Shards
Mr Littleman, Ill speak with Oliver. It wont happen again!
I hope so, Miss Thompson. Olivers a good lad! Bright, capable, loves his sums. Hes keen on sport, too. Perhaps you could find something for him a football club, or something of the sort. Hes got too much energy and thats why he jumps over the desks. All would be well, but its a bit dangerous! Not that I need to tell you, of all people. Thank you for mending the broken desk, and shall we agree: I wont mention it, and youll think of a way to keep Oliver occupied?
Right. I understand completely.
Claire nodded farewell to the Littleman family and smiled, turning toward the window. Olivers father looked rather like a boy whod been caught nicking sweets shifting his feet, blushing as he stood before her. It was all a bit odd, being barely out of university herself, telling off a grown man.
Still, Olivers father loved his boy. That was clear. And so, surely, hed do all he could to see him grow into a fine man. Claire reckoned she wasnt much good at reading people, but this much she knew; the way both father and son dropped their eyes identically, and the way Oliver took his fathers hand as they left. There was so much trust in that small gesture, Claire couldnt help but feel a sliver of jealous longing pierce her, sweet and sharp. Shed never known that, not with her own father. Her father had always been a ghosta wind through branches, never quite real.
For years, Claires mother had dodged questions and kept secrets about their past; only on the eve of her eighteenth birthday did she open her memorys old chest and let the shadows out.
Claire, youre old enough to know who your father is. Youve asked so many times and Ive always been silent. Not because theres nothing to tell, but because I never wanted you to be hurt.
And now youll tell me?
Yes. The times come. Soon youll make your own choices. I want you to do it knowing where youve come from.
Mum, youre worrying me.
No, darling, nothing to be scared of. Your father was he isa good man. Kind, clever and gifted
So where is he then? If hes so wonderful, why do I not know him? Does his kindness stretch to everyone but his daughter? Dont you sound a little contradictory?
Oh, Claire… If only sorting your past was as easy as shifting a hundred crates! Its harder to explain to your own child what you botched in life.
Lets start at the beginning, Mum. Why havent I ever met him? Wasnt it his choice?
Not exactly. It was mine
News to me! Why was that? I used to look for him in every stranger I passed as a child. I was so envious of Emily and her friends, when their dads would sweep them to nursery seeing her high on her dads shoulders, proud as a cloud, and me left below. I even ended up in a row with Emily once…
For poking out her tongue at you?
No. For her dad…
Oh, Claire… Im sorry. It was me. Im the reason you never had your father.
Can you explain what happened?
Ill try, though I know it wont make much sense, and perhaps youll never forgive me. You bear your stepfathers surname. But your middle name is your fathers. I changed it when you were five. Why? I dont quite know. It just felt right. About my first marriage: well, it was arranged. Our families decided wed wed when we were little more than toddlers. They were deeply bound, you see, and it never occurred to me or Nick to question it. We just accepted itlife was planned for us from the start.
Thats so strange to me…
Isnt it? Now I see how wrong it was. But back then, it was all wed ever known. We were friends, close ones, understood each other without speaking. Closer than anyone. I suppose I confused that with love.
But it wasnt.
No, darling. Not that sort of love. More a kinship, a comfortable friendship.
When did you realise?
Far too late, as youve guessed. Wed been married a year when I met your father. Met him, and I was lost. I cant even describe itmadness, really. Not just the passion, though there was more than enough. It swept us up like a landslide, giving us no breath, no pause to think. But it wasnt only that. I woke up. After years fast asleep. Everything had been mapped out for usflat, car, job, holidays; no worries. My lifeNicks tooforewas decided by people who believed they always knew what was best.
And then?
Then he appeared: Michael Ashfield. Thats your fathers name. An athlete, a painter, a poet. He changed my life forever. His poems! I remember every line, even now.
Mum, focus. Where is he?
He lives in York. He has a family. Writes poetry for his wife now, not for me.
Oh! You still love him?
Never stopped.
Then why arent you together? Was it Nick?
No, he wasnt the obstacle. The truth is: I was. I… ran away.
Why?
I couldnt do what was expected of me. Nickhe understood, and was ready to let me go. My parents, though, they turned it into a public trial. Demanded repentance. When they learned I was pregnant, they locked me at Grans, plotted how to, wellyou can guess. No one cared what I wanted. I was a leper. Everyone talked over me as if I werent there.
Thats so bizarre.
Youre right, but not to them. Their entire world depended on keeping the facade neat and tidy. Protecting the family name.
But Im here, so they failed?
Yes, thanks to Nick. Id never taken him for the sort to rebel. He loved his parentsand yet, he outfoxed them all. Spirited me away and said hed raise you as his own, once he knew Michael was gone.
Why would he do that?
I didnt understand then. I thought he was being a loyal friend. Always protecting me. But in time I realisedhe loved me, truly. As I loved Michael.
