5December2024
The snow has turned the narrow lane behind my terraced house into a whitewashed river. Im trudging along, my breath forming clouds, and I keep hearing that old refrain in my head: You cant not love your children. It sounds like a mantra, but the feeling inside me is far from love. Its fatigue, irritation, a constant sense of powerlessness.
When Charlie was still alive, and I was five months pregnant, our neighbour on the sixth floorcertain Id already shut my front door and couldnt hear hertold her husband:
People have babies just for the benefits, and the children end up abandoned!
I burst into tears that turned into hiccups. It was humiliating. Yes, I managed to keep a job while raising four kids, but they never stayed home alone for long: Mum would come over while she could, then we hired a nanny. I loved my work and didnt think it right to quit just because the children were small. When they grew upwhat then? Who would I be?
That question haunted me, and when Charlie passed away my salary, though stretched thin, was just enough to cover the childrens needs. I left my pension untouched, keeping it in a savings account for the day the kids would need a start in adulthood. Still, being a widow with five children proved harder than Id imagined.
All night the snow kept falling, the footpaths that were already narrow became almost indistinguishable. I should have parked the car elsewhere, but instead I had to haul Ethan and Lily, literally dragging them to the shop and back. I stared at the ground, trying not to collect the icy flakes in my boots, and didnt see the man walking toward me. We collided; he managed to stay upright, while I collapsed into the drifts. He offered his hand to help me up and, in the scramble, dropped a bright red heartshaped balloon.
Stupid Valentines Day, I muttered under my breath.
Yesterday I spent until midnight helping my middle daughter, Sophie, stitch on her felt boots and writing a short report for my son, Harry, about the holiday, all while soothing my eldest, Grace, who was having a fullblown panic attack because a huge pimple had appeared on her forehead. She was convinced a boy she liked would give her a valentine tomorrow and ask her out. While I was occupied, the younger ones swiped the acrylic markers and covered the white cupboard, the linoleum, and each other in colour. The nursery nurse, in her usual philosophical tone, called them little savages and suggested we buy some nailpolish remover with acetone.
Sorry, I didnt see you, the stranger apologized when our paths crossed again.
Two feelings wrestled inside me: anger that such a hulking bloke hadnt noticed me, and embarrassment over the lost balloonsurely it was meant for his sweetheart. The embarrassment won.
Dont worry, its my fault. What a pity about the balloon, I said.
He glanced up at the sky.
Nothing. The birds will celebrate too, he replied.
Your wife will be upset, I guess.
Its for my daughter, he smiled. Ill go get another.
Tears suddenly welled up. He seemed taken aback and didnt know what to do with them.
Sorry, I sniffed. I didnt mean to it was an accident.
Its all right Did something happen to you? he asked.
I rarely complain about my life, rarely speak of being a widow with five kids, but this man was a complete stranger and I was exhausted.
He listened, then said:
You should meet my wife. Shes gone a bit mad about the third child and I keep telling her, Lets think about yourself first, youve just stopped nursing. Im not saying many children are badquite the opposite. Id like a third myself, but sorry, Im rambling. Bad at comforting, I guess.
I waved my hand, halflaughing.
Sometimes I look at them and think Im supposed to love them deeply. In reality Im more often angry and irritated. Where is that love, I wonder?
Its there, he said confidently. Its just buried under the snow, like this path. And remember what grows here in summer?
What?
Dandelions.
I think I understood what he meant, yet the hollow feeling lingered.
He walked me to the car and wished me a lovely day. Once seated, I touched up my makeup and drove to work. A weight settled on my chest; memories of past Valentines popped uptiny notes tucked under the bathroom mirror, flowers left on the back seat. Charlie has been gone four years now, and these days always bring a pang of longing. Today, I also faced a meeting where the everdronelike Simon Harper would spend half an hour babbling about his quarterly results.
The office buzzed with a pleasant liveliness. We didnt really mark Valentines Day, but I saw blossoms here and there, heard girls giggling, while most men wore that usual tightlipped tensiontypical when they feel they must guess what women expect. When I entered the meeting room, I halfthought Id walked into the wrong one and stepped back; a bouquet of red roses lay on the table. It was my room, after all, and I approached the flowers cautiously, as if inspecting an exotic creature, unsure whether it would purr or swipe.
A card was attached. I picked it up gently.
Never would I have dared, but when, if not today? In your eyes I see the universe, my mood hinges on your smile. Dinner? L.
I tried to recall which colleagues name began with an L could have written this. The card also listed a restaurant and a time19:00. Leon, Luke, or Lewis? They all worked there, but none had shown any interest. It would have been amusing if it were Leon; Id once been almost in love with him before my fifth pregnancy. Id just started the job, my marriage was strained, and I craved a spark. Leon was friendly and curious, we dined together a few times, I even felt butterfliesuntil a test reminded me those were just hormonal protests demanding a break from another round of obligations. I get pregnant at the most unlikely moments; my fertility seems to have a mind of its own. When I fell ill, Leon faded from memory.
