The Daring Duckling Adventure

I stepped out of the StThomas Hospital in London and, as I reached the automatic doors, I brushed shoulders with a man.
Excuse me, he said, lingering a moment on me with his eyes. In the next instant his gaze turned scornfully indulgent; he turned away as if I had never existed at all.

How many times had I caught that look? Tall, lithe girls were looked at differently. When a man saw a slim beauty, his stare changed from indifferent to greedy, almost clingy. It hurt me to such an extent that I wondered whether I was at fault for being born this way.

When I was a baby, everyone praised my chubby cheeks, my dimpled chin and my round bottom. At school, during rollcall for PE, I was always the first girl in line. The other children taunted me, calling me Piggy after a cartoon character, the pumpkin, and worse. I wont even try to repeat the most cruel nicknames; kids can be brutal. The teachers saw the bullying but did nothing.

I tried every diet, but the urge to eat never left me, and the pounds I shed rushed back. I was fairly pleasantlooking, but my extra weight ruined the first impression. I wanted to become a teacher, yet I abandoned that dream, fearing the children would still hurl hurtful names at me. After school I enrolled in nursing college.

When people are ill, they rarely care about the caregivers appearance. In my training group there were no boys, only girls wrapped up in their own romances, getting married, while I was always alone. During lessons the other girls would ask me to sit in the front row, then hide behind my broad back to avoid the lecturers eye.

I often stared longingly at the elegant dresses displayed in shop windows, knowing I would never wear them. I dressed in loose shirts and roomy skirts to conceal my shape. I learned well, administered injections deftly and painlessly, and the summer patients grew to like me.

One afternoon I went iceskating with some girls. The teenage boys tossed snide comments my way. Look, shes heading for the meatpacking plant, they laughed. Their ragged teasing made me want to weep.

My mother tried to set me up with the sons of her friends. I went on a few dates. One lad, when he saw me, pretended he wasnt waiting for anyone and turned his back in a show of indifference. Another, before we even exchanged words, reached to grope me. I pushed him away; he slipped backwards into a puddle. What are you doing, you fool? Ive made you happy. Who else do you need? he shouted. Tears welled up, and I never went on another date after that. I decided it was better to stay single.

On my Facebook page I uploaded a picture of Fiona from Shrek as my avatar. When a man messaged asking what I looked like in real life, I replied, Exactly like that, just not green. He took it as a joke and wrote, You must be fed up with clingy admirers and decided to scare them off with that avatar. He then suggested we meet. I cut off the conversation immediately.

One day, in the ward corridor, a sixyearold boy barreled toward me.
Where are you running? There are patients here, you cant be noisy, I said, catching his hand.
I just wanted to slide on the linoleum, he admitted honestly.
Who are you with? I asked.
With my dad, going to see my grandmother. Wheres the toilet?
Come on, lets go, I led him to the end of the corridor. Are you scared?
He gave me a pleading look, but I didnt take offense. Soon the sound of running water echoed from a nearby bathroom and the boy emerged beside me.
Now well walk together; can you show me which ward your grandma is in? I said.
He sighed and waddled along, stopping at a door, making a serious face and tapping a corner of his mouth. I watched, trying not to smile.
This one, I think, he said, pointing at the fourth ward.
I think? Did you just run past without checking the number? Maybe you dont know numbers? I teased, noting it was a male ward.
I know everything, Im not little. I even know letters. See, thats the door, he pointed at the fifth.
Ah, you little rascal, I pretended to be angry. He burst into laughter.
Whats your name? he asked.
Harry, I answered just as the door of the fifth ward swung open, revealing a tall, pleasantlooking man. He glared at Harry.
Harry, why are you late? he asked, then spotted me. With a single glance he assessed my appearance and instantly lost interest.
Was he playing? the man asked.
How many cold, disdainful male looks had I endured?
He wasnt playing. Dont scold him, I said and walked away.
Lets go, say goodbye to your grandma, were running out of time, I heard behind me.

The next day Harry and his father visited his grandmother again. The man passed me without a glance. I stuck my tongue out at him. At that moment Harry turned, laughed, and gave a thumbsup. I smiled and waved. After a quiet hour I entered the fifth ward.
Good afternoon, MrsMargaret. Did your grandson visit? I asked.
Did you see him? Hes a wonderful boy, I wish I could see what hell become, she replied.
Its still early for that. Youll still be looking after greatgrandchildren, I said cheerfully.
God help us. His soul aches. He grew up without his mother.
His mother
Shes alive, she ran off and abandoned us.
You said ours I was puzzled.
Harry isnt my biological grandson, but we love him as if he were. She went on to explain that her son had married a beauty who later confessed she already had a son. Can you start a family on a lie? she asked. Her husband had suffered a heart attack and she now found herself in the hospital. Two years ago, Harrys mother had taken a lucrative overseas modelling job; the child was a hindrance. The women her son now dated were similarly beautiful and selfish. Harry rejected them.

I spent the whole day mulling over Margarets tale. When I entered the ward to give an injection, I sniffed.
MrsMargaret, try not to worry, remember? I said firmly.
She handed me a drawing of a boy holding his parents hands. Harry is looking for his mother, she said. I think he drew you, Emily.
No, he drew his mother, I replied.
He no longer remembers his mother; she was thin. This drawing shows a big mother, taller than the father. Look, its you, Margaret whispered, tears welling.
I realised the boy saw me as a larger figure, perhaps because I was a heavyset woman. I thought, Even a child sees my size. Ill never please a handsome man like Harrys father.

