Impossible not to love my children, Mary thinks as she trudges along the snowcovered footpath. Yet love does not rise in her chest; fatigue, anger and a relentless helplessness sit heavy on her shoulders. One winters day, when Victor is still alive and she is pregnant with her fifth child, the woman who lives on the sixth floor of the block belowcertain that Mary has already shut the door and cant hear herturns to her husband and says:
People keep having babies just for the benefits, and the kids end up abandoned!
Mary bursts into sobs that turn into hiccups; the remark wounds her deeply. Yes, she manages to work despite having four children, but they never stay alone for long: her mother helps while she can, then they hire a nanny. She loves her job and refuses to quit simply because the kids are small. When they grow up, what will she be then?
That decision proves sound. When Victor passes away, Marys salary, though barely enough to cover all the childrens needs, does stretch. She leaves her pension untouched, keeping it in a savings account so the kids will have a nest egg when they launch into adulthood. Still, being a widow with five youngsters proves harder than she imagined.
All night the snow keeps falling, and the oncenarrow lane becomes virtually invisible. Mary wishes she had thought ahead and parked the car elsewhere, but instead she hauls Ethan and Lily like sacks to the garden, and the return trek is far from easy. She watches her footing, trying not to scoop up the icy snow with her low boots, and fails to notice a man walking toward her. They collide; he stays upright while Mary tumbles into the drifts. He reaches out to help her up, but drops a large red heartshaped balloon.
Stupid Valentines Day, she mutters under her breath.
Earlier that evening, until midnight she is gluing felt boots onto her middle daughter, Tara, and helping her son, Paul, finish a school project on the holiday, while soothing her eldest daughter, Vicky, who is in a fullblown panic because a massive pimple has erupted on her forehead. Vicky is convinced that a boy she likes will hand her a Valentine and ask her out tomorrow. Meanwhile, her younger children have stolen the acrylic markers and turned the white kitchen cabinet, the linoleum and each other into a mess of colour. The nursery assistant, trying to be diplomatic, calls them little gremlins and suggests buying some acetonebased nail polish remover.
Sorry, I didnt see you, the man apologises.
Two feelings wrestle inside Mary: fury that the big fellow didnt notice her, and embarrassment over the lost balloon, which surely had been meant for his sweetheart. The embarrassment wins.
Never mind, Im at fault. What a shame about the balloon.
He looks up at the sky.
Nothing. The birds will be celebrating too.
Your wife will be upset, he adds.
Its for my daughter, he smiles. Ill get another one.
Tears suddenly spring from Marys eyes. The man looks deflated, unsure what to do with his own embarrassment.
Sorry, Mary sniffles. I didnt mean to it was an accident.
Its all right Did something happen to you?
Mary seldom complains about her life, rarely mentions that she is a widow with five children, but this stranger is a complete unknown, and she is exhausted.
After listening to her, he says:
You should meet my wife. Shes gone a bit crazy over the third child, and I keep telling her lets wait, have a life of your own. Im not saying many kids are bad quite the opposite, Id love another, but excuse me, Im rambling. Im a terrible comforter.
Mary waves a hand dismissively.
I sometimes look at them and think Im supposed to love them immensely. In practice Im more angry and irritated. Wheres that love?
Its there, the man says confidently. Its just buried under the snow, like this path. Do you remember what grows here in summer?
What?
Dandelions.
Mary suddenly gets what he means, yet the emptiness inside her does not lift.
He walks her to the car and wishes her a wonderful day. Slipping back into the drivers seat, Mary touches up her makeup and drives to work. A heaviness settles over her heart as memories surface of previous Valentines Days when she would find a secret note tucked behind the mirror or a handful of flowers on the back seat. It has been four years since Victor died, and holidays always bring a sting of longing. Today, a meeting looms where the pedantic Simon Carter will spend half an hour droning about his quarterly results.
The office buzzes with a pleasant buzz: no one is really marking the holiday, yet Mary spots flowers on desks, hears giggling whispers, and watches mostly tense men the usual atmosphere when women wonder what is expected of them. She steps into a meeting room, momentarily thinking shes entered the wrong office and takes a step back; a bouquet of red roses lies on the table. The room is indeed hers, and she leans toward the flowers, looking at them as one might at an exotic animal, uncertain whether to expect claws or a soft purr.
A small card is attached. Mary picks it up gently.
Never thought Id have the courage, but why not today? In your eyes I see the universe; your smile sets my mood. Dinner? L.
She scrambles to recall which colleague with an L could have written it. If the room is truly hers, the bouquet might have landed there by mistake. The card lists a restaurant and a time 7p.m. Leon, Luke or Liam? There are men named Leon, Luke and Liam in the office, none of whom have ever shown interest. It would be amusing if it were Leon; Mary once felt a flutter for him right before her fifth pregnancy. She had just started her career, the marriage was fraying, and she craved romance. Leon had just joined the firm, was friendly and curious, and they shared a few lunches. She felt butterflies, but a pregnancy test revealed the butterflies were actually her body protesting another round of work. Marys fertility is, oddly, remarkable; she becomes pregnant when she least expects it. When she finally falls in love with Leon, Victor falls ill and Leon fades from her memory.