Thats sad.
It is. He cared for me, but I was so lost, so tangled up. He helped me leave, set me up with friends in Cornwallpeople your Gran and Grandpa Kate, to you. I lived with them for more than two years, building a new life from scratch, surrounded by kindness.
I always thought they were my real grandparents, remember? Then you told me otherwisethat stung, but I decided not to care. You say you loved Michael, but you left… alone, and pregnant. For strangers.
What else could I do? The day when Nick took me to Michael, and I said I was expecting
What happened?
Nothing much. He paused for a momentmaybe a minute, maybe less. A pause, and his eyes everything was said in that moment. He didnt believe me… didnt think the child was his.
Oh, Mum! Was that all it took for you to go?
Yes. I wasnt calm or wise. I was so torn up inside, it only needed a hint for me to run. It was foolish. I shouldve spoken, tried harder. I learned later that my own mother paid Michael a visit. Told him you werent his, that he was just a flingjust excitement while Nick was away. He believed it. That was the part I never really forgave
Oh, its easy to deceive me! I want to be deceived
Yes, Claire, just that. If Michael hadnt wanted to believe ithe would have known. I always thought, if someone really loves you, its without measure, without weighing the cost. But he couldnt and I couldnt forgive him.
How did you know what happened?
He told me himself, years later. You were three. I saw him when I returned to London to finalise the divorce. He came for a final farewell.
And you didnt patch things up?
You can see we didnt. I let him go and all that had been between us. By then, the hurt had faded enough for me to understand his perspective. Besides, I was no longer the same girl Id grown up.
Did you meet again?
No. At our last meeting, I watched as he starednot at you, but past you, through you, at me. If Id seen a trace of care for you, I might have tried to set things right. But he his kindnesshowever realwasnt enough, not for his own child. Without you, Im nothing. Youre the best gift life ever gave meundeserved, perhaps, but I was trusted with you. Youre my anchor, holding me to this earth.
I love you, Mum Claire let the old resentment slide, hugging her tight. Can I ask something?
Anything, darling.
Why didnt you stay with Nick? I think you must have loved him, just a little.
I did. And thats why I left. Once Id made a fresh start, I cut contact. He visited, pleaded to see me. I refused.
Why?
Dont you see? I already owed him so much, and knew Id never love him as he loved me. It wouldve been unfair.
And you didnt want him raising another mans child?
That too. Not in so many words, but yes. I wanted him to have his own wife and children, a real family of his own.
Do you miss him?
Hugely! He was my truest friend.
Wouldnt you like a reunion?
No, Claire. Whats the use of disturbing old stones? Our paths are separate now. Best not to dream about what wont return. Let everything stay as is. You and I we have something more pressing to consider.
What?
Do you want to meet your father?
Claire hesitated. She thought she knew the answer, but saying it aloud was impossible. Perhaps her mother was secretly hoping shed want to meet Michaelthat perhaps, through Claire, she might meet him again. Maybe thats why she offered.
Can I think about it, Mum? Im not sure yet.
Of course. Ive his details. If you decide you want to see him, Ill buy you a ticket, book a hotel.
And you?
What about me?
You wont come?
Her mother smileda gentle, sad smile that made the question vanish.
No, my dear. Whats past is truly gone. Im grateful to Michael for showing me what it means to lovehow a word or a touch can tear your soul open and make it new. But that was long ago, and it will never return. Only the shards remain
Mum, I want to know what love like that feels like.
No! Dont ever wish for it! Dont Her mothers voice cracked, and she crushed Claire in a fierce embrace.
Fine. Should I wish for calm then? Like you had with Nick?
Not that either.
Then for what?
For warmth. Wish for light in your life, Claire. May someone come to you for whom youll be the light, the warmth theyve always needed. I pray for him every day.
But Mum, you dont know who he is, or if hell ever come.
I dont. But I believe Im heard. When the time is right, youll find what you need.
By whom, Mum?
Her mother didnt reply. She smiled, kissed Claire, and changed the subject but the strangeness lingered in Claires heart. Night after night, she found herself whispering a small prayer she wrote herself:
May someone come to me, someone to whom I can give my light and warmthand may they truly need it.
Why did she choose those words? Why not wish to be loved? She didnt know. Onlyit felt right. Its easy to take, but harder to give. She was sure, just taking wasnt for her. Love, after all, is mutual: if one loves and the other only lets themselves be adored, theres no joy for either.
Claire chose not to meet her father. She decided she, nor anyone else, needed such complications.
She did, however, meet her mothers parents once. Only onceout of curiosity, to see the people whod banished their daughter and granddaughter. What drove them, those years ago, to cut themselves off from love?
The meeting took place at a teashop near their terraced house. Claire waited over an hour, wondering if theyd turn up, or avoid the unknown granddaughter.
They arrivedclutching each others arms, nervous eyes darting about. Their fear was so palpable Claire nearly burst out laughing when her grandfather turned his back to the window.
