Whenever Harry Came to See Jenny, She’d Seem to Lose All Sense—It Was Pure Happiness.

Whenever Arthur would visit Clara, she seemed to become quite scatterbrained right before his eyes. It was simply from joy. Shed busy herself, fussing about, sprucing up her hair, hurriedly tucking away clothes shed tried on ahead of his arrival under the sofa cushions, unraveling curlers from her hair. Then shed rush into the bathroom, neaten her hair, and dab on a bit of lipstick. Only then, perfectly turned out and as dazzling as ever, would she step out to greet him.

And who could blame her for being so happy? Just consider her circumstances.

Clara was a single mother and, truth be told, had never truly been married. Shed had a brief engagement with her Paul a month or two at most before he departed their town for his ancestral home, the name of which Clara never did find out. He was either from somewhere in Wales or perhaps up north in Yorkshire. Locally, hed picked up work at the market, though Clara didnt quite know doing what.

So, just like that, her beloved Paul had vanished, leaving her in the family way though she hardly knew it herself at first, being only two weeks along. When Paul stopped coming round and didnt show up for over a month, Clara finally put two and two together. She found herself, how best to put it not quite alone after all.

When her time came, she brought a little boy into the world, handsome as could be! No surprise, really Clara was a beauty, and Paul had been the very picture of a storybook prince.

As luck would have it, her son she named him Henry was an easygoing child. He slumbered peacefully, and at waking, nursed with thoughtful determination. Thankfully, Clara had more than enough milk for him enough, she used to joke, for a whole nursery-full.

Little Henry hardly ever fell ill with the usual baby ailments common to most children.

She christened him Henry because, while expecting, she had once happened upon an old film War and Peace, it was and spotted Prince Andrei Bolkonsky, portrayed by the actor Laurence Olivier, who somehow reminded her of her own Paul. With no other ideas, Clara named the child Henry Paulson in his honour, whispering the name to herself countless times, finding music in its sound. It became the overture of her new life.

Henry was a sunny child. If Clara had chores or was preparing supper, shed lay a blanket on the floor, fence off a little play corner with chairs, and set Henry in the middle with an old handbag, some curlers, and a few scraps of fabric. He would play contentedly, quiet and without fuss. One day, Clara peeked in from the kitchen and saw Henrys head wedged between two chairs (hed tried to get out, clearly). Yet even then, he grunted softly and kept pushing the chairs apart with chubby little hands, never scolding or crying.

As Henry grew, he stayed an easy child. Clara let him play out on the green, only asking him to run up to their ground-floor window every ten minutes to call, Mum! Im here!

Since Henry had no watch, hed dash up every three minutes instead, shouting until Clara leaned out and answered, Alright, darling! Even then, hed linger below the window until she prompted, Go on, then back to your friends! to which the boy would say, But you havent smiled at me! Clara, genuinely, would smile at him, and off hed run again to the playground.

It was on one of those afternoons that Henry shouted his usual Mum, Im here! and when Clara leaned out, she saw him cuddling a kitten to his chest.

Mum, a lady gave him to me. She said his name is Percy, and youd be glad, and that we must both take care of him.

Henry looked earnest, so Clara could do nothing but smile. Then she added, Well, Percy must be hungry. Come inside, both of you, and Ill pour him some milk.

Henry and the kitten ran joyfully to the door. Henry was already delighted, and Percy, in time, would catch up.

So the three of them lived together quite happily until Clara met Arthur.

Arthur was about Claras age, unmarried himself, a reliable sort of man, decent and well put together despite not being very old. He worked at the local furniture factory and made a respectable living. Arthur started spending Saturday nights at Claras. He was a man of few words, had a good appetite, but wasnt much of a drinker. For his visits, Clara always prepared a bottle of gin, chilled in the freezer, and served it in her favourite cut-glass tumbler with a short stem. Arthur especially liked those glasses.

This time, everything unfolded as usual. Arthur arrived, shook Henrys hand in the hall, settled onto the settee while Clara finished her preparations. Then, the three no, four of them, counting Percy (whom Henry kept on his lap), watched a bit of telly before sitting down for lunch.

After their meal, as was their custom, they all took a little rest ahead of a planned walk in the park that evening.

Once Clara had quietly closed Henrys door and curled up beside Arthur, her head on his arm, he brought up the idea of marriage for the first time.

I reckon well live here for now, he mused. Later on, we might move somewhere roomier. Or perhaps let out my flat for some extra cash? But there is one thing, Clara. I dont care for cats. Well have to find Percy a new home

Percy, she corrected gently, bracing herself.

Yes, Percy then

He paused, then, in a businesslike tone, as if settling things firmly, he added, And we should send Henry to live with my mother in the village the country air will do him good, and theres a school there. Were still young we can have plenty more children together.

Claras head on his shoulder grew as still as stone. They lay in silence for several minutes. Then, very quietly and awkwardly, as though hed never seen her undressed before, Clara rose, wrapped herself in her dressing gown, crossed the room, and picked up Arthurs trousers from the chair.

Here you are, she said, holding them out. Best be off with your trousers unwashed, as they are. Put them on, and be on your way.

Where to? Arthur asked, a little bewildered.

To your mothers, in the country. Enjoy the fresh air. As for the three of us, we have all the fresh air we need right here in our own park.Arthur stared at Clara, trousers clutched uncertainly in his hands. Claras gaze was gentle but unyielding, the glimmer in her eyes unmistakablea quiet steel newly forged.

Go on, now, she said, almost kindly. Henrys supper is soon, and Percy does get anxious with new faces lingering.

Arthur hesitated, then, with a wordless nod, gathered his jacket, and leftfor good, they all knew, though no one said it aloud.

The door clicked quietly behind him. Clara waited a moment, listening to the hush settle back over her home, then let herself exhale. In the stillness, faint footsteps pattered down the hallway. Henry appeared, hair tufted from sleep, rubbing his eyes.

Is Arthur gone, Mum? he asked.

She knelt down, arms wide, beaming. Hes gone, love. Just us again.

Percy padded over, winding a figure eight around their legs. Henry burst into a grin and lifted the kitten high as a banner.

Clara ruffled Henrys hair and scooped him into her arms, kitten and all. With her son nestled against her shoulder and Percy purring at their feet, she led them to the window and threw it wide open. The late sun stained the sky gold, and laughterHenrys first, then her owntumbled into the bright, forgiving air.

And perhaps across the park, a few faces glanced up and smiled, too, at the sight of a small, happy family unbroken, making its own kind of music in the evening lightjust the three of them, perfectly enough.