HOMELESS
Harriet had nowhere left to go. Not a single place I could maybe spend a couple of nights on a railway station bench. And then, what? Suddenly, a tiny bell rang in her mind: The old cottage! How could I forget? Although She shook her head, almost smiling at the thought, Cottage is too generous a word for it. More like a crumbling shed. Still, better there than the platform. So reasoned Harriet.
She boarded the local train, pressing her forehead to the chilly glass, eyes slipping shut. The hurt of recent days welled up again. Two years past, Harriet had lost her parents, left completely alone with no support. Unable to pay her university fees, shed dropped out and taken a job at the market.
After so much hardship, luck had finally smiled, and soon shed met William. He was gentle and respectable. Two months later, they held a quiet wedding.
It should have been the beginning of happiness But life had one more cruel turn. William suggested she sell her parents flat in central London and use the money to start a business.
William painted such a pretty picture, Harriet never doubted him for a second. She believed her husbands plan would soon erase all their financial worries. Once were on our feet, maybe we can think about a baby. Id so love to be a mother! Harriet daydreamed, ever hopeful.
Business did not work out. Arguments over the poured-away money took their toll, and soon their marriage began to fracture. Not long after, William brought another woman home and asked Harriet to leave.
Her first thought was to phone the police, but then she realisedshe had nothing to accuse him of. She herself had sold the flat and handed William the money…
***
Stepping off at the quiet country platform, Harriet walked down the deserted path alone. It was early spring, not gardening season just yet, and in the three years since shed last come, the plot had run wild and looked woeful. No matter. Ill tidy up, and everything will be as before, she told herself, knowing deep down that nothing could ever be as before.
The key was easy enough to find under the step, but when she tried it, the wooden door refused to budge, having sagged on its hinges. No matter how she pushed or rattled, it wouldnt open. Exhausted, Harriet slumped down on the stoop and burst into tears.
Suddenly, smoke curled up from the next lot and a clatter broke the silence. Glad for any sign of life, Harriet ran over.
Aunt Cathy! Are you there? she called.
An unfamiliar elderly man, ragged and wiry, paused beside a small campfire where water steamed in a battered tin mug.
Who are you? Wheres Aunt Cathy? Harriet asked, stepping back nervously.
Please, dont be alarmed. And I beg you, dont call the police. I mean no harm. I stay here, in the yard, not in the house
His voice was surprisingly refined, gentle and almost musicalcertainly not the voice she expected.
Are you homeless? Harriet blurted out.
Yes, I suppose youre right, he answered, lowering his gaze. You must live nearby? Dont worry, I shant trouble you.
Whats your name?
Michael.
And your surname? Harriet pressed.
Surname? The old mans eyes flickered. Fletcher. Michael Fletcher.
She looked at him properlyhis clothes, though worn, were clean enough, and he was reasonably well groomed.
I dont know who to ask for help… she sighed.
Whats happened? Michael inquired kindly.
The cottage doors stuck I cant get it open.
If youll allow, I can have a look? the homeless man offered.
Thank you, Id really appreciate it, Harriet said with desperate gratitude.
While Michael fussed with the ancient latch, Harriet sat on a mossy bench and pondered: who was she to judge him? She was homeless herself nowwerent their stories oddly alike?
Harriet, there you are! Its open. Michael Fletcher smiled gently as the old door finally gave way. But are you really planning to stay here tonight?
Well, yes Where else? she said.
Is there any heating in the house?
Theres a stove, I think, she admitted, feeling utterly lost, but I know nothing about it.
And firewood?
No idea, Harriet drooped again.
Never mind. Go inside and Ill see what I can sort out, Michael said, and strode off through the garden.
Harriet spent an hour clearing cobwebs and dust. It was damp and wretchedly cold inside, and she wondered how shed ever manage. At last, Michael returned with an armful of wood. Oddly, his presence was suddenly a comfort.
He cleaned the flue, then set the fire going. In an hour, warmth began to seep into the little house.
There, the stoves burning well now, he instructed, Just feed it a little wood now and then, and put it out overnight. The warmth will last till morning.
Where will you go? To the neighbours? Harriet asked.
Yesif you dont mind. Ill camp next door for a bit. The thought of the city makes me ache. I dont want to prod at old wounds, not anymore.
Wait, Mr Fletcher. Stay for suppertheres hot tea; then you can go, Harriet insisted.
The old man silently slipped off his jacket and sat by the stove.
Im sorry to pry, but you dont look like someone who belongs on the street. Why are you here? Dont you have family, a home? Harriet asked softly.
Michael explained hed taught at the university his whole life, buried in academia, turning grey without noticing. When old age arrived sharply, he realised, far too late, that he was entirely alone.
A year ago, his niece began to visit, gently hinting shed care for him if only hed name her in his will. Michael, of course, trusted and agreed.
Later, she convinced him to sell his cramped London flat and buy a country house with a big garden and a lovely gazebo. Shed already found the placereasonably priced, too.
Hed always dreamt of fresh air and silence, so he sold up there and then. After closing the sale, his niece suggested he put the money in a bank for safe keeping.
Uncle Mike, sit on that bench and Ill sort the paperwork. Mind if I bring your bag with menever know who might be watching, shed said outside the bank.
She disappeared inside with the money. Michael waited, and waited, and waited until only the cold ticked on. Finally, asking inside, he found there was a back exit. His niece was already gone.
He tried her address the next day; a stranger answered, said shed sold up and left years ago…
Not the cheeriest story, Michael said softly. Since then, the streets been home. Its still hard to believeall Ive ever had, vanished.
I thought I was the only one Harriet confessed, and poured out her own tale.
Its hard for both of us. But youre young. You have so much ahead. Youll manage, I promise, Michael tried to console her.
Lets not dwell on sad things. Dinner! Harriet smiled.
They ate simple pasta and sausages with appetite, and Harriets heart ached for the lonely old man. He seemed so small, so lost in the world.
How wretched, to end up alone, unwanted, sitting on a bench with nowhere to go she thought.
Harriet, I could help you get back into university. I still have friends there. Im certain you could get a bursary, Michael said suddenly. I cant see my old colleagues like this, but Ill write to the Vice-ChancellorConstantine, my old mate. Hell help.
That would be wonderful! Thank you! Harriets eyes lit with hope.
Thank you for dinner, for listening. I must gogetting late, Michael said, rising to leave.
Waitwhere will you go? Harriet asked anxiously.
No worries, Ive a snug little shelter nearby. Ill drop in tomorrow.
Dont go outside. Ive three roomstake whichever you like. Honestly, Im frightened to stay here alone, what with this stove and all You wouldnt leave me to it, would you?
No. I wont leave you, Michael answered solemnly.
***
Two years slipped by. Harriet had passed her exams and cheered herself with thoughts of the long summer holidays as the train pulled her home. She was still living at the old cottage on breaks from university.
Hello! she laughed, hugging Grandpa Mike.
Harriet! My dear! Michael beamed. You should have called, Id have met your train. Did you pass?
All but one, distinctions! Harriet boasted. I brought cakeput the kettle on, lets celebrate!
Michael poured the tea and filled her in on the news.
Ive planted grapevines over there. And Ill build a little gazeboitll be lovely, he said.
Perfect! Do whatever makes it feel like home, its yours as much as mine, Harriet smiled.
He had been transformed. Michael was no longer alone; he had a home and a granddaughter, Harriet. And she, too, was alive again. Michael Fletcher had become her familysent by fate to stand by her just when she needed it most.
