Miracle Auntie
Alexandra squeezed herself into the thick of the crowd, slipping quickly to the front of the queue. The bus was packed; it had just let off about five passengers and was meant to take on at least twenty more.
Sasha was practically carried in by the surge. In one swift motion, she handed a few pounds to the exhausted driver, and with her rucksack, dripping umbrella, and an idiotic grin stretched across her face, floated towards the centre of the bus.
Strangely, she felt slightly amused. In situations like these, something compelled her to smile. Not to lose her temper, not to stress, but to smileas if trying to shield her mind from the kind of negativity she simply couldnt afford.
People shoved, squabbled, jostled for room, moaning about soggy umbrellas and overstuffed bags, as every inch became precious.
The crowd wedged her between an elderly lady on one side and a schoolboy on the other. The boy was staring helplessly at his bulging satchel, unsure where to put it, when a woman in a grey bobble hat seated by the window offered to hold it for him.
Those sitting looked like unfeeling statues. Having claimed their seats, they buried their noses in their phones or gazed listlessly out of the rain-fogged windows, where only bright umbrellas appeared to bring life to the grey streets.
Their resentment towards the standees behind them was palpablethe delay in moving off, the crush of bodies. Why even bother to observe the others, to care about such discomfort? There was already enough negativity to go around. None of the sitters cared about those left standing. Self-preservation had become a momentary art form.
Except, perhaps, for that tiny woman with the crocheted hat, who had taken the schoolboys bag. She now sat, balancing the satchel on her knees alongside her own battered handbag, at the window next to a plump lady tapping out a message on her phone. Ever vigilant as a magpie, the woman in the hat craned her neck to keep an eye on the incoming crowd, desperate to offer help if she could.
Theres more outside! Three more people at least! Can we squeeze up a bit, please? she called out, as if singlehandedly orchestrating the loading.
Theres nowhere leftalready packed in like sardines! barked a man. Sit yourself down and mind!
Or maybe you could take the seat instead? Ill stand, the woman in the hat started to rise.
For heavens sake, woman, give it a rest! the neighbouring lady snapped, punctuating her text.
Slightly hurt, the woman in grey turned to the window. But Sasha noticed the softness of her disappointment; she was still watching, still hoping everyone could pile in. What a miraculous auntie, Sasha thought to herself.
At last, the bus doors groaned and slammed shut, once, twice. The driver called for space near the exit, forcing the last lad to tumble back into the rain. He surely had somewhere to be, for he dashed off, not bothering with his umbrella, tearing down the street ahead of the bus, oblivious to puddles or streams of rain dashing from his hair and coat.
Sasha caught the gentle, worried glance Miracle Auntie gave as he vanishedher forehead wrinkled with genuine care.
Her mannerismsthis do take a seat, dearieboth amused and bewildered Sasha. Where on earth did you find people like her?
But her thoughts soon drifted elsewhere.
If only she had her own car. She could haveif…
Enough! Dont dwell, she scolded herself.
Dad didnt want to. And she sort of understoodespecially now, with his Beverly. He might even buy a car for Beverly first, knowing his ways. She knew for sure he could afford it.
Dad always seemed one of the lads. Though to an outsider, he struck as dignifieda university lecturer, a man with a doctorate. Sometimes Sasha went with him in his old Volkswagen, but their schedules rarely matched. Dad was softand honestly, a darling.
Mum was the strict one, demanding, but Mum had…
Enough! Not now!
So, Sasha was usually left to trek to campus and back by bus, even on damp, dreary days like this.
Soon, it was time to elbow through to the exit. Behind her, people fumbled for bags and umbrellas. Sasha glanced backthe woman in the grey hat was also trying to get off, wrestling a massive suitcase.
Wherere you shoving with that suitcase? a theatrical man grumbled, protecting his coat and shoes.
Sorry, sorry, but what else can I do? Got to get it off…
Miss, are you getting off at this stop? The woman dabbed sweat from her brow, revealing she wasnt so old after all.
