Katie Strolled Past Shop Windows, Savoring the Delicacies in Her Imagination. Visualising What Her Modest Purse Could Afford, She Concluded That She Needed to Save Up.

I used to drift past shop windows, staring at the food displays as if I could eat them with my eyes. Id picture what my thin wallet might actually buy and, unsurprisingly, I kept telling myself I had to tighten my purse strings.

Instead of three sidejobs, I was left with just one, and after my mothers funeral there was not a penny left from whatever savings Id managed to scrape together.

So, in effect, I was on my own. Id never been married. Id started out studying to become an accountant.

Truth be told, Id always loathed numbers and anything to do with them, but my father had insisted back then that I needed a respectable trade you wont get far without a steady income, hed said.

I like looking after people, you know, Id whispered to him once, making their lives a little easier, giving them a boost.

Doctor, then? hed replied, halfsarcastically. Thats a noble path. Doctors are always held in high regard.

No, a sister of mercy. A nurse, perhaps? Id stammered.

Hed frowned. A nurse? Are you out of your mind? Thats not a prestigious profession. You should aim higher think of Napoleon, aspire to be the best! Hed paced the room, his voice rising.

I sobered up. I really tried to study accounting; numbers haunted my dreams, swirling around me as I woke in a cold sweat.

I wanted to tell my father that not everyone needs to be a conqueror. I didnt want to be a hero; I just wanted to live and help someone. That feeling had always appealed to me.

When my grandmother fell ill, I was the one who lingered by her side the most. Aunt Gill would grimace, step back, and mutter that the house smelled bad. I didnt understand what bad meant my grandmothers hands always smelled of fresh rolls, herbs, honey. She was just sick, and she needed kind words, fresh linens, a gentle touch.

Id sit with her, read fairy tales, pat her forehead, and beg the adults to let me wash her clothes. I can do it! Id say.

When she passed, everyone ran around wailing. Aunt Gill lay halffainted, clinging to the thought that the dead would return. I slipped quietly into the bedroom; my grandmother lay as though halfasleep, a faint smile on her lips. I pressed my cheek to her hand and wept.

Girl! What are you doing? Get out of here! my father burst in.

No, Father, I sobbed, Im crying because life will be harder without her, but shes at peace now, somewhere beautiful. I tried to explain the vision Id had a sundrenched field of golden flowers, a white house with towering columns, and my grandmothers voice saying, Thats it, dear. Im home. Dont weep, my sunshine. I kept my mouth shut, fearing Id upset him.

I went back to accounting, but I soon quit. First, because I felt suffocated, as if I were living someone elses life. Then because my father left the family for another woman. Mother wept constantly, her grief weakening her health.

I begged my father to return, at least until mother recovered. He mumbled something about life being short and needing to take everything it offers, then walked away.

Mother and I were left alone. Thats when the crazy one, as the neighbours called me, finally sprang into action. I didnt complain; I fought for any extra work I could find, trained as a nurse, and tended to my mother myself giving injections, changing dressings, encouraging her.

Unfortunately, a cascade of nervoussystem illnesses hit her, and she eventually could no longer walk.

One afternoon Aunt Gill chided me from the street, What a sorry lot youre ablin! Youre still young, you couldve married, but you waste your time looking after your mum. Whos to blame? Your mother, your father, the men they leave you with And your dad, hes a fool.

I cut her off. Enough, Aunt Gill. Mother loves Father; hes her water, and she cant live without it. Shell live as long as she can, and Im happy to look after her. A husband isnt what she needs. Mothers are our angels here on earth. Dont vilify my father; his choices are his own. Hes still my father, and I wont let anyone speak ill of him. My voice was steady.

She stared, then muttered, Stupid girl, and walked away.

Mother died in my arms. A distant laugh floated through the open window, lilacs scented the air, and a wilted handkerchief lay on the nightstand. The days that followed were grey and sluggish.

Often Id stare at the sky, watching what seemed like angel wings or wild embroidered flowers the kind Mother used to stitch. The house grew unbearably quiet; I felt like a moth trapped in a cocoon, ignoring news and people. I wanted a job at the local NHS clinic, but the three sidejobs had shrunk to one, and my strength was fading. Without Mother everything felt bleak.

Eleanor! Hold on, Ive got news! called out Mrs. Ellen Peterson, the neighbour, as she met me at the lift. Dont listen to the gossip. Keep a positive mind. Plant some chickens at the summer cottage, or take a trip to the seaside collect shells, hold a big one to your ear and youll hear the sea. Find joy everywhere. I nodded and kept walking.

