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On a late night, Mrs. Lovett would sit at the table in her pie shop and work out the money she’d made, payments she would have to make, plans for the rest of her week, and so on. For reasons she did not know, Toby would stay with her during this time. Though he could have easily gone to bed, and must’ve been properly exhausted by the end of the day, he stayed awake, and only called it a night when she did. He simply sat quietly on the floor, leaning on a leg of the table. To an extent, she understood. She, herself, did enjoy having a good think after a hard day’s work. And he did not bother her. So, she was perfectly fine with the two of them burning the midnight oil together.
The boy did not talk much at all, ever. He spoke when spoken to. He seemed to possess an inability to speak for himself. This occurred to her, in particular, when one night, he shuffled over from his usual spot on the floor to be next to her. It took her a moment to notice he was looking up at her. When she looked at him, he looked away, but did not move. “Hello, dear.” She said, just to be friendly. It took her a moment to figure out what the point of Toby’s gesture was. But then- “Oh, hah. You’re so funny.” She cooed down at him. He looked up at her again as she moved to grab the bottle of gin she’d poured for him earlier.
He did not appear to have his cup. “You do want more, don’t you?” She said, wielding the bottle by the neck. He looked almost as if awoken from a trance, and bent awkwardly back beneath the table to retrieve his cup. She laughed again, thinking she might break a hip if she tried bending her body that way. He popped right back up, holding the cup in both hands, still with the same clueless expression. She laughed again, wondering if it would kill him to speak.
As if on cue, he held the cup out further, and squeaked, “Please, ma’am?”
His hands shook slightly. She settled them with her own, about to pour. But she stopped. “Hey, I’ve got a better idea.” She smiled. “Why don’t you just take the whole bottle?”
It took him a moment to fully smile back. “...Really?” He set down the cup. “Wow. Thank you, ma’am.” He held the bottle she handed him gratefully, and soon returned to his spot against the table leg.
Toby was different at night. His voice was hardly a sound at all, just a sliver of noise cutting through quiet air, fighting to be heard. And unstable, with a quiver. Never properly putting a foot down. So different from how he acted as her helper boy during the day. It was like part of him simply shut down in the absence of a crowd to cater to. And without any task to animate him, he wasn’t much more than tattered rags and clumps of dirty, long hair.
It wasn’t a problem. Only intriguing, and amusing. He did not bother her, and he kept to his position beneath the table. He did his job. That was all she asked for.
One afternoon, Mrs. Lovett would be drawn to particular commotion among her crowd of customers. Toby had apparently tripped and fell, dropping a whole tray of pies in the process. It was one of the first and only mistakes he'd made while working for her, but a very big one that did not help to answer the crowd of hungry people. When she arrived at the scene, Toby lay still propped on hands and knees, and turned his head to her, looking terrified.
He apologized profusely, clasping his hands together as in a prayer. Mrs. Lovett didn't listen, instead tapping her foot and looking at the mess of her pies splattered onto the ground. "That's alright, dear." She said, dismissively. "Help me clean this up." She turned to walk back to the shop, and Toby stood still, watching her for a moment, before quickly following.
She'd been vaguely aware of laughter and jeers from the crowd surrounding the incident, and later that same day she'd have it served back to her as lame conversation. It's a shame your lad isn't a very good server, they'd say. She'd smile and reply, "Well, he tries his best." One even questioned her on Pirelli: Say, isn't that the boy working for that Italian Barber man? And though she'd rehearsed what she'd say- "Oh, yes. Funny story, actually. He sold the lad to me."- It seemed a particularly pointed thing to bring up now. So she added- "His mistake, really. 'Boy's an honest worker when he isn't being employed by con-men."
At the end of the day, they'd close up the shop like normal. Mrs. Lovett dragged herself back inside, and complained about her feet hurting. Luckily, she would be able to go to sleep at a reasonable time tonight. Toby trailed behind her, silent. While locking the door to the bakehouse, he spoke up, apologizing again for dropping the tray. Not taking her attention away from the lock, she said. "Oh, that's alright, dear. You're doing fine."