Yes, Sasha replied, relief blooming that shed slip out ahead of that monstrous suitcaseher tights would be spared.
Sasha hopped off, popped open her umbrella, and breathed in the earthy, autumn air as she made for the crossing. She looked backMiracle Auntie was speaking with an elderly passerby, the lady just shrugged, befuddled.
Lost? Sasha wondered as the green man flicked up at the crossing, and then, against better judgment, walked back. She knew this estate well now, although shed only lived here three years.
Before, with Mum and Dad, she lived across town. When Mum passed away, Sasha spent three years with her nan, before university brought her back to Dad. Dad had sold their old flat by then too many memories, too much heaviness, and Sashas own struggles. They needed a change.
There was enough money for something better.
And so Sasha came hereto a bright, modern flat.
All for you! Dad had declared.
She was grateful. She tried to dress the place up to her taste, spoiling Dad with cooking feats. Shed picked up tips from Nannot to mention endless inspiration onlineand swapped cast-iron pans for gadgets and a slow cooker, baked rustic rolls, hosted candlelit suppers, and experimented with anything new she dared. The kitchen was hers now, her comfort zone.
Sasha, youll make me fat! her dad teased. If you keep this up, Ill soon have to squeeze in sideways through the door.
You could call Miracle Auntie petite. Her suitcase seemed heavier and bulkier than she was, but mercifully it had wheels. Clad in a cropped denim jacket lined with fur, a tight bobble hat, jeans, and black boots, she lacked a hood or umbrella, so shed bundled a knitted scarf awkwardly over her head, leaving her neck exposed.
Sasha approached.
Do you need directions? she asked.
What? Oh I do! Just a sec! She plopped the suitcase down. Its Birch Avenue, do you know where I should go?
As it happened, it was on Sashas way.
Shall we walk together? Let me help.
Oh, no, nohonestly! Im fine. Its light, has wheels.
But Sasha frowned skeptically at the womans sodden jacket and scarfthe rain was soaking her through. Sasha tried to keep her covered by the umbrella, but success came and went as they dodged ever-wider puddles.
Still, the woman seemed unfazed, bustling along with a hint of a smile.
So, whereve you come from? Sasha called out above the hush of rain and swishing tyres.
Me? Oh, Sheffieldwell, a little village up Yorkshire way, really.
Quite a hike!
True! Flew into London, so nice and quick this end. Trains up north took longer. And nowthis rain! The weathers bone dry back home… Still, if you hope for a rainbow, youd best be ready for rain, eh?
No rainbow in sight thoughnearly winter, Sasha shrugged.
Yes, true… Its all just endless puddles
Whats that?
Oh, you know. Puddles… local dialect, the woman laughed, as her suitcase slowed them at kerbs and steps.
Fitting phrase, Sasha thought, and grabbed the handle to help lug it along.
Finally, they found Birch Avenue. Sasha gestured, Thats your street. What number?
Rather far, looks like. Lets go, Ill walk with you.
Oh, you mustntdont let me keep you! I shouldnt distract you, please go on.
Im not in a rush. Without an umbrella youll be soaked. Come on. Sasha gripped the handle and off they went.
You visiting family?
My son. Hes at uni here, rents a flat.
He didnt meet you?
No idea I was coming. I wanted it to be a surprise, show up like a jack-in-the-box! Always says, dont come, Mum, save yourself trouble, so I decidedwhy not! Bringing him home treatsfigured Id see a bit of London. See what sort of place it is, see how people live.
Not impressed so far?
She dodged another gutter, shrugged.
Here, everyones so busy looking out for themselves, no room for others. Not great, really. Ohthink this is it.
They reached the block of flats. Before Sasha could say goodbye, they realised the entry doors had a coded lock. Under the shelter, they punched the flat number in; no answer. Tried her sons mobile; endless dial tone. Sasha even lent her phonesame story.
A neighbour chanced past but was none the wiserhadnt seen her son in days.
