‘The plane he was travelling on crashed. There were no survivors.’
Hope’s hand covered hers, and she found herself crying into her teacup over this stranger’s kindness.
‘I can’t go home, my father wouldn’t allow it, and even if he would, they don’t have the means to support me,’ she said, trying to keep her voice even. ‘And his family never liked me. It’s why we were coming here in the first place.’
‘I think I read about the crash in the newspaper,’ Hope said. ‘It was a small plane that left from Oslo.’
Amalie nodded. ‘Do you still have the paper, by any chance?’ she asked. ‘I would like to keep the clipping, just so I…’ Her voice trailed off. ‘It sounds silly, but reading about it might help me to accept his death.’
Hope rose immediately, disappearing for a few minutes and leaving Amalie to compose herself and take a sip of tea. She’d always preferred coffee, but after the weeks she’d spent in England now, she was starting to get used to it.
‘Here it is,’ Hope said when she returned. ‘Would you like me to cut it out for you?’
‘Please,’ Amalie said, as goose pimples covered her skin just at the sight of the newsprint.
They sat in silence while Hope took out a pair of scissors and deftly cut the article out, folding it in half and placing it on the table between them.
‘You know, every young woman who comes through my door and sits at this table has a story,’ Hope said. ‘Most have been let down by a man whom they thought loved them. Some have lost the love of their life in circumstances like yours, where they’ve found themselves pregnant before they were married. But the common theme is that each and every one of them has had their heart broken.’
Amalie listened, not sure whether it made her feel better or worse to know that she wasn’t alone.
‘But the one thing I can tell you is that everything will be all right. It might not seem that way now, and it certainly doesn’t mean that the path ahead will be without pain, but I promise that you will get through this. Not without pain and sadness, but life will be better again one day.’
‘What happens if I stay here?’ Amalie said, her lower lip trembling as she asked the question.
Hope’s smile was kind as she leaned forward. ‘It means that you will be safe and cared for. Most of the young women who give birth here ask me to find a family to adopt their baby, but that’s your decision. You will never be forced to do anything you don’t want to do here, and that’s a promise.’
‘So, you would let me give birth here and keep my baby?’ Amalie asked, barely recognising her own voice, it was so quiet. ‘If that’s what I wanted?’
‘Something I’ve come to realise is that this world can be so cruel to women,’ Hope said. ‘We have choices taken away from us, we have decisions made for us, and for the handful or two of women who walk through my door each year, I treat them with the respect and dignity I wish I’d been shown.’
Amalie met her gaze, understanding what this kind, sweet woman was trying to tell her. If she’d been braver, she would have asked her what she meant, but then Amalie had the feeling too that if Hope had wanted to say more, then she would have.
‘Do most of the women who give birth choose adoption?’ Amalie asked. ‘Am I mad for thinking that I might be able to raise this baby on my own?’
‘You’re not mad,’ Hope said, shaking her head. ‘Don’t ever think that makes you mad. It makes you a mother, and it means that you have a heart.’
Amalie stared out of the window, at the pretty garden that was slightly overgrown but somehow still incredibly charming. ‘Why is it that men can make mistakes and be forgiven, but a woman makes one bad decision, and she is shunned or made to relive the consequences over and over?’
‘Because,’ Hope said, rising and pushing her chair back against the table, ‘we live in a man’s world. Which is precisely why I’ll be helping young women who need me until my very last breath.’
Hope beckoned for her to rise, and when she did, she looked pointedly at the luggage sitting in the doorway to the kitchen. ‘Shall we take these things upstairs, or do you need some time to think about whether you’d like to stay or not?’
A sense of calm passed over Amalie, and for the very first time since she’d left home to travel to England, she didn’t need to wrestle with her decision.
‘Yes, I would like to stay, if you’ll have me, that is,’ Amalie replied. ‘I know I’ve only just met you, but I feel safe here, and I’m well used to working, so you’ll have to let me pay my board in cleaning and such.’
‘Amalie, I thought I told you, I don’t expect?—’
‘I insist,’ she said. ‘Besides, it’s the very least I can do. Sitting idle will only remind me of my Oskar. I need to keep my mind occupied.’
‘Very well then,’ Hope said, carrying the largest piece of luggage up the stairs ahead of her to a room that looked over the garden, with a big bay window and blue gingham curtains that were tied back with a matching bow.
The room was warm and flooded with light, with a bed on one side and a small writing desk and an armchair on the other. And somehow, it immediately felt like home.
It was at that small desk that Amalie sat once Hope had left her to settle in, taking out the newspaper clipping and slowlyunfolding it. There was no photo, for which she was thankful, but reading about the crash left her with her fist pressed to her mouth and tears streaming down her cheeks.
Oskar was gone, she finally understood that, but this Hope’s House was her second chance, and even though her grief felt like it was ripping straight through her body and threatening to tear her in half, she knew that she had to make the most of it. For her baby, this might be the one and only opportunity they were given to stay together, whether that was for a few days, a week or a month.
