So, listen to this I had just got back home after being away for a week, and the first thing I notice is the front door wide open. Straight away I think, Oh no, someones broken in. I reckon they thought Id stashed some cash or jewellery at home, you know how it is.
My names Margaret Harrison, by the way, and Im sixty-two. Ive been on my own for five years now. Lost my husband, and my grown-up kids all have their own lives. I split my time between my little cottage just outside Oxford and a two-bedroom flat in the city. I stay at the cottage as long as theres no frost, and as soon as the weather warms up, Im out there again.
I adore rural life just taking in the fresh air, pottering about the garden, picking apples. And theres this lovely wood not far off where you can find mushrooms and wild blackberries in summer.
Anyway, I had to pop into London for some errands and was away for a whole week. So when I get back, the doors open and I immediately panic someone must have let themselves in. Probably hoping Ive got a stash of pounds or family silver somewhere, I think. But when I look around, nothings been nicked, and theres no sign of a forced entry. Everythings exactly where I left it. Except, theres a plate on the kitchen table, and I never, ever leave dishes lying about, especially if I know Ill be away for ages.
It hits me someones been living here while I was gone. And Im absolutely furious. But then I step into the sitting room, and theres this little boy fast asleep on my sofa. Suddenly, everything makes sense.
He wakes up, blinks at me, and, without a hint of panic, just says, Im really sorry for just turning up like this.
I can see straightaway hes a polite, gentle soul, and my heart just goes out to him.
How long have you been here? I ask.
Two days, he replies.
Arent you hungry? What have you been eating?
I had some pasties with me. Theres a bit left, do you want some?
He even offers me one from his bag a couple of cold, decidedly stale Cornish pasties.
Whats your name?
Oliver.
Im Margaret Harrison. Where are your parents, love? Are you lost?
He looks down and starts to explain. My mum always leaves me on my own. And when she does come back, shes always angry and shouts at me. She says I ruin her life and that if it wasnt for me, shed be happy. Two days ago she started shouting again, and I just couldnt take it anymore, so I left.
Do you think shes looking for you now?
Im sure shes not. Its not the first time Ive left home, and sometimes Im gone for weeks and she doesnt even notice. Its easier for her if Im not there. And when I come back, shes never happy to see me.
Turned out his mum spends most of her time out and about, looking for new boyfriends and crashing at friends places. Olivers left to fend for himself, with no one around to properly look after him.
Honestly, my heart just broke for the boy. But what could I do? Im a pensioner no way social services in England would let me become his official guardian, and the poor lad wanted absolutely nothing to do with going into care. So, I fed him a proper dinner and told him he could stay with me one more night. Hed be safer here than anywhere else.
I barely slept that night, worrying about what on earth would happen to Oliver. Then I remembered my old friend, Jean Middleton, who works in child welfare. So first thing in the morning, I ring her up for advice.
Jean said shed help, but Id need to give it some time. Just a few weeks later, I was able to adopt Oliver. He was over the moon. His mother didnt hesitate to sign away her parental rights when she learnt someone wanted to look after him.
Now its just the two of us living together, and Oliver tells everyone Im his gran. And honestly, I feel so lucky its like fate handed me a grandson.
Hes such a bright, capable kid. This September he started Year One, and I love hearing his teachers glowing comments about him. Oliver picked up reading in no time and does maths as if hes been doing it for years.
So, thats how it all turned out. And you know, I think both our lives are all the better for it.