Toby continued anyway. "Don't be mad at me. I don't want you to be-" He stumbled over his words when she turned to look at him. "-Mad at me." He looked profoundly worried, and though his eyes were fixed on her face, he did not meet her gaze.
She changed her face to smile. “Darling, I’m not mad at you. Wherever did you get that idea from?” He closed his mouth and lowered nervous hands. She made sure her smile remained until she turned to walk away. Again, Toby was left to stand dumbly for a moment.
“Yes, but- Ma’am?” He said as he caught up to her, again lingering at her side and asking her to acknowledge him from the corners of her vision- though he held himself back. “I just- want to make it better. How can I make it better?”
She was amused at his ability to state the obvious. “It’s all well and good.” She told the truth. “I know it was only a mistake. We’ll continue on the same tomorrow.” She really did want to get to bed.
But she noticed then how Toby’s eyes glistened in the low light, not at all convinced by her previous affirmations. She reached for him. “Oh, dear. What’s the matter?” Now, up close and with one hand tilting his head upward, she was sure that he was beginning to cry. He still avoided her gaze, opting instead to look in any which direction, seeming to panic when she came closer. He opened and closed his mouth, blinking.
“I- I don’t know.” He finally spat out.
What do you mean, you don’t know? She wanted to say. But his voice cracked pitifully and one tear finally fell, seemingly with the effort it took to say this phrase, I don’t know. He blinked rapidly and more tears came. She wished he would just use his voice. She raised her hand to the back of his neck, and he squeezed his eyes shut in response.
To her surprise, he hugged her. He latched onto her middle and buried his face in her shoulder. That was all, then. She rubbed his back comfortingly. She looked beyond him, at the wall, and wondered what in the world she would do with this child.
It did not take long for Toby to pry himself away. His eyes flicked up to hers for a moment, then back downward. Blinking away the last of his tears, he tried again. “I won’t drop any more trays, now, ma’am. I promise.” He spoke as if the whole world relied on him.
“I’m sure you won’t, dear.” She fiddled with strands of his hair and decidedly added, “You’ll make me proud.”
Toby smiled then, and it met his eyes. She tried to remember if he had smiled like that at any point before. He might’ve, when she gave him something to drink, or a sweet treat. She could picture the upward quirk of the corners of his mouth. That might’ve been the case, but it had never been such a full smile as this one. She patted his shoulder happily, sure that this had solved the problem.
The next day, Toby was up before she was. She found him sat casually at the leg of the table again, mimicking their night routine even in the early morning. When she entered the shop, he stood right up, straightening his shoulders and folding his hands with the diligence you’d expect of a royal soldier. She couldn’t help but smile amusedly at this. Just a silly boy playing pretend.
There did seem to be a throughline between the two modes of Toby. Even though he seemed to understand the need for an act- standing on tables, waving his arms, raising his voice- it was never quite complete. Even in his performance, he never smiled. Just as he never spoke in the night, he must not be able to make himself smile.
Perhaps she couldn’t blame him for that. Come to think of it, she didn’t know how she, herself, learned to do it. It just came when she needed it. Simply another tool to complete the task. Perhaps it made sense, considering how Toby acted once the doors closed. Smiles were still special to him; To be used only for genuine expression. Or a scarcity. Sacred, anyhow. It was funny how a street rat such as himself could be so pure. He should know nothing could ever be sacred in their world.
When the day was done, he did look awfully tired. She leaned down from her chair to poke his shoulder. “You know, dear,” He stirred as she spoke. “You’ve been working so hard.” He looked up at her with big eyes. “What would you say to one of the leftover pies, hm?” He looked hesitant. “Oh, don’t worry, love. One pie won’t make too much a difference.” Then, he nodded, hopeful.
When she returned with one warm pie- and a nice cup of ale to wash it down- Toby seemed eager to enjoy his reward. He sat upright with excitement rather than obligation. She watched this happily, charmed by his childish ways. But before he could take his first bite, he paused suddenly, and looked up at her.
