The Treasure in the Garden: A Family Drama in Oakwood
Margaret had just finished tidying the house. It was time to set the table. Yesterday, she’d made a hearty vegetable soup—simply delicious! Suddenly, a loud shout echoed from outside. She nearly dropped the ladle, her heart skipping a beat.
“Gran! Grandad! Come quick, I found something!” called their grandson, Oliver.
Margaret and Albert hurried into the garden.
“Grandad, look!” Oliver held something in his hand, beaming with excitement. But Margaret was struck by something else entirely.
“Oliver, when did you dig up the vegetable patch?” she gasped, staring at the neatly turned soil.
“Took me ages,” the boy said proudly. “But look what I found!”
Albert glanced at the object in his grandson’s hand and froze, unable to believe his eyes.
—
Earlier that morning, Margaret had been on the phone with her daughter. Hanging up, she called to her husband:
“Al, they’re bringing Oliver to stay!”
Albert looked up from his laptop, where he’d been playing solitaire, and frowned.
“Which Oliver?”
They had three grandchildren. The eldest, William, was already twenty and had finished college. Their granddaughter, Emily, had just left school and was preparing to study psychology. Her parents couldn’t stop praising her—ambitious, always buried in books. She certainly wouldn’t be dropping by.
“Oh, come off it, Al, who do you think?” Margaret huffed. “Who’s the lazy one? We raised the older ones right when we still had the energy. But Oliver—that boy’s hopeless! Just scraped through Year Six with three Cs—disgraceful! And here you are, playing cards all day—some grandfather!”
“What can I do? Every man’s the architect of his own fortune!” Albert grumbled, repeating his favourite saying.
“That’s all well and good, but we’ll see what kind of ‘fortune’ he builds when he gets here,” Margaret declared.
“You shouldn’t have agreed,” Albert muttered. “Spoilt rotten, that one. Always on his phone. What’s he going to do here? Lounge about while you cook? At that age, their appetites are insatiable!”
With clear reluctance, Albert shut his laptop.
“I’ll go dig your vegetable patch, how about that?”
“Oh, what a sacrifice! Three little strips of soil for herbs and carrots. And why are they *my* patches? He’s *your* grandson too!”
“I haven’t forgotten!” Albert scowled. “But you seem to forget what *you* were like at his age. His parents can’t handle him—what makes you think we can?”
“They’ve taken his phone, by the way,” Margaret added.
“Oh for heaven’s sake!” Albert groaned and stomped outside.
Margaret started preparing lunch. Suddenly, the door slammed open—Albert had returned.
“You’re back already?” She startled, tossing chopped vegetables into the simmering chicken broth.
“It’s pouring down, Meg! Just look out the window!” Albert was clearly relieved he had an excuse not to dig in the rain. “We’ll buy what we need from the shops.”
“Like your mother used to say—‘A little rain is a lazy man’s best friend.’” Margaret smiled.
“Who’s lazy now?” Albert grumbled. “Calling *me* lazy? You’ve got a nerve!”
“Oh, stop moaning. Bring the spare blanket and pillow from the cupboard—Oliver’ll be here soon!”
“Should’ve left him with his parents,” Albert groused all evening. “End of peace and quiet—dropping a trial on us in our old age! We’ve done our bit!”
The next morning, a car pulled up outside their house in Oakwood. Out stepped Oliver—sullen, arms crossed. He managed a brief smile for his grandparents, but it didn’t last.
“What am I even supposed to *do* here?”
“Exactly! Nothing to do—that’s what I keep saying,” Albert muttered under his breath.
But Oliver heard.
“You’re not happy to see me, Grandad?”
“What’s to be happy about? You look miserable, and you’ll just be underfoot!”
“Mum, did you hear what Grandad said?” Oliver turned, but his mother, Sarah, cut in.
“Mum, Dad, don’t mind him—he’s always grumbling, just his age. Right, I’m off. I’ll fetch Oliver later, and we’ll catch up. Mum, here’s his phone—if he gets unbearable, give it to him. And don’t worry, you’ll have to repeat everything ten times. Kids these days are just… odd.” She whispered the last bit before driving off.
