws learning the art of cleanliness.
You really are quite the mother! Lizzie laughed quietly, not wishing to alarm the squirming kittens. Right, lets see whats in the fridge for you all.
Suppertime came, and a family council was called.
If you dont mind, Mrs Carter, Lizzie said earnestly, Ill try to find homes for the kittens, but I cant put them outside again. Theyre helpless, and odd as it is, the toms been caring for them. Ive not a clue where their real mothers gone.
Mrs Carter, stroking a purring kitten in her lap, smiled, Its your flat, yours and Arthurs; you decide who stays. Why ask my permission? Now, what have you been feeding them?
Milk, thank goodness theyre old enough to lap.
Ill take this one when hes bigger, said Mrs Carter. But you must keep that fine cat for yourself.
I should hope so, said Lizzie. I have much to learn from him.
From him? Mrs Carter raised her eyebrows.
Arthur smiled, nudging Lizzie to share the news theyd kept from Mrs Carter till her birthday.
Well, Im going to have two teachers on how to be a good mother now. You, and this whiskery nursemaid here.
Lizzie touched the cats ear, and, finally, at Mrs Carters gentle embrace, she allowed herself to cry.