Down the staircase a young woman in a sleek white coat and fashionable boots descended, her perfume a whiff of something magical.

She shot me a sharp look. What are you staring at? Dont be jealous.

Im sorry, I said, youre very pretty, and those perfume notes I shouldnt have been rude.

She turned to leave, then called, Wait! My dads very ill. Ive been lashing out at everyone. He needs an injection, can you help?

I told her I wasnt a doctor, that she should call a proper nurse. You can give an injection, cant you? Ill pay whatever you want, she begged.

She continued, My fathers three flattop apartments up on the top floor were bought by some shady bloke. Hes a good man, they say.

I shook my head, wondering why I was drawn into this drama.

I headed to the shop, not to stockpile, just to buy something modest. I need to get back to work soon, even if its only temporary, or Ill have nothing left, I thought.

There, a young mother with a stroller and a fiveyearold boy stood, looking lost. The child begged for a juice and an icecream.

Little Tom, well get that later, the mother said, we have only a few pennies left, maybe just some pasta.

She turned, eyes meeting mine, and burst into tears. My wallet fell out somewhere on the way home. I cant find it. What do we do?

A woman in a long coat and expensive earrings, pushing a laden trolley, shouted, Scam! Dont trust her! Shes a beggar, hiding behind a child! The stranger scowled, then walked away, leaving the toddler tugging at the shelves.

I felt a surge of shame. Wait! Take these, I said, handing over the last of my cash. Buy something to eat, an icecream for the boy. Ive got enough. Im happy to help. I walked away in my worn coat and scuffed boots, hearing the mother whisper, Thank you, dear God, for your kindness.

I had nothing left for myself only a few potatoes and two wilted carrots on the kitchen table. Even if I started work tomorrow, the pay wouldnt arrive instantly.

I looked up at the sapphire sky, the scent of that magical perfume lingering, remembering how my father and I used to launch paper boats on the nearby stream. He lives far away now, rarely calls, but at least hes alive.

A parcel waited in the postbox. I was surprised who would send me anything? I went to the post office; the box was large, addressed to Eleanor Smith, 14 Willow Lane, Yorkshire. The sender was Matilda Nokes. My heart stopped; that was my grandmothers maiden name.

Miss! Take the parcel, dont hold up the line, the clerk urged.

I opened it tremblingly: a handstitched towel, a sachet of dried raspberries, dried mushrooms, tea, a tin of goldenwrapped sweets, a toy pig, and an old postcard.

Dear Eleanor, the note read, this is Matilda Nokes, your grandmothers sister. We grew up together in the same village. One day by the lake we promised to send each other a parcel after a set number of years. I laughed then, thinking wed be dead long before that. But here we are. Im sending you a small icon of the Virgin Mary may it guard and guide you. Your grandmother was a goldenhearted woman, always praying youd find a worthy partner. Youre never alone, love. Trust in destiny.

I held the icon, tears spilling over, pleading silently, Forgive me, Ive been a fool, a failure. Ive achieved nothing, Im alone but I love you all.

A sudden knock at the door made me jump. I opened it to find my neighbour Vicky, in her white coat, eyes bright.

Hello again! Im Vicky. My fathers gone off his rocker again doctors wont see him. Hes a tough old chap, now frail with illness. I was told you could help with a simple injection. Ill pay whatever you ask. She was frantic.

I told her a proper nurse should be called. You can do it, cant you? Please, I need to get him fixed before I have to leave tomorrow. She pleaded.

I lingered in the hallway for a moment, then followed her into her flat. It was tidy, though a bit shabby. The man in bed looked about fiftyfive, stern jaw, cold eyes. His daughter tried to explain, but he turned away.

I stepped forward and spoke about how life never truly ends, that he still had strength, that Vicky needed to believe there was still a reason to live. She nodded, whispering, The Lord will see to it.

Later, Vickys father asked, What shall we order for dinner? Mushroom soup, please, he replied, the kind my mother used to make in the village.

I rushed home, the fathers words echoing, grabbed a sack of dried mushrooms and raspberries, took the icon, and together we all shared the fragrant soup and raspberry tea.

Vickys father, Victor, and I eventually married. He had more than enough money, yet I kept working at the hospital, feeling that helping others was my true calling.

Whenever I saw a pair of eyes pleading for relief, Id whisper, The Lord will see to it. All you need is faith.