Are you afraid someone will see you with me?
Her question hit home. Her grandmother turned pale, and her grandfather shrugged uncomfortably, as though shrugging off a heavy overcoat.
No
Dont fret; this wont be long. Just one question. Do you regret losing your child?
And that was the end. Her grandmother compressed her lips, shaking her head, as her grandfather tried comforting her. They barely noticed as Claire stood and left, without a backward glance for the people she ought to have called family.
She walked to the bus stop weeping, angry tears streaking her cheeks, unable to fathom such prideful coldness. The meeting rattled her; she could not collect herself for some time, sitting near the fountain watching toddlers chasing pigeons in the drizzling dusk.
She was startled from her daze by her mothers call, fumbling for the phone in her bag.
Claire, where are you?
On my way home. Mum, you sound cheerfulwhats happened?
Oh, something! Grandpa Bob and Granny Kate are here! Imaginethey didnt say a word, just dropped in on their way through to London, only for two days! Claire, get home this instant!
Yes, Mum! Im coming! Claire slipped her phone away and wiped her eyes. She didnt want to cry anymore. Coincidence or not, she decided not to question; the answer had come swiftly, and after all, sadness seemed pointless now.
In the end, people choose who to love and how to live. Her other grandparents were no exception. Let them be. She had those who truly loved herMum, Grandpa Bob, Granny Kate, their childrenUncle Paul and Aunt Vickythough they lived far away, never forgot to call on her birthday, and when visiting, still brought her favorite sweets and teddy bears. Claire had collected teddies since childhood, and the growing army of them threatened to take over the flat, driving her mother to fits of exasperation.
She pulled out her compact mirror from her bag.
There she wasjust as she was, no more, no less. She would grow, change, but remain shaped by the love of two people who never fully grasped the treasure fate had granted them, and then so easily lost. It was good, she thought, that her mother had told her everything. Now Claire knew that losing was easyfinding and keeping, not so much. If fate gave her that chance, she wouldnt squander it.
On that bench near the little fountain, in the cool English air, to the backdrop of childrens laughter and the cooing of pigeons, she realized something simple: live so youll have no regrets. Whether it works or not, time will tell. But shed try, that much she promised.
And even if she was merely a shard of something once wholeshe too could reflect what surrounded her. And with loved ones nearby, surely she could understand, accept, and share that love in turn.
The end-of-day bellhoarse and lingering, just as in her childhoodtolled through the stone corridors, signaling the final lessons close, and Claire hurried, glancing at her watch.
Oh! William was probably waiting in the car, listening to his favorite station, humming along.
She smiled involuntarily.
He had no ear, bless him, but more than enough love for singing. Claire, whod grown up in music lessons with perfect pitch, didnt mind at all. She would laugh till the tears came, applauding as William croaked out Old Brown Jug.
Lesley Garrett has nothing on you! Bravo!
William would go bashful and quiet but two minutes later, hed be humming away again.
Claire scooped up a pile of unmarked exercise books and snapped the lights off.
How he sang didnt matterwhat mattered was that their hearts beat in tune. They woke in the night together too, ever since Annie was born. Their daughter, now six, still called for Mappa in dreams. Strange worda childs invention, knowing that mum and dad were one and the same.
Whoever she called, both always came.
That was happiness.
To nestle between them, tucking bare cold feet under dads arm and nuzzling mums hands, to sleep so sweetly no nightmare could break through again. And, drifting off, to hear her parents whispering:
Ill put her back to bed; youve got to be up early for work!
No, Ill do it; youve got your staff meeting in the morning!
All right, then lets go together.
LetsHand in hand, they lifted Annie between themher small fingers gripping theirs, her sleepy head nodding, trust in every limb. Down the shadowy hallway, through the patch of moonlight falling on the carpet, William whispered, Race you! and Annie giggled, the laughter bright as bells in the gentle hush of night.
Claire watched them both, her heart full to the brimof past losses, of old hurts, and of the love that had, at last, outgrown them all. In these small ritualscaring for a child, caring for each othershe found everything shed once envied, everything shed ever wished.
There would always be shardsedges of pain, glimmers of memory. But in the warmth of Williams hand, in Annies peaceful sigh as they tucked her in, Claire understood the truth at last: it wasnt about patching things perfectly, nor pretending nothing had broken. It was about gathering the pieces together, holding them up to the light, and letting them shinemended but not hidden, beautiful still.
In the quiet that followed, William closed the door gently. They stood in the hallway, arms wrapped around each other. From behind the door, Annies breathing slowed into dreams.
Claire pressed her cheek to Williams shoulder, smiling.
Were all right, arent we? she whispered.
He squeezed her back, a promise in the gesture. More than all right.
And walking together down the hallwaythrough the shards and the wholeness, through love given, lost, and foundthey knew, deep down, this was home.