When did you last speak with him? Sasha asked.
Yesterday, I think. Hell be at his lectures now. You go on, my dear, Im ever so grateful for your help. Wont you stay for a handmade bun? Ohnot really fit for company now, past date. Sweet, perhaps? Never mind, thank you. You should go Ill wait here. No need to worry.
Sasha took her leave, wishing things couldve ended warmer, and retraced her steps through the drizzle. She couldnt help smiling; something about that Miracle Aunties warmth lingered despite the bleak weather.
She got home quickly. For once, she was glad the place was empty.
Shed grown to dislike evenings at homesince Beverly began spending more and more time there. For ages, her dad kept his new fiancée separate, but eventually introduced them, and before long Beverly was everywhere. Shed even appeared one morning in Dads dressing gown, gliding out of his room as if she owned the flat. And it didnt end therehalf the day was spent lording about, acting like Sasha was the guest, not her.
Shed start helping in the kitchen. See, Sasha, let me show youthis is how you fry the beef for stroganofflike this, not like that. Pay attention. Never mind Sasha could cook circles round Beverly.
Ill show you how to make Caesar saladits a real treat.
Dad only ever liked it with bacon. Youre making it with plain chicken.
Well, hes olderbacons no good at his age.
If hes older, why go for a man twice your age? Beverly was only eleven years older than Sasha. Some love storymore like a cat after its mouse.
Her precious evenings with dad vanished. No more dozing together on the sofa, chatting about campus, or mock pillow fights that ended with dad tickling her into fits. Now Beverly snuggled close, wrapped him in Mums favourite plaid blanket, while Sasha retreated alone to her room.
No, Sasha decided, she didnt like Beverly one bit. Maybe it was jealousymaybe, as Dad said, he deserved his own life. One day shed have her life too. But stillBeverly…
Once Sasha came home early from university, only to find Beverly on the lounge sofa, a pedicure basin at her feet. Oh, Sasha! Back early? Come join. Ive got nail files and everythingor dont you do this sort of thing?
I do. In the bathroom. Sasha snapped, grabbing a bun and vanishing to her room, appetite gone.
Beverly tried to show off her shallow knowledge, but Sashaand even Dad, Sasha thoughtsaw through it. Beverly was only ever interested in chart-topping films and gossip. To be fair, Sasha had watched some wonderful movies thanks to her.
Dad, do you love her? Sasha once asked quietly.
I suppose Ive grown used to her. Dont fix what isnt broken, Sasha. When youre off living your life, I wont want to be alone. Beverlys kind and caring.
But shes…empty, Dad. She bosses you around.
Am I bothered? Ive never been a leadernot really. And without a little fuss, a womans not quite herself, like a general without an armyuniform, but no effect!
Shes all effect, Dad. Nothing else.
Maybe, but she seems to love me… Dont be jealous, Sasha. Its time for your life to begin, too.
But Sasha pitied her father. Why? She couldnt put a finger on it. Perhaps jealousy, perhaps missing Mum. Perhaps her place had been usurped.
After returning home, she changed, got in the shower, scrubbing off the day, absently noting new shampoo and face washBeverlys shopping, saturating their home.
Shed barely made herself a snack when an unfamiliar number flashed up on her phone.
Hello, you rang me earlier? I saw a missed call, a deep, friendly voice.
No, must be a mix-up…Waitdo you live on Birch Avenue?
Yes! Why?
Your mums arrivedsurprise visit, youre not home and its pouring out…
Mum? Oh, bless you for letting me know!
He hung up abruptly.
Sasha tidied up, shoving Beverlys greasy frying pan aside, frustrated.
Soon her phone rang again.
Sorry, I must explain. Im in Ukraine right nowa weeks volunteering trip, youth exchange programme. Didnt tell Mumshed panic, you know? I cant get through to her, her phones off. The landladys got the flat key, lives near, but is away at her cottage until Monday. I…I dont know what to do. Could you let her know? Tell her not to wait, maybe find a hotel? Anything. Shes always jumping in with surprise visits.
