Impossible not to love your own children, Emma Clarke thought as she trudged along the snowdrifted lane behind her council house. It wasnt love she felt, thoughjust fatigue, irritation and a relentless sense of helplessness. Once, when her husband James was still alive and she was pregnant with her fifth child, the elderly Mrs. Green from the flat above, sure Emma had shut the door and couldnt hear her, told her husband:
People only have babies for the benefits, and the kids end up abandoned!
Emma sobbed until she hiccuped, mortified. Yes, she managed a fulltime job while raising four youngsters, but they never stayed alone for long: Mom came over while she could, then they hired a nanny. She loved her work and refused to quit just because the kids were tiny. Once they grew up, what then? What would Emma be?
When James passed away, her salary barely covered all the familys needs, but it did. She left her pension untouched, stashing it in a savings account so the children could tap it when they set out on their own. Still, being a widow with five kids proved tougher than shed imagined.
Snow fell all night, turning the already narrow footpaths into indistinguishable white ribbons. Emma should have parked the car elsewhere, but instead she had to haul Elliot and Noraher two youngestup the garden path and back again. She stared at the ground, trying not to step in the icy drifts, and didnt see the man walking toward her. They collided; he managed to stay upright, while Emma toppled into the snow. He offered his hand, a bright red heartshaped balloon slipping from his grip.
Stupid Valentines Day! Emma muttered under her breath.
The previous day shed been up to midnight gluing together felt boots for her middle daughter Harriet and helping her son Oliver write a report on the holiday, all while soothing Felicity, the eldest, whod thrown a tantrum over a massive pimple on her forehead. She was convinced that a boy she fancied would hand her a Valentine tomorrow and ask her out. Meanwhile the younger pair had pilfered acrylic markers and splattered them across the white kitchen cupboard, the linoleum and each other. Their morning teacher, in a mischievous tone, called them goblins and suggested a bottle of nailpolish remover with acetone.
Sorry, I didnt see you, the stranger apologised.
Two feelings wrestled inside Emma: anger that the hulking bloke hadnt noticed her, and embarrassment over the lost heart, which hed surely meant for a lover. The embarrassment won.
Ah, its my fault. What a pity about the balloon.
The man glanced at the sky.
Never mind. The birds will be singing too.
Your wife will be upset, I suppose.
Its for my daughter, he smiled. Ill buy another.
Tears suddenly welled in Emmas eyes. The man seemed genuinely flustered, unsure what to do with his own embarrassment.
Sorry, Emma sniffed. I didnt mean to it was an accident.
No worries did something happen?
Emma rarely complained about her life, let alone that she was a widow with five kids, but this stranger was a complete stranger, and she was exhausted. After listening, he said:
You should meet my wife. Shes gone a bit mad about the third child, and I keep telling her lets wait, have a life of your own, just one more. He blushed. Im not saying many kids are bad actually Id love a third myself, but sorry, Im rambling. Terrible comforter, thats me.
Dont worry, Emma waved him off. Sometimes I stare at them and think Im supposed to love them forever, but Im mostly angry and annoyed. Wheres that love, anyway?
Its there, the man replied confidently. Its just buried under the snow, like this path. Do you remember what grows here in summer?
What?
Dandelions.
Emma grasped his meaning, though the hollow feeling lingered. He escorted her to the car and wished her a lovely day. Settling her makeup, she drove to work. A weight pressed on her heart as memories of past Valentines resurfaced tiny cards tucked under mirrors, flowers left on the back seat. James had been gone four years. The holidays always tugged at a raw ache, especially with the upcoming meeting where the pedantic Simon Peters would drone on about his results for half an hour.
The office buzzed with a gentle liveliness: no one pretended to celebrate Valentines Day, but flowers peeked out here and there, women whispered giggles, and men wore the usual strained smiles as always when you try to guess what women expect. Emma entered a meeting room, halfexpecting the wrong door, and stepped back to see a bouquet of red roses on the desk. It was still her room, so she approached the flowers like a wary animal, unsure whether to expect claws or a purr.
A card lay beside them. Emma picked it up carefully.
Id never have the courage, but why not now? In your eyes I see the universe, your smile sets my mood. Dinner? L.
She tried to recall which colleagues name began with L could have penned that. The card listed a restaurant and 7p.m. Perhaps Leon, Leo or Levi? They all worked there, but none had shown any interest. It would be funny if it were Leon shed once been almost in love with him right before her fifth pregnancy, fresh at the job, husband on the rocks, craving romance. Leon was friendly, theyd shared a few lunches, and shed felt butterflies until a pregnancy test confirmed it wasnt love but a rebellious uterus asking for a break. Her fertility was, absurdly, spectacular; shed gotten pregnant at the most inconvenient moments. When James fell ill, Leon faded from memory.
All day Emma weighed whether to go on a date. She watched Leon, Leo and Levi; they behaved as usual. Perhaps it was a joke? And what date, with five kids? Her mother, now in her sixties, rarely left the house; they couldnt afford a nanny; Felicity would likely dash off on a date herself. So shed stay put.