In the now-familiar wobbly nighttime voice, he asked, “...This means I did good, right?”
In the darkness of her bedroom that night, she felt sad for him.
In the next few weeks, things went very nicely. Mrs. Lovett must have this job down to a science. Even after introducing another step into the equation, things run along fine with only a few tweaks to be made here and there. Like a little machine, clinking and chugging along.
And wasn’t Toby just the shining example of an apprentice. Mrs. Lovett grew more fond of him by the day. It rang true of wholesome family values that he followed her every instruction, and trailed after her, attentive and dedicated. Clumsy and stunted as he may be, she knew that she could not handle all the crowd herself. And her success, in part, was due to him.
Above all, he was easy. Every day went on the same, and he did not get tired, did not complain. Every night they went back in, she locked the door, she sent him off to bed, or, if she had done all her bakehouse chores, she let him stay. He would sit simply beneath the table, like a guard dog at his post. He was always there, trusty and loyal.
And on occasion, when she was finished, she would find him asleep. Hunched over in a strained position, back still pressed to the table leg. She would maneuver his little body into a nicer place, curled up on the floor. And She'd stroke his hair even despite its disgusting, matted state, watching his gentle face in the weak light.
One night, as she was just about to fall asleep, she was shocked back awake by a shrill scream sounding from down the hall. She was terrified for a moment, part of her sleep-addled brain thinking that perhaps the corpses in the basement were coming back up to haunt her. But then she realized it was only Toby.
Well, she did hope he wasn’t hurt. Or in trouble. She crept out of her bed and wished for a knife from her kitchen. On the bright side, if there was an intruder, it’d make a fine addition to her menu. Though, she’d hate for the boy to see that happen. Even so, the cat wouldn’t be entirely out of the bag. Perhaps Toby would even know a thing or two about scrappy self defense. She was happy with that idea.
Toby did not scream again, and that worried her as she slunk through the hall. He would be no good to her dead. Well- perhaps he would be, just not in the way she’d thought when she hired him. She willed that thought away and wished for her lantern. Instead, she searched only with the light coming in through her windows. She had lived here for years, maybe 10, 20, 25…? She could navigate well, even in the dark.
The sound of the scream had shaken her up quite a bit. She hadn’t known the boy could make such a sound like that. She grit her teeth uncomfortably, thinking of how she’d watched him cry, that night from a while ago. What a horrible thing, to be in pain. She hoped he wasn’t hurt, for her own sake.
She eventually spotted his thin frame knelt over the arm of the armchair where he slept. She was almost sure he might’ve been wounded, as he did not lift his head when she entered, perhaps not hearing her at all. She called, “Toby?” and at the sound of his name, he did lift his head- but did not say anything. “Darling, what’s wrong?” She did not like the way her voice shook as she spoke, and she corrected it. “Did someone come through here? You need to tell me. Tell me what you saw.”
As Mrs. Lovett took a step toward him, Toby lunged backward, making a noise that sounded like fear. She paused. She looked around, and did not hear anything but the distant noises of the city. Another crack of Toby’s voice, and she realized how tensely he held himself, arms raised halfway up in defense.
She knelt, slowly. “Toby,” She tried again, sounding out the two syllables of his name carefully as she could. “What’s wrong?”
She still could not see his face. When he spoke, the sound of his voice was all she needed to picture him. Warbly, pained, like every word would hurt: “I had… a dream…”
“Alright. That’s good.” She thought. “A bad dream?”
“Yes.”
“That’s it? That’s why you screamed?”
“Yes.”
“Oh, that’s good.” She sighed. “Darling, you had me worried sick.” She rose back to her full height. “‘Woke me up.” Most likely woke the neighbors as well. She really couldn’t afford noise complaints, especially not screams. Lord, if screaming were ever to give her away, it wouldn’t even be the ones from downstairs. How ridiculous. “Why don’t you go back to sleep now, love.”
