The Blue Stocking

Blue Stocking

Sarah, could you cover my shift tomorrow, please? Its my mother-in-laws birthday. Have to go and wish her well.

Didnt you just celebrate her saints day last month? I looked up from my box of catalogue cards and raised my eyebrows.

Sarah! Why do you have to split hairs? That was her saints day; now its her birthday! Honestly, I need this, you know? Come on, its not that hard for you, is it? No children, no husband! All alone like a solitary lighthouse! Oh Sorry! I didnt mean

Lucy clapped her hand over her mouth, but the words had already hit home. I turned away, nodded curtly, and left the reading room.

Not my finest moment, Lucy muttered, glancing sideways at Grace.

You couldnt put anything past Grace. She took no nonsense and would dismiss such appeals on the spot, librarian or no. She always said cultured people should still stand up for themselves. I usually felt secretly unsettled by these declarations, but Lucy just rolled with laughter, sometimes until her eyes watered.

There! Not all librarians are blue stockings, Sarah. Just look at me or Grace. Thats living! But you, youre always darting between the library and your flat, obsessed with scarves and cats Old maid, sorry to be blunt, but who else will set you straight? Why are you like this? Youre rather pretty, if you stop to think rosy cheeks, proper features! But you always look so glum Right, Grace?

Usually, Grace would hush Lucy and nip any talk in the bud.

Enough! Stop making yourself the benchmark. Youve had as many boyfriends as a teens got bubble gum wrappers! So whats come of it? Youre stuck with Paul. He knocks you about for sport, disappears for nights on end. So beautiful and so wise?

But at least I have a husband! And children! What does Sarah have another rescue cat? Soon theyll throw her out and shell have to live in the library! Sarah, why not at least have a child for yourself? Ok, not every woman gets a husband, but your parents left you enough. You could raise one alone. You wouldnt be so lonely, at least.

At this, Grace sometimes lost her temper, Lucy would dash off in search of an emergency, and I would hide in the furthest corner, trying not to show my tears.

Why did I deserve this? Was it my fault that life just didnt fall into place? First my father got ill, then my mother. Fifteen years spent on constant caretaking bedpans, washing, dressings Who would want that life, and when? I never really had admirers anyway. Looking in the mirror, I saw neither a beauty nor an ogre. Average, really. Grey eyes, neat features, a thick plait Id just recently cut short after Mum died, for ease.

Just plain old me. No bad habits. No prospects, but I didnt chase them either. When I observed what happened to friends in their families, it filled me with dread.

Take Lucy, for instance. Married but at what cost? The whole town knew her husband had another family. The tempests between her and Paul were legendary, all played out for the public. For Lucy, there was no point hiding; better to live openly than gossip behind closed doors. She was the lawful wife enough said.

Her attitude amazed me. Why spend every waking moment battling? Where was self-respect, pride? Maybe the heroines in novels which had shaped my heart were beside the point; I did understand that. Pride is for people with nannies and country houses, not two children, a librarians salary, and a sick mother. So I didnt judge Lucy. I tried to understand her, and after time, few of her lectures could sting me much. If someone takes comfort in telling others how to live so be it. The main thing was, when it came to something serious, Lucy would always pitch in. After so many years tending her mother, Lucy could administer an injection like a nurse. When I couldnt hire help for Mum, shed just arrive in the evening and do what was needed, and then shed come every three months as prescribed by the doctor never asking for anything in return.

Think youll insult me with that? shed scoff, eyeing my outstretched ten-pound note as she pressed my mothers next IV. Put it away! Or do you think I dont understand? Sarah, youre truly odd, I swear! Its easy for me were neighbours. I dont even have to put my shoes on. And here you are, offering money? Shame on you!

Id feel so ashamed it brought me to tears. Id apologise and look for ways to make it right. Lucys kids, and she herself, would be kitted out in my hand-knitted scarves and hats. Mittens decorated with robins, which took me weeks, Lucys daughter wore only on special occasions, afraid to lose them at school.

Theyre so pretty! Id cry if I lost these.

Lucy once gave the mittens an appraising look, then suggested I open an online shop.

Theyd be sold out in a flash! Handmade like this!

At first I wavered. But then, I dismissed the idea.

I could never make enough. Each piece is unique.

So get the old dears downstairs involved! Theres a knitting circle practically always on the bench outside. Its something to do, bonus income for them and for you.

Strangely, it worked. Perhaps Lucy had the business sense shed never used, her energy otherwise devoted to wrangling domestic drama. The site found customers. Not floods, but enough to ease the finances for me and the pensioners never complained. Most evenings, our circle would gather round, chatting over patterns, while Lucy and I discussed the designs for our next masterpieces.

Look! Thats just appeared in London Fashion Week. Did you see Aunt Veras napkin? Same pattern! If we just modify yours a little, itll be brilliant. Id wear such a skirt myself.

So Id get to work. In a couple of weeks, Lucy would be marching around in her new skirt and the shop would boast a fresh entry.

No jackpot, but every little helped, and I even felt like a businesswoman. Clearly, I wasnt entirely useless.

