He wasn't supposed to be here. It should have been something woolly or chirpy gracing my desk. He doesn't even have a name. But he arrived today, and he has a story - or rather, he allowed someone to tell me a story I never knew.
My Mum spotted him. I could see she was weary and a little dejected. Although determined to do as much as she could, her hands were gripping her 'wheelie' frame tightly for support as we walked very slowly along the darkening street. Suddenly she said "Look!" And there he was, sitting on the floor of the charity shop near the brightly-lit window. "Oh!" she exclaimed, "Isn't he lovely! But he looks so forlorn ...". And without more ado, she manoeuvred herself and her frame inside, emerging gingerly five minutes later with his ears peeping out of a bag.
Once home, she lifted him out, and stroked him carefully, turning him over and over. "We can clean him up and give him to Will" (her new great grandchild), she said in a wistful tone. Turning to set him down, she added "I never had one, you know".
"A bear? I asked.
"Not a bear, or a doll, or anything like that", came the reply. "Not ever. Out in a farm in the country ... It was wartime. Things were hard. Later, my younger sisters had a doll. But I never did." I looked at her small drooping shoulders, and heard the sadness. "Aunt Matty gave me a doll's teaset when I was ten - she must have seen, you know, how things were. But I never had anyone to make tea for with it ..."
"We don't have to give him away" I suggested gently. "You could just keep him."
"D'you think so?" She held him close as she peered at the stitching on his ears and tut-tutted. Her shoulders straightened; I knew there was going to be a request to fetch the sewing box any minute now. "Well, let's tidy him up and see. He can live here with me for a while. Can you put him on your desk beside your machine? I'll have a go tomorrow." She stroked him again slowly, her eyes bright with a smile.
I looked at them both, and smiled too. Perhaps he was supposed to be here after all ...
