With Her Pension, Daria Made Her Only Indulgence a Bag of Roasted Coffee Beans—Their Heavenly Aroma …

From her pension, Dorothy Evans allowed herself just one small treat, once shed paid the council tax and bought her groceries at the weekly market stall: a humble bag of coffee beans. The beans were already roasted, and when she snipped the corner off the packet, they released a bewitching aroma. The first breath had to be with closed eyesa ritual, shutting out everything except scent, and then the magic happened. Along with that delightful fragrance came a sudden rush of strength, and half-forgotten dreams floated backgirlhood fantasies of faraway lands, the pounding surf, the rumble of a tropical storm, the murmurs and rustles of the jungle, the wild cries of monkeys swinging through vines

Shed never seen any of those places herself, but she remembered her fathers taleshe was forever off on expeditions in South America. When he was home, hed sit with little Dotty, recounting his adventures in the Amazon valley, sipping strong coffee, the scent of which she now always associated with himlean, sun-leathered, a born traveller.

And Dorothy had always known her parents werent her birth family. She remembered, still, how during the first days of the war, shed been a little three-year-old, suddenly alone, until a kind woman had found her and raised her as her own. Then, life unfolded as it did for so many: school, studies, work, marriage, a son and, finally, loneliness. Her son, under gentle persuasion from his wife, had emigrated to Australia about twenty years ago, and made a fine life for himself and his family in Sydney. In all that time, hed only returned to London once. Of course, they kept in touchhe phoned often, sent money every monthbut she never spent it, always setting it aside in a special savings account. After twenty years, it had grown to a tidy sum. It will go back to him in the end, she thought.

Lately, Dorothy had found herself brooding on how shed lived a good life, rich in care and lovebut someone elses life. If not for the war, shed have had a different family, different parents, a different home. A different destiny. She barely recalled her birth parents, but she often thought of the girl her own age who had always been at her side back thenMary, her name was. She could still hear the grown-ups calling, Mary! Dolly! Were they cousins? Friends? Sisters?

A sudden chirp from her mobile phone interrupted her reverie. She glanced at the screenthe pension had arrived! Just in time. She could walk down to the shop and buy more coffee; shed brewed her last cup that morning. Stepping carefully with her stick and sidestepping puddles left by the autumn rain, she reached the supermarket entrance.

There, huddling by the door, was a grey tabby cat, watching nervously as people passed by and the doors slid open and shut. Dorothys heart clenched. Poor thingshe must be cold and starving. Id take you home if I could, but who would you have once Im gone? And that cant be far off now, not today, then maybe tomorrow Feeling for the little creature, Dorothy bought a small packet of cat food.

She quietly squeezed the jelly mix into a plastic tray. The cat waited patiently, gazing up at her with adoring eyes. Just then, the shop doors swung open and a broad, stern-faced woman swept onto the step, clearly displeased. With a sharp wordless movement, she kicked the tray, sending food scattering along the pavement.

I keep telling peopletheres no point! Dont feed them here! she barked, and stomped away, fuming.

The cat, glancing left and right, lapped at scraps from the ground, and Dorothy, trembling with indignation, felt a sharp pang in her chestthe first warning of an attack. She hurried towards the bus stopthered be benches thereand once seated, she fumbled through her pockets in vain, searching for her pills.

The pain came in waves, her head locked in a vice, vision darkening, a groan escaping her lips. Somebody touched her shoulder. She forced her eyes opena young woman looked back at her, worried.

Are you all right, Gran? How can I help?

In my bag, Dorothy managed to whisper, her hand motioning weakly, theres a packet of coffee, open it for me?

The girl did so, holding the packet under Dorothys nose. She inhaledonce, then twice. The pain didnt vanish, but it subsided.

Thank you, sweetheart, Dorothy murmured faintly.

Im called Alice, but you should really thank the cat, the girl smiled. She was right here with you, meowing so loudly!

And thank you as well, my dear. Dorothy stroked the tabby, now perched bravely next to her on the bench.

What happened? Alice asked, concerned.

A turn, dear a migraine, Dorothy confessed. Bit of a shockhappens sometimes.

Ill walk you home, you shouldnt go alone

My nan has migraines, too, Alice was saying as they sipped mild coffee with milk and ginger biscuits in Dorothys tiny flat later. Shes actually my great-gran, but I call her Nan. She lives in a village with my gran, my mum and dad Im training here, in medical college, to be a paramedic. Nan calls me dear girl, just as you do. And you knowyou remind me so much of her, I almost thought you were her this afternoon! Have you ever tried to find your own family, your blood relations?

Alice, darling, how would I? Dorothy said, stroking the tabby curled up on her lap. I barely remember themdont even know my own surname, or where I was born. I remember the air raid, us riding in a cart, then the tanks and running and running, until I lost myself. Such terror! All my lifesuch terror! Then the woman found me, and I called her Mum. After the war, her husband returnedhe became my wonderful dad. All I have left from before is my name. I suppose my real family all died in the bombingmum, and Mary

At this, Alice seemed to catch her breath and stared at Dorothy with wide, blue eyes.

Mrs Evans do you have a birthmark on your right shoulder, shaped like a leaf?

Dorothy startled, spilling a splash of coffee, the tabby peering up at her with interest.

How do you know that, dear?

My nan has exactly the same one, Alice whispered. Her name is Mary. She still weeps sometimes when she remembers her twin sister, Dolly. Lost in the bombing, during the evacuationthe road was cut off, they had to go back home, spent the occupation there. But Dolly was lost. They searched for years, but never found her

From morning, Dorothy could hardly keep still. She paced from window to door, waiting for her visitors to arrive. The grey tabby never left her side, peering anxiously into her face.

Dont fret, Margot, Im fine, she soothed the cat. My hearts just fluttering a bit

At last, the doorbell rang. Dorothy, nerves fluttering, opened it.

There stood two elderly women, staring at each other with eyes full of hope. As if seeing their own reflection, they took in the unchanged blue eyes, the silver curls, and deep, sorrowful smile-lines.

Finally, the guest exhaled shakily, smiled, stepped forward, and embraced Dorothy.

Hello, Dolly!

And at the threshold, wiping away tears of joy, stood her family.