Even Grace would help on occasion, though she mostly just smirked at our escapades. She made the most stunning needle lace when she had time a skill passed from her grandmother, whod said, You never know in life. Shed been right.

Graces pieces were the priciest in the shop. Lucy never complained when Grace sat by the window in the reading room with her lacework, shifting her duties to us. We knew she needed the extra income.

Graces husband had left immediately after their twins were born. He fancied himself an artist ever finding himself, but never, it seemed, with Grace. She tried everything to make him stay. He never took a proper job, painted dreams, and periodically vanished to find an audience and bless the family. At that time, only her eldest daughter knew him, but thought of him only as that man.

Mum, that Uncle Peters here again.

Hearing his own daughter call him uncle put him in a fury.

Youre embarrassing me! She should know what Im doing for her!

Grace put up with this at first marriage advice from her own mum: No one can replace a real father. She soon changed her mind.

And what exactly have you done for her?

Maybe it was pregnancy, or maybe shed had enough, but Peter vanished for good as soon as the twins arrived, leaving behind three strong, noisy children.

Grace wasnt one to dwell on his absence. She had her job, and her parents, still active in the countryside, helping as much as the earths bounty allowed. Even in retirement, they kept a big garden, so holidays meant visits to them no use wishing for anything else with children to feed.

All told, Graces children were delightful. Sometimes, I thought that had I been sure mine would be the same, Id have taken Lucys advice without a second thought.

Still, I was afraid to have a child on my own. I was alone in the world; family gone, friends always busy with troubles of their own. If something happened to me, what would become of the child? An orphanage? Foster care? No better cats and scarves than dragging the innocent into my loneliness. Responsibility, after all, cant be shirked.

Not that I knew the knitting circle led by Lucy was already searching for a suitable husband for me. With a dire shortage of eligible men in our little town, all names had been considered and rejected. So the womens council stayed quiet, not wanting to unsettle me, though Lucy sometimes slipped up and scolded herself afterward.

This candidate found me in the end, by the grace of fate. Neither Lucy, nor the grannies shed co-opted to find a proper husband for her friend, nor I myself, could have foreseen what happened.

After another tearful conversation, I wiped my eyes and agreed to cover Lucys shift, dodging her embrace and planning to finish most of the work that evening, so Id have time to update the shops website next day. One dress, a white, lacy masterpiece Grace had sewn and adorned with her own needlework, was to be the shops showpiece.

Its bridal Just stunning, Grace, youve gold in your fingers!

Tell that to my twins! Nearly ruined it yesterday I stepped out for a minute and back to find them snipping the hem! And, annoyingly, snipped in such a neat spot I barely noticed. Had to rework most of the pattern.

Is it obvious?

Not a bit. I replaced the whole motif. Spent the night at it, but now its perfect.

That evening, I wrestled with the right description for the website all the way home. I was halfway up the stairs when I froze, listening. Every other thought vanished.

Help

The voice was faint, drowned by the usual evening noise in our block of flats. Someone was celebrating, someone else arguing, the stairwell full of running children whom I shushed absent-mindedly, trying to hear again.

Help

No mistaking it now. Someone needed help.

Our building was old; most residents were elderly, many living alone. I knew each one. When my parents were dying, these same neighbours watched over them. Some still worked with us, knitting; others smiled, wishing me luck in love.

Mrs. Attwood was one of the latter: once a maths teacher and a friend of my mother. When she asked after my health, she always declared, Goodness, Sarah, I havent got any left! Still ticking over, thank God! Now, tell me about you instead.

A strange comfort, those chats. Id never shared my private woes, but with Mrs. Attwood, I loosened up, and she always gave me the best, most unobtrusive advice.

Sarah, live as you wish. Dont listen to them. Their lives, their paths; yours is yours. Who says everyone must do things the prescribed way? Nonsense! Would you wear someone elses jacket if it didnt fit? No? Exactly. Thats what folk dotry to squeeze us into their old fashions. If you marry because you must what for? Who does it serve? If you have a child because its proper will that make you happy? Not in my experience. Ive taught plenty of those children. Their parents just do whats expected, without love or care. Only the children suffer for it.

Talking to her calmed me. I wasnt so wrong, after all. There was someone, at least, who saw things as I did.

Mrs. Attwood herself had been married nearly fifty years. Shed married a fellow student, travelled half the country with him, only to settle here. She had no children, pouring her energy into her pupils, who never forgot her, sending cards and visiting.

Those are my children! shed say, beaming at every memory.

Shed buried her husband just a few years before, barely coping. I worried for her sanity, so I brought a kitten a black-and-white scrap Id picked up on the street.

Hes all alone as well. What do you think, Mrs. Attwood?

She took him in, and Im sure that kitten, whom she named Humphrey, kept her going. Humphrey needed fresh fish for breakfast and that forced her out every morning, keeping her out of the blues.

So they lived together: an old woman and a cat, each clinging to life a little tighter for the other. She rarely asked for help always managed on her own.

But now, I realised, that faint plea for help was coming from her flat.

I didnt hesitate. Leaping two steps at a time, I reached the first floor before I knew it. Hammering on Mrs. Wilsons door she was the chairwoman, held all the keys I called out:

Mrs. Wilson, its an emergency!

