Winifred Barnes

“I understand, dear,” Winifred said softly. She knew exactly what Wanda was talking about. She might not have been around as frequently as she would have liked, but she was a mother, and she wasn’t blind. James hadn’t seemed to realise, although there was a chance he had and was trying to avoid awkwardness, but it was more likely that her son was just oblivious, too caught up in everything to see what was right in front of him.

Wanda nodded a little. She had been holding onto those feelings for what felt like forever, her heart fluttering a little whenever he was near. Though she wasn’t sure she could deal with the possibly rejection and loss of her friend so she had kept it quiet. “He’s my best friend after all…” she muttered, “and it looks like he’s going to be late for his own birthday party.” 

“That doesn’t surprise me in the slightest, he’s probably working so hard he hasn’t noticed the time,” Winifred shook her head with a fond smile. Luckily it wasn’t a school night, so she didn’t feel too bad about letting the girls stay up a little later, although she had an early shift herself in the morning.

Wanda giggled and shook her head, checking her phone to see whether he had text or called. “You’d think he’d remember it’s his birthday though,” she teased, “maybe we could call his work and see if he’s left yet.”

“We’ll give him another few minutes and then we’ll give him a quick call, but I imagine he’s probably on his way home now,” Winnie smiled, pottering about the kitchen and fixing a few last minute things up.

“We’ll manage,” she said, and in truth, she wasn’t sure if she was reassuring him or herself. She’d coped as a single mother when George had been dragged off to war, and she would manage now. Winifred Barnes was tougher than she looked, and though grief had hit her like a hammer, still she would soldier on, “Just...keep an eye out for James. I feel like he’s going to need someone like you to keep him afloat for a little bit Steven.”

“It ain’t a race, sweetheart,” she soothes. He’s still young, after all, and there will be plenty of time for him to settle down, for Becca too. Winnie had been married at eighteen, and with James born by nineteen, but there was no rush for her children. If they wanted to settle down, they would. Drying his cheeks a little with the sleeve of her cardigan, she reassures, “Of course.”

She was such a sweet little thing, so small and darling, and Winifred looked forward to every moment she got to spend with her, did whatever she could to spoil her, although she couldn’t afford much. Still, she managed what she could, and the sounds of her giggles lightened her heart, “Of course, sweetheart. What would you like to play?”

“I’m right here, baby,” she murmurs, letting her arm slide around his shoulders to tug him to her chest, just as she had always done when he was a child, any time he’d had a nightmare or hurt himself, or just needed her comfort. Of course, he wasn’t so small anymore, but she wasn’t going to let that stop her. He’d never be too big for her to coddle.

That was all she could ask for, she supposed. It didn’t make it hurt any less, but something was better than nothing, and she would take every last crumb she could get, even as she was reluctant to let him go. Stepping over to him, she raised her hand to touch his cheek before going up on her tip toes to press a kiss to his forehead, “I love you, sweetheart.”

“I can do that...I’ll write it down,” she nodded slowly, moving over to the bureau to find a scrap of paper and a pen, beginning to jot down any places she could think of that her son had frequented.

He watched her write, hoping it would help him. He knew she’d hurt until he could at least remember her...and he wanted to.

The list was quite substantial. After all, as children they’d run all around the streets of Brooklyn, causing mayhem, and Winnie was sure they likely had a story for every street corner. Although of course, she didn’t know everywhere that they’d went.

“The doc reckons I’m about ten weeks along, so that means I’ll be due around March,” Winnie preens, her hands coming to smooth over her stomach again over her blouse. There’s no bump, not yet, but she can’t wait for that, to have the physical proof of the family that they’re starting, “What do you reckon, boy or girl?”

Winnie can’t help the excited squeal that leaves her lips as he swings her around, giggling and looping her arms around his shoulders. They’re going to have their own family, and already she can’t wait, “The doctor confirmed it this morning, but I had a suspicion for a while.”