Toby said, “I’m sorry.” and in the silence, she could hear his shaking breath. “I’m sorry. I was scared. I was- I knew you’d be mad at me, but I was scared. You were- I was gonna be hurt. I thought… and you… I was… scared.” His voice broke. “I’m sorry.”
He knelt heavily across the armchair again. He’s crying, she thought, and soon the sound caught up with her. The sorrow drawled across the room, filling her head as in her lack of sight she could only hear him, sobbing as it carved out a hole inside of him. She reached blindly for his shoulder and found it shaking. Her hands failed her as he seemed to tense and shrink away. She sat down, trying once again, though she could not think of what to say.
Toby spoke instead. Gasping for air still, and coming out with another painful noise caught in his throat: “You were going to hurt me.” He shook his head. “No matter where I go, I have these- terrible dreams. Since I- Since I got here, I’ve been having… And you’re there. Watchin' me. And I always do something wrong. An’ no matter how many times I say sorry, you- you hit me.” He coughed wetly. “I been beat before. I know what it’s like. But you, you… you’re never like the dream. You never do any of it. You don’t hurt me. I don’t know why. I don’t know why.”
By the time he was finished, a couple minutes had passed by- grating, terrible minutes- and his body ceased to shake, instead laying limply as if all of the grief had been drained from him. He lay with his face buried in a puddle of his own tears and spit, and his mind swam aimlessly with thoughts too heavy for himself. He might’ve shifted his pupils to gaze in the direction he knew his owner was, but he could not bring himself to move.
What could she say to this? She stared into great empty darkness, confronted with this sorrow so great that it turned into incomprehensible horror. What does she say to that? She might’ve not even had a voice. She had to remember herself, feeling every limb again to make sure they were still there.
In the end, she did not say anything. She lifted Toby’s head, and he showed no resistance. She hoped to soothe him, perhaps only to soothe herself. She wiped the wetness away from his face pitifully, and motioned him upward, beginning to stand, herself. He stumbled back, moving his own feet, but otherwise following her hands through the dark. She wondered that if she put the boy back to sleep, the hands that guide him now would only beat him later. She pulled him along with her, and found the will to whisper to him, “It’s okay, darling. You’re safe with me. You’re okay. You’re okay…”
When she awoke the next morning, she found she still had Toby laying next to her, her arm wrapped around him. And yet his eyes were already open. When she stirred, he looked at her, his head lolled to the side.
“How long have you been awake?” She asked.
“I dunno.”
“I hope you didn’t… have another dream, like that other one.”
“I did.” He looked away. “It’s fine.”
But then, a little smile crept onto his face.
“Why are you smiling?”
“I don’t know.” He looked at her.
As he did this, she looked at him a little while longer, content to lay in comfort. Their faces only inches apart, She even thought: He looks a little like me.
Suddenly, she remembered where she was, and drew herself up. Thankfully, it seemed about the usual time she woke up. She looked to the blue light beginning to seep through the window and into the room, painting the floor familiar. She was grateful to see again.
Then she frowned, turning back to Toby who still lay softly under the covers. His smile had gone, now. She said, “Dear, you must be hungry.” She set a foot down on solid ground. “Come on, now. We’ve still got the day ahead of us.”
She spent the rest of that day trying to justify to herself the whole ordeal of the night before. It sat in her mind, a little black smudge that hurt when she poked at it too much. That night, Toby finally breached the topic, asking, to her surprise, if he could sleep in her bed again. After a lot of sheepish meandering, of course, he’d said, “Well, you know. Last night- I think it helped. With the… dream. ‘Cause, when I woke up, you were right there. So… It was okay.” Toby even looked perplexed as he said it. And scared, too, to speak it aloud.
She'd already known Toby's statement to be true, logically. But whether she had felt it, she wasn't sure. The sentiment he spoke with convinced her to take his hand and lead him along, while he chirped little thank you's all the way there.
When they reached her room, Toby untied and took off his shoes, took off his vest as he went straight to her bed, leaving his clothes in a neat pile on the floor. Then, crawling in and curling up like a dog among her blankets and sheets, he even looked happy. The beginnings of relief from earlier turned into something like peace.