Elliot and Lucy handed her a crooked heart; now even the nursery taught the children to cut out Valentines. Emma bundled them into snowsuits and trudged to the car, recalling the morning stranger with his red balloon. The thought made her eyes water again.
The children bickered in the back seat about which cartoon to watch and begged for a stop at the shop for Kinder Eggs, since its a holiday. Exhausted by their shrieks, Emma gave in, buying three for the older ones and a packet of frozen pies because she had no energy to cook.
At home a surprise awaited: the kitchen smelled of fried potatoes and cherry compote. Felicity announced that a boy had asked her friend out, so she now had no more girlfriends and no boyfriend which, she declared, was for the best, as her forehead pimple had only grown. She decided to make dinner. The middle children tidied their rooms and scraped the markers off the white cupboard. Emma felt a lump in her throat, hugged her brood, and realised she did love themnot just when they behaved, but always. She dug out a tiny black dress from the back of the wardrobe one she hadnt worn in ages for fear it wouldnt fit and stole her eldests perfume and her middle childs lip gloss.
Mums going on a date! Felicity squealed.
Elliot burst into tears, and Emma soothed him, promising shed be back soon.
At the restaurant Emma arrived, nerves jangling: who exactly was waiting? It felt odd, like the Secret Santa draw where you never know who youll be gifting. She could easily pick a present for Leon or even the grumpy supplies clerk, but if it were the HR boss, Simon Peters, shed probably end up with a bicycle he reminded her of the postman in a Dickens novel.
When Emma stepped inside, she thought about fleeing, but then she saw him: Simon Peters himself, standing tall, eyes glued to the doorway. He flushed as soon as he spotted her but didnt look away. Emmas face flushed, she felt angry, confused, a touch betrayed. I was afraid you wouldnt show up, he said.
They hadnt spoken on a firstname basis before, but Emma sensed that on a day like this, anything could happen. She sighed, followed the waitress to a window seat. From the ceiling dangled heartshaped decorations, and Emma thought perhaps it was her daughter who should be on a date, not her. She wanted to sprint out, but the idea of calling her daughter to claim there was a fire at home seemed absurd.
The conversation stalled. Simon was clearly nervous, alternating between rambling and silence, staring at Emma with such a pitiful expression that she felt compelled to comfort him. She wanted to escape, not chew on crisp aubergine slices and carve a steak. Let something happen! she silently pleaded. The younger ones will paint the walls, the middle ones will bathe the cat, Felicitys friend will realise shes a traitor and call her off!
Her prayers were answered when, after the third bite of steak, her phone rang. The screen displayed Felicitys name.
Call me, Mum the kids.
Emma, relieved, explained her family chaos, hoping Simon would swiftly cancel the evening. Instead he beamed, saying hed been an only child and always dreamed of a big family.
Felicity cried into the handset.
Mum, fire! Oliver tried to fry cheese sticks, the oil caught fire and
Emma felt a cold shock travel through her.
What happened? Simon asked, alarmed.
Fire she exhaled.
Simon, astonishingly calm, grabbed his card and called the waitress, then dialled the fire brigade, confirming the address while simultaneously urging the children to put on their shoes and run outside, knock on neighbours doors and avoid rescuing belongings.
They were home in fifteen minutes. The fire engine was already at the landing, neighbours huddled around sobbing children, smoke billowing from the kitchen window. Ill never say I dont love them again, Emma whispered, clutching her brood, marveling at the strangers jackets and hats on their shoulders. The world wasnt without good people, she knew that.
The blaze was contained quickly; only the kitchen was damaged, the rest of the house reeked of soot. Even the family cat, now named Whiskers, was rescued by Felicity.
This isnt a place to stay overnight, Simon declared. And well need repairs. How about you come over to my flat?
What do you mean? Emma asked, startled.
Simon looked her straight in the eye.
Whatever you like. You can just drop by, or you could stay for good.
The children stared at Simon as if theyd never noticed him before. Elliot wailed again, Oliver scowled, and Nora asked if he had any cartoons.
Yes, I do, Simon promised. And a cat and a dog. So, shall we go?
What kind of dog? Oliver asked, still squinting.
Just like James, Emma thought fondly.
A beagle, Simon replied, and Emma realised Oliver had finally won his wish for a dog.
Felicity, ever the pragmatist, announced,
Ill go pack my things.
Elliot, still sniffling, was told to gather his toy cars.
Emma looked at her daughter with gratitude; the girl winked, as only a teenage girl can. How fast she was growing! Oliver would never see it, though
Okay, Emma said, well spend the night at yours, thank you. Ill think of something tomorrow.
Look! shouted Harriet, her middle daughter, pointing upward. A red heartshaped balloon drifted across the sky. Emma smiled and replied,
The birds are celebrating too.
Simon slipped his hand into hers, warm and gentle a strange, comforting gesture. Emma didnt rush to pull away.