Sasha, now in her snug tracksuit and socks, glanced at the rainand pictured that woman huddled under the entrance, suitcase in tow.
Ill go back and call your mum, let her speak to you. Dont worry, well ring you.
I cant tell you how grateful I amthank you so much!
Sasha bundled up again, pulled on wellies, grabbed her umbrella, and marched back to Birch Avenue, planning to pop into the shop on her way. She racked her brainwhat hotels were nearby? Only one came to mind, but the prices would be through the roof. Would a visitor from Sheffield afford it? Still, just a few days. Blame herself, reallywho turns up like this in 2024?
No sign of Miracle Auntie under the steps, but then Sasha spotted a blue jacket on the playground veranda, hunched in the cold. The climbing frame was thick with leafless ivy.
The woman sat scrunched, hands clutched between her knees, shivering visibly.
Evening again! Sasha called out.
The woman startled, straightened, tried to smile, but it came out feeble.
You look like a sparrow on a perchyoure freezing!
Bit, yes. Whered you come from?
Sasha searched her contacts.
Your phones flat. Your son cant get through.
Oh, Ive been calling him over and over. My phones dead…
Take mine, Sasha said, handing her the mobile.
As soon as she heard her sons voice, the woman brightenedthe sparrow transformed, chirping with relief.
What, youre away? In Ukraine? Dont worry, love, Ill sort something, settle in for a few days. Dont fret. Im not going anywhere, promise. Ill wait here!
She was beaming now, all worries swept away.
So, what will you do now? Sasha asked.
The woman looked round, uncertain, as though happiness from her sons voice was enough and everything else could wait.
Where will you go? Sasha pressed.
Any hotels nearby? She lifted her head from her bag. Do you know?
Sit down, lets look it up. They bent over Sashas phone for ages; everything was full or outrageously expensive. They checked for rented rooms by the night.
Perhaps I could just stick my suitcase in left luggage andwell, I wanted to explore London anyway! That was my plan.
Not in this weather! You should get dry first. Sasha shut her phone with a snap. Right, thats enough. Youre coming to mine, ok? Youll catch your death out here. Stay until your landlady returns.
Oh, no! I cant! Im a strangeryouve no idea who I am, I could be a con-artist! Theres enough of us around these days Not us. Not me! But you dont know that, do you?
She rambled on in panic, then stopped, round-eyed, as if actually picturing what a scammer might look like, peering at Sasha to gauge her reaction.
Sasha stood listening, trying to process it all. This con-artist, in her knitted scarf and sodden jeans, was such a comic sight, Sasha burst out laughing, hugging her sides with mirth. The laughing spread to Miracle Auntie, and for a moment the chill and rain were forgotten.
Oh, goodnessI need the loo now! the woman giggled.
So, through a misting rain, off they trudged to Sashas flat.
Were a right pairyou and me, like fish and water, Miracle Auntie said, dropping the formality.
Lets introduce ourselves then. Im Alexandrastudent at Kings.
Im Marion, manager of the local village hall, singer and dancer for hire!
A whole cultural centre?
Oh, nothing so grand. Just a village hall, but I run everythingmusic, dance, events. If not for the cleaner, Id do that too!
Despite her fatigue, she fretted about imposingworried if Sashas family would mind, offering to pay…
Then she exclaimed over the flat, wandering the rooms, patting her thighs in approval. Her short, almost boyish haircut suited heronce her silly bobble hat and wet jacket were on the radiator, she looked years younger.
While Marion showered, Sasha rustled up lunch. Even found a spare little bedroom for her. The flat was big.
Look at all your books! You love Forster? Me too. And Platooh, youve got the whole set! Brilliant. Listen to this She read a fragment aloud, pondering whether to laugh or cry. Whenever I read this author, I tear up when the cats are out of sorts, and giggle when Im happycant help myself!
You read a lot Wheres your accent from?