She looked at him with her hands on her hips for a moment, puzzled. Then, she chuckled, coming to sit beside him. "You're comfortable, huh?"
He gave a subtle nod, eyes closed, not lifting his head. Muffled by the sleeve of his shirt, he hummed, “Mhm." Even with closed eyes, she could see a smile lifting his face. He did look awful cute, as a happy boy.
Since he had his eyes closed and seemed to be able to fall asleep any second, she began to change into her nightgown. But, defying the silence, Toby began to speak. "I'm so tired," He mumbled, taking a second to yawn before continuing. "I just been workin' all day. 'An I can't hardly keep my eyes open." He stretched himself out and laid properly on his back. "You know that feeling? When y're so tired, you can't open your eyes? Funny." She came to sit beside him again, watching him carefully. "Oh, usually nighttime's like, just waitin' around t'die. Then to wake up the next morning. But now I've got you... something t'be glad about. Ain't that nice?" He fluttered his eyes open for a moment, to look at her, then back closed.
He did not seem to expect an answer. "Very nice." She smiled adoringly. Then, reaching to put out her candle, she said, "Goodnight, dear."
He responded, "Goodnight, mum."
She had to look back at him for a moment, unsure if she'd heard him correctly. Willing to brush it aside, she soon turned back again. But, in an instant, Toby sprung up on his elbows, suddenly alarmed. "Oh! I- I didn't mean to say..." He turned his head to her, peculiar fear on his face. "Uh, I'm- Sorry, ma'am. I didn't mean..."
She said, a little put off, "...That's alright, dear."
Turning towards the light again, Toby reached forward to stop her. "No, wait! Please, try and understand-" Then, he again shrank back into himself as he tried to find his footing. A real meaningful look settled in his eyes, his voice suddenly heavy. "It- It's just that... well, I ain't ever had a real mother before. I don't even remember who they were, my parents. And, that was fine, for a while..."
He gained the same perplexed face he had before. "I guess, what I'm try'na say is... It's like I've found... a missing piece."
Toby finished the statement with seeming finality, but his voice only trailed off as if still searching for more. He expected an answer, now. She lifted his chin with her hand on his cheek and said, "Dear, there's no need to be so frightened. I don't mind." She smoothed hair out of his eyes. "We do each other favors, is how I see it. You shouldn't get the short end of this stick, should you?"
"I shouldn't?"
She chuckled. "All you do for me, dear. I suppose this is your end of the deal." He still looked a little lost. She thought this might be a little too much thinking so late at night. She said, "Now, go to sleep." and he smiled lightly.
She finally put the candle out, coating the room in darkness.
A missing piece, huh? A missing piece in his life, is what he'd meant. Well, sure, that made sense. Chrissakes, he was sleeping in her bed, now. Of all the silly things…
But it wasn't so silly, thinking of his happy face. Toby slept soundly for a while, the dreams he'd been having not yet taken hold, presumably. He was quiet, and still, out like a light. Except for the sound of slow, steady breathing, a feat he could only achieve asleep.
It was nice to have a warm body next to her. She'd forgotten what it was like. Though Toby was skinny and small, he was flesh and blood nonetheless, and she couldn't resist pulling him closer to her. Even in the disturbance, he did not make a sound, not one unconscious mumble. Perfect silence.
If the dreams ever did come to him, It was far after she'd fallen asleep. And if Toby did startle awake, still half-believing the threat was real, she did not see it happen. If he did, then he would only settle back down in her arms once more, and be glad for her, as he'd said. He was always true to his word, beyond faithful.
She’d discovered in the two mornings she’d woken up with Toby beside her, that the shirt Toby slept in was the same shirt he wore during the day- Only, untucked and with the vest on top removed. At first she was a little disgusted that she’d let him sleep in her bed with that filthy thing on. Of course, her own clothing was not much better. In the nature of that thought, if it were anyone else, she’d do anything to come out on top. But he was only a boy.