Unlike me, Mrs. Wilson believed rules were rules, and you didnt enter others flats lightly. But when the ambulance hadnt come after two hours and the police didnt answer, even she gave up on protocol.

Let the authorities put me in jail if they want, Im not letting an old dear die behind a locked door!

She had spare keys for nearly all the elderly tenants, just in case.

Sure enough, we found the flat open, a clutch of us already gathered, and we were horrified at what we saw.

Mrs. Attwood had fallen in the bath, hit her head and couldnt move her leg wrenched painfully, her arms numb. She had no idea how long shed been out cold. Regaining consciousness, she realised she needed help but who would hear her? All she could do was shout and hope our thin walls and habit of stairsnot the liftmeant someone would.

Of everyone, only I heard her.

I did everything to help Mrs. Attwood, and decided right then, no one should be left alone facing such troubles. Especially when those troubles eventually grow too much for one person.

She spent nearly six months in hospital, the injuries slow to heal. I visited and nursed her at home on discharge, until finally tiring of climbing five flights several times a day, and simply took her in with me. Caring for someone wasnt new to me, and Lucy whod scolded me for my saintliness called her own doctor friends, popping in with drips and injections.

Well have you mending in no time, Mrs. Attwood. No more nonsense illness is out of the question!

At first, she resisted imposing, but soon realised I wasnt acting from duty, just following my heart.

There arent many like you, Sarah! I should think angels could pay more attention where are their wings when people like you need them? Maybe youre one of them already! I wouldnt be a bit surprised.

Mrs. Attwood slowly recovered, and I found comfort coming home to a not-so-empty flat. Life grew more lively. Each evening, I got an update from Mrs. Attwood, broke up squabbling cats, and laughed at Humphreys attempts to keep my own two tabbies in line. My rescues were anything but compliant, and regularly a furry mob would roll across the floor, howling. Humphrey would sulk and complain to his owner about the injustice of this world.

Oh, hush, Humphrey. What can we do? The world changes. Youre not the only cat in the house anymore!

Humphrey would grumble himself to sleep beside me, knowing he was safe.

And so, my quiet life suddenly did a wicked little jig, and everything Id planned for myself for the coming years seemed irrelevant quickly replaced by new projects.

It started the evening someone rang my doorbell.

Lucy, is that you? I hit pause on the film Mrs. Attwood and I were watching, and went to open the door.

A stranger stood before me a bearded, frowning man, looking as if hed stepped out of another world. Leather waistcoat, battered jeans he was nothing like the men Id grown used to seeing in this town.

Yes? Can I help you?

Evening. Is Mrs. Attwood living here now?

And you are?

Just here for a visit.

Hesitating, I wondered whether to let him in but at that moment, a black-and-white bullet shot past and Humphrey, purring loudly, wound around the mans legs.

Well! Humphrey! The stern face melted instantly and, with a broad smile, the man scooped up the cat. Any hint of threat evaporated. At that, I stood aside and gestured him in.

Mrs. Attwood, spying her guest, clapped her hands and broke into a grin.

Tommy! My dear boy! What brings you here?

Passing through, on my way to Devon theres a biker rally this year. Just thought Id check in. You havent called for ages.

Sorry, dear, Ive had a lot on my plate. Let me introduce you this is Sarah, my guardian angel and the best woman youll ever meet. Believe me, Im not exaggerating!

Strangely, Tom blushed, looking down suddenly.

Pleased to meet you

Mrs. Attwood was shrewd. She understood long before I did, and, making a big show of needing help around the flat, ensured Tom had reason to stay and talk longer.

Two days later he left but not for long. Within weeks, he was back, and I found myself, like it or not, in the unlikely role of a bride-to-be.

Tom, we barely know each other Is this wise? I studied him, barely believing it was real.

Does it matter, Sarah? Were adults. Whose permission do we need?

Lucy and Grace gasped when I told them, but this time, they said nothing.

Sarah I wont ask that old question, do you love him? Bit late in life to dive in headfirst. Do you think hes a good man?

And am I so very old? I laughed; Lucy fell silent, looking me over.

Was it magic? Yesterday I was a mouse; today a queen. All aglow. Love does that to people.

Said something wrong again, havent I, Sarah? Forgive me, and be happy! Grace, perhaps we should take that dress off the site

Already done, Grace winked at me. So youre sorted for the outfit.

The wedding town had never seen the like. Locals craned their necks as a line of roaring bikes rolled down the High Street.

Whos that for?

Sarah the librarian getting married.

No! Well, good luck! Shes a good woman. Whats he like, this man?

Seems decent serious chap.

Three years later, Tom steadied Mrs. Attwood as she got out of the car at the hospital, only to be waved away.

I can manage! See to your son, Tom!

Id smooth my new dress, check my hair, and call to the photographer, Everyone now! Try to fit us all in!

Hed have his work cut out, organising all the people I wanted in my sons first family photograph Lucy and her brood, Grace and her children, and our whole knitting circle, Mrs. Wilson front and centre.

And why not? There should always be a crowd of good people in ones life.