“Nobody needs us anymore,” Albert complained. “Dumped the boy and dashed off.”
“They’re always like that, never any time,” Oliver sighed, slinging his backpack over his shoulder and trudging inside.
“Al, maybe you could dig the vegetable patch today?” Margaret asked. “Or I’ll have nothing to plant.”
“Meg, enough about the garden! My back’s killing me—want me bedridden? You won’t find another treasure out there. Ask the boy—he’s young, full of energy!”
“What treasure, Grandad?” Oliver popped his head out from the living room.
“Thought you never listened?” Margaret chuckled. “Oh, years ago, your grandad dug up an old box.”
“What was inside?”
“Curious, are you? I’ll show you later.”
“Gran, where’s the patch to dig? Got nothing else to do,” Oliver offered suddenly.
“Spade’s in the shed. Three strips out back—take your pick,” Margaret nodded.
Oliver vanished like the wind.
“Gone treasure-hunting,” she smirked. “Maybe we should plant something for him to find?”
“Got better things to do! He’ll take two shovelfuls and quit—lazy through and through!” Albert scoffed.
“Oh, listen to you,” Margaret rolled her eyes.
Oliver toiled in the garden for over an hour. Stung by being called lazy, Albert retreated to the shed to tidy up. Margaret cleaned the house and started lunch. The soup from yesterday smelled irresistible.
Then Sarah called:
“Mum, forgot to say—Oliver’s so fussy now. Won’t touch soup, lives on pizza and sandwiches. I brought groceries—don’t trouble yourself!”
“*You* don’t trouble yourself, Marge. We’ll manage—Oliver’s with us now,” Margaret soothed.
She’d barely hung up when a shout came from outside:
“Gran! Grandad! Come quick—I found something!”
“Did Al really plant something?” Margaret wondered. But seeing Albert’s baffled face, she doubted it. They rushed into the garden.
“Grandad, look!” Oliver clutched something, eyes shining.
But Margaret gasped at something else:
“Oliver, you dug up the *entire* patch? Al, look at our grandson—strong as an ox!”
Oliver glowed under the praise.
“Did my best, Gran—Grandad’s back hurts. But look what I found! It’s practically treasure!”
Albert peered over and froze.
“Wait—that’s my wallet! Lost it last year!” he exclaimed. “Oliver, my boy! Dug the patch *and* found my missing wallet! All because of your gran—send me to the shops, make me dig, and next thing I know, my wallet’s gone! Half my pension in there! Cheers, lad!”
At lunch, to everyone’s surprise, Oliver wolfed down the soup and asked for seconds. Hard work builds an appetite! Afterward, he followed Albert to the shed to sort tools.
“This box—this is what your gran and I found years ago,” Albert showed Oliver. “Old coins and letters inside.”
“Blimey, Grandad!” Oliver stared in awe.
They tidied the shed together. Found William’s old bicycle—perfect condition, just needed air in the tyres. And when the neighbours’ grandson, Charlie—Oliver’s childhood friend—came to visit, life got even busier. Now they couldn’t drag Oliver indoors unless it was to help with something.
Turned out, Oliver *loved* helping. A bit of praise, and he was unstoppable.
“Mum and Dad never have time—they just brush me off. But it’s *brilliant* here! Can I stay longer?” he asked when it was time to leave.
“Course you can!” Albert boomed. “With a grandson like this, my back’s fixed! Who called Oliver lazy? Fine lad—reminds me of myself!”
Sarah, arriving to collect him, was stunned:
“Mum, he’s grown up so much! What did you *do*?”
“Nothing special,” Margaret smiled. “Just treated him like a person. Did things together. Oh, and he barely touched his phone—it’s on the sideboard. You were too hard on him.”
Now, Oliver jumps at every chance to visit. With them, he’s never dismissed—he *matters*. Even Albert says a helper likeEven the old vegetable patch, once just a chore, now seemed to glow with possibility under the summer sun.
