Widow's Windows

"Still, you survived, Dad," Art says, "but you never saw your Mum, my grandma, again?"

"No, but your Aunt Hetty wrote and told me that Mrs Edrich had very kindly helped make my Mum comfortable during her last few days—"

From the back door an elegant, attractive woman emerges, carrying a tray of tea and a glass of lemonade, "Refreshments gentlemen, you both deserve a break. It's so hot out here today."

"Gosh, thanks, Missus!" Art says.

"I didn't realise you were at home, Ma'am." Bird says quietly, "I hope you didn't hear too much of my nons—"

"I did, Mr Bird, but not to concern yourself. I believe ... I now realise ... that I, we, Roger and I, are in your debt."

"No, Ma'am—"

"Eveline, please, Mr Bird."

"I was just going to say, you owe just the usual shilling for the windows. In fact I think I might be a week or two early this month."

"No matter, it's such a lovely day that deserves to be seen through clean windows. Here, young Art," she turns to the boy, "I have a tip for you, don't spend it all at once on sweets, now."

"Gosh, Ma'am, 'arf a crown!" the boy cries, biting the coin, as he had seen others do, before stuffing it into his pocket. Then he was rubbing his leather on some imaginary stain on the French windows before helping himself to lemonade and a biscuit.

She turns and presses a bob into Bird's palm.

"My late husband left me well provided for, so I can afford to pay you for what the job's really worth, Mr Bird, and I am sure now that it should be a lot more than 'just a shilling'," she says, a tear escaping to run down her cheek. She continues, dropping her voice to a whisper. "Arthur was a wonderful man, who I loved very much, and still love with all my heart, Mr Bird ... may I call you Roger?"

"Er, yes, of course, but I can afford to take a lot less than a shilling, I don't clean your windows for the money," Bird too, whispers back, tears in his eyes, though he tries his hardest to smile too, "And for me, Mrs Edrich ... Eveline ... Lieutenant Edrich was a fine man, I was fond of your Arthur, too."

Eveline blinks back her tears and squeezes Bird's hand, still holding the shilling.

"Arthur spoke of you often, while he was home. We had no secrets from each other, none. He told me how you saved his life, but the letter from his Captain never disclosed how he died or who was with him to comfort his last few hours. I'm glad it was you." Eveline lifts her voice, adding in as cheerful a tone as she can, observing the boy hungrily tucking into a custard cream biscuit, "A fine boy, you have there, Roger. Were you able to find and marry your saint? Or was she a nun from the convent?" she manages a weak smile to accompany her attempt at humour.

"Firstly, I must say that, for a long time I have considered your Roger the finest of young men, a gentleman. His father would be so proud of him, and of you too for his upbringing," Bird replies, with a smile, glad the subject was moving from the sad past to a more pleasant present day one.

"Thank you," Eveline smiles.

"As for your questions about Art's mother, the answer is neither, Eveline. Well, not exactly anyway," Bird chuckles, "Immediately after demob I did especially go out of my way to wash the kitchen windows at the St Margaret Convent in the High Street. There I met my wife Mary. She was orphaned at five years old and had spent fifteen years in various convents and ended up working as a kitchen skivvy. She was a sweet and innocent girl, almost twenty years younger than me. I count myself very lucky. As mother to Art, his two younger brothers and two sisters, as well as being my better half, I suppose you could say that I married an angel."

"I'm pleased for you, Roger. Now, you must bring all your family over for Sunday tea, I'd like to get to know them, and Mary, as friends. After all, I've known you for such a long time, Roger, fifteen years or so, without really knowing you as well as I should. Arthur would have invited you over long ago and often, if he'd known you were watching over us, and I feel I've rather let the side down. So, say you'll come on Sunday, Roger, please."

"Yes, Eveline, we will come."

The End.