From then on, whenever I gave Margaret an injection, we exchanged a few lines. When Harry returned to the hospital, he approached me straight away.
Good day. Are your hands reliable? he asked.
Im not sure, I said, flustered.
Grandma said youre trustworthy. Shell be discharged soon, right? My birthday is next week, he blurted.
I think shell go home soon. How old are you? I asked.
Six, he answered proudly. Id love for you to come to my party.
Thanks, Ill ask your father first.
Ill do that now, Harry ran off.

I was distracted and didnt see Harry leave with his dad. The next day George and his son waited for me outside the ward.
Dad, you promised, Harry tugged at his fathers sleeve as I approached.
I remember, George said, looking at me. Im inviting you to my sons birthday; hell be six. Heres the address and phone number. Well be there at one on Saturday, if you have no other plans.
My details are on the card, I have no plans for the weekend, I replied, blushing.
I didnt think of that. Harry will be waiting. If you dont come, hell be sad and so will my mother; she cant be worried, you said yourself.
Another week, I need to lose a few pounds, I thought.

At home I told my mother about Harry.
You must go. Boys understand more than grownup men. Maybe youll end up with his father? Dont look at me, the boy is looking for his mum.
My father barely looks my way, I sighed.
Dont exaggerate. He probably cares about the childs feelings, not just his own. Otherwise hed have married another model by now.

On Saturday morning I tied my hair back, chose a modest dress, and brushed on a little mascara. I gazed at my reflection, frowning. No amount of makeup will make me skinny, I muttered. I had already bought a present for Harrys birthday a week earlier. Hell be waiting, I must go, I sighed and headed out.

The moment I pressed the doorbell, the lock clicked. My heart thumped.
Emilys here, shouted Harry as he lunged forward, hugging me as far as his small arms could reach. I patted his shortcropped hair and handed him the gift. His eyes lit up at the bright box.

In the centre of the room stood a festively set table. Beside it sat George, a striking blonde, and across from them an elderly gentleman Harrys grandfather.
Meet my rescuer, Emily, and this is Boris, my husband. You know my son, and this is Ivans friend, Svetlana, Margaret said, not looking at the blonde.

The blonde raised an eyebrow at my entrance.
Allow me to introduce Emily, my lifesaver, and this is John, my husband, Margaret continued.

The blonde, looking displeased, flicked her brow. She knocked over a wine glass, spilling it onto her lap; the table shuddered and a chair tipped, creating a small chaos. Despite apologies, the blonde prepared to leave. I, too, thought of leaving.

Youre not upset, are you? George began.
No, why would I be? I suppose its time I go, I answered.
My mum made a special pie. Dont offend her. Ill drive you home.

We rode in silence.
I didnt ask to be escorted, I said after a while.
My mum wouldnt forgive me if I didnt. You keep popping up in my life. I wouldnt be surprised if my mother decided to marry us.
I dont love you, nor you love me. Im not going to marry you, I replied, my voice trembling. Dont worry, Ill try not to get in your way again.

The car pulled up outside a house. I tried the locked door.
Open up now, I shouted.

Suddenly George leaned in and kissed me. I shoved him away.
Whats this? Tired of blondes? Prefer plump women? Decided to have a bit of fun with me? Oh, I should thank you for the attention, I snapped, my eyes flashing, my face burning.

He seemed unaware of how striking I looked in that moment. He gazed at me with a flood of emotion, while the blondes strutted with icy confidence.

Im sorry, I dont know what possessed me. I didnt mean to offend you, he stammered.
No man has ever kissed me, except when they wanted to make me happy like you. Im looked at with pity, dismissed without a second glance, I spat, storming out of the car.

By late August the weather turned cold, rain and wind battered the streets, leaves falling fast. Three weeks had passed since Harrys birthday, and I hadnt seen George. I returned from work, slipped off my soaked shoes, and my mother called from the hallway.
A young man visited you, didnt he? she asked.
Which man?
Elegant, handsome. He seemed nervous, asked you to call him.

I dialed Georges number straight away.
This is George. Harrys ill. Could you come? He needs his injections
Im on my way! I replied, rushing to change.

Leaving the flat, I regretted not checking whether they had sterile wipes or syringes, so I ducked into a pharmacy and bought everything.

Harry brightened when he saw me. Sweatdamp hair clung to his forehead, a sign his temperature was dropping. I washed my hands, prepared the injection, and handed him antibiotics and vitamins.
You remember I have reliable hands, right? Dont be scared, I said, noticing the fear in his eyes. He squeezed his eyes shut, then said it hurt a little but was okay.

George kept stealing glances at me, studying me as no one else had. I blushed, felt awkward, and suddenly my heart fluttered like a bird.

George drove me home again.
Emily, shall we pop into a cafe? We never really talked.
Youre doing this for the boy? No need. Ill hope, but youll never love me. Im not someone you can love. Im too heavy.
Youre not heavy. Youre warm, soft, kind. Kids dont lie; you cant fool them. Harry likes you, I do. I think we could build a solid family.
What if Harrys mother returns?
She wont. She gave up the child, signed divorce papers, remarried. The boy is mine now. So, will you go on a date with me?
Yes, I answered simply.

Everyone has a person meant for them, a half that fits, whether good or bad, but life is harsher without that other. Appearances matter little; sometimes the right half is missed, or when found, they fail to recognise each other because they overlook the familiar soul. And love? Perhaps love is what lets us see a swan in an ugly duckling, a tender loving heart in a plump girl, the one created just for him.