All day Mary debates whether to go on the date. She watches Leon, Luke and Liam, but all act as usual. Perhaps its a prank? And what about the children? Her mother, now in her late sixties, no longer leaves the house; theres no money for a nanny, and the older daughter would probably bolt for a date. So she decides not to go.
Ethan and Lila hand her a crooked heartshaped balloon; even the kindergarten now teaches the kids to cut out Valentines. Mary packs the children into their coats and hauls them to the car through the snow, recalling the man from the morning who carried a red balloon for his daughter. The thought makes her eyes water again.
The kids argue in the back seat about which cartoon to watch and demand a stop at the shop for Kinder chocolate eggs because its a holiday. Exhausted by their shouting, Mary surrenders, buys three hidden eggs for the older ones, and picks up a packet of readymade dumplings because she lacks the energy to cook.
When she gets home, a surprise awaits: the kitchen smells of fried potatoes and cherry compote. Vicky declares that the boy who asked her out has backed out, leaving her friendless and boyfriendless, which somehow feels fine because her forehead pimple has grown even larger. She decides to make dinner in protest. The middle children tidy their rooms and wipe the markers off the white cabinet. Mary feels her throat loosen, embraces her children, and finally admits she does love themnot only now when they behave, but always. She digs out an old black dress from the closet that hasnt seen daylight in years and, after borrowing perfume from the eldest and lip gloss from the middle child, feels a flicker of joy.
Moms going on a date! Vicky exclaims.
Ethan starts to cry; she comforts him, promising shell be back soon.
At the restaurant Mary arrives, nervous, wondering what awaits. It feels odd to go on a date with a strangerbut not quite a stranger; she knows him, just not who exactly. Its like the Secret Santa dilemma of deciding who to give a gift to. She could easily pick a present for Leon or even for Victor in the supply department, but if the reservation were for HR director Simon Carter, she might end up gifting a bicycle, which would feel as odd as a postmans parcel.
When Mary steps inside, she sees the man shes been waiting for: Simon Carter himself, standing tall by the door, his cheeks flushed at the sight of her. He looks embarrassed, his eyes never leaving her. Mary feels a rush of shame, anger, confusion. Cosmos in his eyes? she thinks. What game is this croc playing? Yet she cant turn back now.
I was afraid you wouldnt come, he says.
They normally address each other formally, but Mary realises that after todays strange twists she can expect anything. She sighs, follows the waitress who leads them to a window table. From the ceiling hang heartshaped decorations of all sizes, and Mary suddenly thinks her daughter should be the one on a date, not her. She wishes she could call Vicky and have her say theres a fire at home.
The conversation stalls. Simon fidgets, talks, falls silent, staring at Mary with such a forlorn expression that she feels compelled to pity him and keep the small talk afloat. She wants to flee, not chew on crunchy aubergine slices or carve into a juicy steak. Let something happen! she whispers. The younger ones paint the walls, the middle ones bathe the cat, Vickys friend discovers shes a traitor and calls her back!
Her prayers are answered when, after the third bite of steak, the phone rings. The screen flashes Vicky. Mary answers quickly:
Hold on, Ive got the kids.
She explains her family situation to Simon, hoping he will cancel the dinner, but he beams and reveals he was an only child who always dreamed of a big family.
Vickys voice wobbles on the line.
Mum, theres a fire! Paul tried to fry cheese sticks, the oil caught fire
Marys blood rushes to her face, her heart thudding as if about to burst.
What happened? Simon asks, startled.
A fire she exhales.
Simon remains remarkably calm. One hand retrieves a card, calls the waitress over, the other dials 999, confirming the address while directing the children: put on shoes, run outside, knock on neighbours doors, and dont try to save any belongings.
The fire engine arrives in fifteen minutes. The fire brigade hovers at the doorway, neighbours crowd around the sobbing children, smoke billowing from the kitchen window. Ill never think I dont love them again, Mary vows. Ill be the best mum. She clutches her children, marveling at the strangers coats and hats on their shoulders. The world still has kind people, she always believed.
Fortunately the blaze is contained quickly; only the kitchen is damaged, the rest of the house smells of ash. Even Vickys cat has been rescued.
This place isnt fit for an overnight stay, Simon remarks. And it will need repairs. How about you come over to my flat?
What do you mean? Mary asks, trembling.
Simon looks her straight in the eye and says, Whatever you want. You can just visit, or you can stay for good.
The children stare at Simon with sudden curiosity; they had never really noticed him before. Ethan whines again, Paul scowls, and Lila asks if he has cartoons.
Yes, Simon promises. And a cat and a dog. So, shall we go?
What kind of dog? Paul asks, still furrowing his brow.
Just like Victor, Mary thinks tenderly.
A beagle, Simon answers, and Mary realises that Pauls longstanding wish for a dog has finally been granted.
Vicky, assessment complete, declares, Ill go get my things. Ethan, stop whining, lets collect your toys, she adds.
Mary looks at her daughter with gratitude. Vicky winks, all grown up in a flash. Paul will never see her this way
Alright, Mary says. Well spend the night at yours, thank you. Tomorrow Ill figure something out.
Mom, look! Tara shouts, pointing upward. A red heartshaped balloon drifts across the sky. Mary smiles and replies, The birds are celebrating too.
Simon gently takes her hand. His grip is soft and warm unfamiliar but comforting. Mary does not rush to pull away; she lets the moment linger.