All day I wondered whether to go on the date. I watched Leon, Luke, and Lewis, but they behaved as usual. Was it a joke? How could I go on a date with kids at home? My mother, now in her sixties, rarely leaves the house, we cant afford a nanny, and Grace would probably bolt off to a date herself. So I decided not to go.
Ethan and Lily handed me a crooked heart, now even the nursery teaches the children to cut out valentines. I bundled them into their snowsuits and trudged back to the car, recalling the man whod handed a red balloon to his daughter. The thought made my eyes water again.
The children shouted in the boot about which cartoon to watch and demanded a stop at the shop for Kinder chocolate because it was a holiday. Exhausted by their yells, I gave in, bought three bars for the older ones and a packet of frozen dumplingscooking felt beyond me.
Home greeted me with the smell of fried chips and cherry compote. Grace announced that the boy whod asked her out had called off the date, leaving her without a boyfriend, but she was relieved because her forehead pimple had grown larger. She decided to make dinner in celebration. The middle children tidied their rooms and scrubbed the markers off the white cupboard. I felt a surge of emotion, embraced my brood, and realised I do love themnow, and always. Digging out a tiny black dress from the back of the wardrobe that hadnt seen daylight in years, I borrowed Graces perfume and Sophies lip gloss.
Moms going on a date! Grace cheered.
Ethan began to bawl; I soothed him and promised Id be back soon.
I arrived at the restaurant, nerves buzzing, unsure whator whoawaited. It felt odd to go on a date with a stranger. Then again, it wasnt a complete stranger; it was someone Id seen before, but I couldnt pin down who. It was like the secretSanta drawwondering who to give a present to. I could have easily chosen a gift for James from accounts, but if it were the HR director, Simon Harper, Id probably hand him a bicycle; he reminded me of the postman from my childhood stories.
When I stepped inside, I saw him: Simon Harper himself, standing tall, eyes fixed on the doorway. He flushed a shade deeper when he spotted me, but his gaze never wavered. Embarrassment, fear, angereverything surged. He wasnt the cosmicgaze lover from the card, but the situation felt just as surreal.
I was afraid you wouldnt come, he said.
Wed never been on firstname terms, yet the day had become a carnival of possibilities. I inhaled, followed a waitress to a table by the window. From the ceiling dangled heartshaped decorations, and I thought of Grace heading out on a date instead of me. I should have called my daughter to say there was a fire at home.
The conversation sputtered. Simon was visibly nervous, alternating between chatter and silence, his eyes locked on me with such a forlorn look that I felt compelled to pity him and keep the small talk going. I wanted to flee, not chew on crispy aubergine slices and a juicy steak. Let something happen! I silently begged. The younger ones paint the walls, the middle ones bathe the cat, Graces friend realises shes a traitor and calls her back!
My prayer was answered when the third bite of steak prompted my phone to ring. The screen displayed Graces name.
I need to pick them up the kids, I said, breathless.
I launched into a rapid explanation of my familys chaos, hoping Simon would cancel the date. He, however, answered with an unexpected confession: hed been an only child all his life and always dreamed of a big family.
Graces voice trembled on the line.
Mum, theres a fire! Harry tried to fry cheese sticks, the oil caught alight
A cold surge ran through me, my heart thudding as if ready to burst.
What happened? Simon asked, his tone oddly calm.
Fire I managed.
He moved swiftly: one hand fetched a card and called the waitress, the other dialled the fire service, asking for our address while directing the children to slip on their shoes and run outside, knock on neighbours doors, and not attempt to save any belongings.
In fifteen minutes the fire engine was parked outside our block. Neighbours gathered around the sobbing children, smoke billowing from the kitchen window. Ill never think I dont love them again, I whispered, hugging my brood tightly, amazed by the strange coats and hats on strangers shoulders. The world isnt without good people, I reminded myself.
Luckily the fire was contained quickly; only the kitchen suffered, the rest of the house smelled faintly of ash. Even Grace managed to rescue our cat.
You cant stay here overnight, Simon said. And well need repairs. How about you come to mine?
What do you mean? I asked, startled.
He looked straight at me and replied, Whatever you want. You can just visit, or you could stay for good.
The children stared at Simon with newfound curiosity; they hadnt really noticed him before. Ethan wailed again, Harry scowled, and Lily asked if he had cartoons.
Yes, I do, Simon promised. And a cat and a dog. Shall we go?
What kind of dog? Harry asked, still frowning.
Just like Charlie, I thought tenderly.
A beagle, Simon answered, and I realised Harrys request for a dog had finally been heard.
Grace, ever the pragmatist, said, Ill go get our things. Ethan, stop crying and start packing your toys.
I looked at my daughter with gratitude; she gave me a sly, almost adult wink. How fast shes growing! And Harry will never see this moment
Alright, I said. Well spend the night at yours, thank you. Ill figure something out tomorrow.
Sophie! my middle daughter shouted, pointing at the sky. A red heartshaped balloon drifted past. I smiled and whispered, Even the birds are celebrating.
Simon slipped his hand gently into mine. His touch was warm, softunfamiliar, but not unwelcome. I wasnt ready to be whisked away just yet, but for the first time in ages I felt a flicker of hope.