Well, darling, that’s our dialect up north. You pick it up living in the villages. But Sasha, if your dad objects to me staying, just say so. Ill leave without fuss.
Dont worry. Dad brought Beverly here without so much as a by your leave. Shes not even registered at this address, been here weeks. Its half my flatIve got every right.
You dislike her?
Yeah. We were fine, just Dad and me.
You know, sometimes its easier when a house is crammed, and harder when its just twodepends on the closeness. Maybe yours just didnt happen.
It didnt, Sasha stirred her borscht.
But who knows whats ahead? In a family, even porridge tastes richer.
But we were a family when Mum was alive. Now…
They ate in companionable silence; clearing up together felt easy.
In Sashas room was a photo of her and Mum. Sasha was about ten, hugged from behind, laughing, her mothers mass of curly hair and gentle smile shining in the print.
Marion came over, looking at the photo so long and intently that Sasha grew uneasy, as though shed see something Sasha herself had always avoided.
Theres something in your hands. What is it? Marion finally asked.
A watch Mum bought for me that day, Sasha answered, heart pounding, resisting the urge to call Stop! but finding no needthe pain receded.
Tell me about your mum.
Why? Still, for once, Sasha wanted to confess. She spoke of things shed only whispered to the dark, at night, those first months after the accident, the story that always used to break her.
Who could she ever tell it to? Dad and Nan worried so much it wasnt fair to trouble them. Friends wouldnt understand. And Edwell, he was hopeless with feelings.
Her family had been franticher first, hardest year. Night after night, Sasha sobbed, screamed, played Mums messages, lost herself to hysteria. The doctors gave injections, Dad went white-haired overnight. Nan was already ill with grief and now had Sashas heartbreak to deal with too.
At fourteen, Sasha had wanted nothing more than oblivion. The pain bored into her like a drill, bound her temples in steel and filled her head with lead. It crushed her lungs and clamped her heart. Unbearable.
No Mum! Mum was everythingthe idea shed lost half of herself was inconceivable. They took her phone and photos, moved her to Nans. But nothing stopped the pain.
She begged and begged for dreams reuniting her with Mum, but nothing came. She was justgone.
Eventually, Sasha learned to throw a shutter over that part of her, to say stop! The memories never vanished, but stopped hurting so much. She avoided their depth, the scents, the tiny details, fearing a relapse into breakdown.
Mum died on an icy road, another car skidding into her. She was gone in a heartbeat.
Sharing those years now with this near-stranger, Sasha remembered every detailthe secrets, the laughs, the flash of Mums perfume, tiny veins in her hands, the birthmark on her shoulder.
The sheer strength of that love became apparent only when Mum was gone. Sasha spoke and spokeof little secrets, promises, har-styling, homecomings, plans for Sasha to grow strong and independent. The giving of the watch tooshe left out what happened to it after.
She was no longer afraid of a breakdown. She always had been, but not now. As if this listenerthis Miracle Auntiecould act as her stop button, keeping her from falling apart.
Marion listened fiercely, brow furrowedit struck Sasha that the same crease had always appeared in her mothers brow.
Without realizing, Sashas cheeks were wet with tears. Marion stayed quiet, steady.
Goodness. I must be crying, right? She dabbed her collar.
Its raining, after all. And theres no shame in tearssometimes you just need to let them flow. Go on, Sashaits a healthy thing. Bet your mum would approve.
Sasha realised that for the first time, she was crying for Mumand it didnt hurt. No hysteria, just gentle, warm release. She could stop any time. But why now? Why with this woman?
Truly, a miracle auntie, Sasha thought as she drifted off to sleep.
Marion dozed on the sofa, not even bothering with her own room.
The trees by the citys avenue handed their gold and crimson freely to the earth at a breath of wind.
The rain poured on, washing away, erasing the distinctions between sky and earth, sorrow and joy, yesterday and tomorrow.
As though rounding off Sashas memory, bringing the story to a hush. Because, after all, no rain could last forever.
