For a slice of bread, I agreed to help the cook of a wealthy household carry some heavy bags. But the moment the lady of the house spotted me at the threshold, she froze, unable to utter a word.
«Ma’am, let me assist you,» I called out, noticing how she strained under the weight of two heavy sacks. «Forgive me for approaching so suddenly, but it looks like these bags are about to slip from your hands. Allow me to take them.»
«Really? Are you sure? They aren’t too heavy?» she smiled hesitantly. «Thank you kindly.»
I lifted the bags as if they were empty, marching forward with a confident stride. The woman—slightly plump, with soft curls bouncing at every step—hurried to keep up, nearly jogging to match my pace. We made a funny pair: me, a tall man striding like a soldier on parade; and her, delicate and round as a Victoria sponge cake, managing two steps to my one.
«Please, slow down a bit!» she panted. «I’m entirely out of breath.»
I turned, startled from my thoughts:
«Apologies. I was lost in my mind for a second.»
«If it’s not too personal, what were you thinking so deeply about?» she asked, studying me.
Her name was Margaret, and I noticed immediately that I was underdressed for the season—my clothes were frayed, patched in places, fitting loosely as if belonging to someone else. Her curiosity kept her from walking in silence.
«Come on, share,» she pressed. «What had you so wrapped up?»
«Just about me… about life,» I sighed.
«And what of it? Is life so hard?»
«Not exactly,» I shook my head. «I just think too much.»
«Ah, do you also enjoy a drink?» she ventured warily.
«No, not really,» I denied. «I’m not that sort.»
«Thank goodness,» Margaret nodded, relieved. «And what’s your name, by the way? I’m Margaret, but everyone calls me Meg.»
I hesitated, as if trying to recall or deliberately forget something vital.
«They call me Tom… that’s what the others say.»
«Call you? Don’t you like your real name?»
«It’s not that,» I looked away. «I just don’t know it. I was found on the roadside, barely alive. Bruised, clothes torn, like a mutt left to suffer. Someone called an ambulance, rushed me to the hospital.»
«Oh dear… And you remember nothing?»
«Nothing. Sometimes images pop up—faces, rooms, snippets of conversations, flashes of light. But they feel like someone else’s memories.»
«What happened after the hospital?»
«I was sent to a children’s home. They gave me a temporary name—Thomas. Ever since, I’ve been going by that. At least I’ve got a roof and food. Work keeps me busy.»
«What do you do for work?»
«Whatever pays. Carting luggage, helping at the market, sometimes assisting a butcher, odd jobs. Enough to scrape by.»
«Did you ever have a proper job before? Anything at all?»
«Nothing. It’s like being reborn. I had to learn everything from scratch—not just to walk, but to live.»
«A tough fate, Tom,» she sighed. «But you’re standing tall, so the memories might still return. Some days they’re quiet, others they flood back.»
«Perhaps,» I murmured.
«Of course! Why burden yourself with the past? Live with what you’ve got. And look at you—strong and hardworking. Interested in a decent job?»
«Very.»
«Then come with me. I’ll speak to the lady of the house. She’s a large household, always needs help.»
«That’s brilliant. Why’re we hesitating?»
I realized then we’d stood there for minutes, drawing curious glances from passersby.
«Far to go?»
«Not far. Usually take a driver, but he’s tied up today—so I drove myself. Lady Harrington ordered a turkey.»
«And what’s your role there?»
«I’m the cook. The work’s demanding, but the conditions are fair. The lady’s kind, though quiet. She’s been so since her son and husband passed. Still, she pays well and doesn’t raise a hand to anyone.»
«If her estate’s so grand, she must be wealthy?»
«Maybe. Not my place to judge. I just need a stove and fresh thyme.»
We approached a grand iron gate. Behind it loomed a two-story Georgian manor, ivy clinging to its stone walls. Jasmine twisted along the archway, perfuming the air. I stopped abruptly—a flicker of memory stirred in my chest, then vanished like smoke.
«Why’d you halt, Tom? Come on, don’t be shy.»
We stepped inside. The hallway was orderly, leading to a kitchen: warm, sunlit, filled with the scent of roasting meat.
«Here we are. This is my little world—my pots and pans. Explore, while I deliver lunch to the mistress and ask about work for you. I’m sure there’ll be something.»
I gazed around. For the first time in years, a strange feeling washed over me—warmth, comfort… even a hint of familiarity.