This Cruel Love

Sylvie hopped off her stool and went over to the coffee machine to make herself a drink.

“The night we met Jackson, Len had taken me out for our weekly date night. There was this little Italian restaurant in the city. Nothing pricey, mind you, just a quaint old place down one of the backstreets that served the best carbonara I’d ever tasted, and I make a mean carbonara.”

I nodded. I knew how badass Sylvie’s Italian cooking was; they were my favourite dishes of hers.

“Anyway, that night we paid up and headed back out arm in arm, ready to make the slow walk back to the bus stop. We couldn’t afford a car in those days, you see. We were walking down the street, when I noticed a pile of cardboard and what looked like old blankets down one of the alleyways opposite the restaurant. Then I spotted the top of a head poking out underneath. Len told me not to look and move on; there were a lot of homeless people in the city even back then, but something told me I couldn’t walk away. Some other force was pulling me towards that alleyway, and before I knew it, I was standing next to that grubby pile, with a disgruntled Len behind me, moaning about us getting mugged for our bus fare home.

“I bent down and shook the pile of rubbish and it fell away, revealing the prettiest, grubbiest face I’d ever seen. He was thin and scrawny. He needed to bath for a week with the amount of dirt on him, but he was beautiful and it made my heart hurt just to look at him.” A tear came to Sylvie’s eyes as she talked, but she wasn’t ashamed and didn’t wipe it away, just let it fall freely down her gentle face.

“I’d always wanted to be a mum. I yearned for it, for years. But we couldn’t afford IVF and it just never happened for Len and me. We tried. Boy, did we try. We tried everything to have a baby, but it wasn’t meant to be. But through it all, I came to realise that being a mother doesn’t mean you have to give birth to a child. You can be a mother in many ways. So when I saw that young lad lying there, shivering in the cold November chill that we’re all used to here in England, I vowed then and there that this boy needed my help. He was a boy without a family, and we were a family without a boy.”

I couldn’t believe what she was telling me. I didn’t think this woman could be any more awesome than she was, but right then she zoomed to the top of my awe-inspiring list.

“So you took him in?”

“Oh, no. He was a stubborn little thing, even back then when he had nothing but his name and an alleyway to call his own. That first night we offered him money for a cheap hotel or to take him to a hostel, but he refused. So Len went back to the restaurant and ordered food and drink to go. We gave him something to eat, sat and chatted to him and then, when it was clear he wouldn’t take much help, we gave him our coats and left him. Ryley, I cried all the way home and all night in bed thinking about him out there on his own.”

“What happened next?” We both took a sip of our coffee, probably to gulp down the bulge of a cry that had built up in our throats.

“We started visiting him most days after that, checking he was okay. If I couldn’t make it, Len would go down there on his lunch hour from work and take him the homemade food I’d send down for him. We brought him blankets and sleeping bags to keep him warm, and eventually we gained his trust. He started coming back to our house, so we could give him a proper home-cooked meal, a bit of warmth and the love of a family that he was so desperate for. I even decorated our spare room for him, but he wouldn’t live with us. He said he had friends on the streets that he couldn’t abandon.”

I knew straight away that meant Cill, but I didn’t want to interrupt her story, so I kept quiet.

“He spent some nights with us though, especially if the rain was thrashing down or the snow was too deep. I loved looking after him, and he became like a son to Len and me. Len took on extra shifts at work and I started cleaning at some of the houses in the West End. Between us, we managed to save up enough to get Jackson a little one bedroom apartment just outside the city. We helped him get on his feet, so he could find himself. Make something of himself. We’re both so proud of the man he’s become. I know he’s a little rough around the edges. No one can live on the streets of this city and come out the other end being all sweetness and light, but he’s turned things around.”

“He certainly has. I can’t believe you did all that for him.”

“It was our pleasure. He’s given us far more than we ever gave him. He gave us a purpose in life. He gave us a reason to live, and work. It was all for him.”

I couldn’t hold it back. I started to cry, thinking about how truly selfless Sylvie and Len had been, taking a chance on a scruffy runaway like Jackson. Just the thought of what could’ve happened if they hadn’t met him made me shudder.

“It all worked out for the best, love. Don’t cry.” Sylvie reached across the island to take my hand in hers and rub it to soothe me. “Len calls him son, and they still go on their fishing trips together every couple of weeks. I helped Jackson decorate this apartment when he bought it. I like that he lives with all this luxury now. Soft beds and sofas you can sink your butt into. I made sure everything was the best when we went shopping together. When I asked him if I could pop round and keep things clean and tidy for him, he insisted on paying me. I refused, of course, but he got hold of my bank details and has a ridiculous amount of money transferred into my account every month. Like I said, I don’t touch it, but I appreciate how thoughtful he is. He knows the value of money and hard work. Nothing came easy for him, so he values things all the more, and people too. He doesn’t trust many people, but when he lets you in, you’re there for life. And he’s really let you in, Ryley. A blind man could see how much he loves you.”

“I love him too. So much.” I felt like I was justifying myself to his real mother now. Telling her I was worthy of her son.

“Oh, I know you do. I think I saw it happening before the two of you did.”

“I’m so glad I met him. I’m glad you did too.” And I meant it, every single word.

“Shall we make him his favourite muffins today?” Sylvie said, all light-hearted and carefree. I felt like I’d been sucker punched in the gut. I could barely breathe.

“I can’t cook. I burn boiling water.”

“Anyone can make blueberry muffins. I’ll teach you.”

“Blueberry is my favourite too.”

“See… match made in heaven.” She chuckled, as I thought about my description of Jackson’s home when I first got here. I came to experience hell and found my very own slice of heaven.

We spent the rest of the afternoon baking; the smell that radiated around the apartment was sublime. I felt a twinge of sadness to think that such a motherly, loving woman like Sylvie never became a mother to her own children. But I was beyond thankful that she’d assumed that role in Jackson’s life. I could just imagine how amazing she’d be as a grandma, baking cookies and taking her grand kiddies to the park. Running around with more energy and vitality than all the other grandmas put together. I wanted that for her. I wanted to give that to her. Boy, Jackson and I hadn’t even talked about marriage, and there I was daydreaming about our kids going to Grandma Sylvie’s and Grandpa Len’s for weekend sleepovers.

&n

bsp; I was just arranging the latest batch of hot muffins onto the cooling rack when I heard the front door close, and seconds later, my stunning man came bounding into the kitchen with the biggest grin on his face.

“You’ve been baking.” He took a deep breath in to savour the sweet aromas swirling around us. “And it smells amazing.”

He came up behind me to squeeze me tight and kiss my neck.