Throughout the day, she kept a closer eye on Toby than she had before. Things had certainly… developed. But she couldn’t tell if he acted any different than normal. They wove in between each other, sometimes passing by, but never enough to touch base. She watched him from afar, and the boy did not seem any different. Like a little machine, himself, chugging along…
It reminded her of being a child. She remembered clearly running to do errands, and walking back home determined to not cry. Staring at the ground, gripping the bread basket hard enough to leave a mark, watching herself take 1, 2, 3, 4, 5 steps in rapid succession, all to distract herself...
Or in the night, when she held him. She'd been able to feel the ugly curve of his ribs, and she remembered what it had been like to be so frail. Weak, starving...
She thought more on this sweet delusion Toby was having: Her as his mother. Walking the line, looking with uncertainty onto the side of it where he stood, nothing more than a boyish silhouette against the light.
When they closed the shop that day, Toby settled himself down in his usual spot beneath the table. She, however, stood above him, leaning halfway on the flat surface, looking down at him. ...A missing piece, indeed.
She began to talk. “Toby, dear… When I die, I don’t suppose you’ll want to take over the shop for me?”
He looked up at that, eyes wide. “I don’t want you to die!”
She laughed. “That’s sweet. Trust me, I don’t plan on it anytime soon.” She leaned heavily on her elbows. “But if it should come to that, I mean. I can’t have children. I can’t imagine who else it would go to. But I’m certainly not letting my business go down without a fight.” She smiled. “Y'know, when my Albert died, I got the shop. That’s the only reason It’s under my name. I still remember repainting the signs. I was very happy. Even though I only had to change a couple of letters. ‘Makes a big difference, still. You should get to try it.” She soon frowned at that, though. “I suppose that’d make it… What’s your last name, dear?”
“... I don’t know.”
Then, she smiled, shooting upright and slamming her fists on the table. “That’s it! That’s perfect, then.” She happily bent down to his level. “You’ll take my name! You’ll be my son. Toby Lovett, how’s that sound?”
He looked stunned for a moment. “Okay,” He said. The sudden gush of excitement in her heart took over for her, and she pulled him close to kiss his forehead. She beamed at his startled face, and he began to smile, too. “Okay,” In between breathless giggles, “Th-Thank you, mum. I’ll try my best.”
She hugged him tight, finally settling down on the floor beside him. “I know you will, dear.”
In between pleasantries, her hand found his, to which he happily responded. He closed his eyes, leaning his head on her shoulder and squeezing her hand. She felt the skin on his knuckles and his weight heavy in her arms. They leaned on each other.
She looked at him for a while, her newly acquired son. Now, she, too, was playing silly games of pretend. (And he showed no hesitation for this title. Of course he wouldn’t. He never did. She wondered if she would never have to beat him, for the thing in his head already did it for her.) Although, if they were only pretending, did the title really mean anything at all?
She quickly saw what was right in front of her, and thought, well, it looks pretty damn close. But, of course- He was not really hers.
But, oh, wasn’t he? In her house, in her care, in her arms. It looked pretty damn close enough.
Close enough. That’s what they’d always be. Never quite there, on every level. She lifted her gaze up to the wall opposite them.
They were a pair, now. And he would carry on her legacy, like a son should. Though she almost felt bad for cursing him with the family name, it was their cross to bear, now. That made her happy. She would be glad to have Toby by her side. An easy, cooperative pair they would be- as they already were. And they would make it through each day, together.
They leaned on each other. And despite their beating hearts, their days were full of meat pies on trays and dough rolling and customers chatting and other unflattering things. And every day went on the same, running a business, locking doors, pleasing a crowd, and sitting at the little table, letting their rotting limbs rest. There were thoughts to be had but never much to do with them. There were untrod paths and unfulfilled futures. There was happiness, but never for very long. And there was always work. And so on, and so forth, and forevermore until the end of time, until you die, and after that, too…
7 AM, and Toby rests his head on the doorframe, until he hears Mrs. Lovett call for him from within the pie shop. Then, he snaps upright, and runs to her like his whole life depends on it.