**Treasure in the Garden: A Family Tale in Woodbury**
Margaret finished tidying the house. It was time to set the table. Yesterday, she’d made a fragrant vegetable soup—absolutely delicious! Suddenly, a loud shout came from outside. She nearly dropped the ladle, her heart skipping a beat from the surprise.
“Gran! Grandad! Come quick, I found something!” called their grandson, Oliver, summoning them both.
Margaret and Albert hurried into the garden.
“Look, Grandad!” Oliver was holding something in his hand, beaming with excitement.
But what caught Margaret’s attention was something else entirely.
“Oliver, when did you manage to dig up the vegetable patch?” she gasped, staring at the neatly turned soil.
“I tried my best,” the boy said proudly. “But look what I found!”
Albert glanced at the object in his grandson’s hand and froze, disbelief washing over him.
—
Earlier that morning, Margaret had been on the phone with her daughter. Hanging up, she called to her husband:
“Bert, they’re bringing our grandson over!”
Albert looked up from his laptop, where he’d been playing solitaire, and frowned.
“Which grandson?”
They had three. The eldest, Thomas, was already twenty and had finished college. Their granddaughter, Charlotte, had just left school and was preparing to study psychology. Her parents couldn’t stop praising her—driven, always busy with her studies. She certainly wouldn’t be visiting.
“Honestly, Bert, as if you don’t know! Who’s the lazy one, then? We raised the older ones right when we still had the energy. But Oliver? Hopeless! Finished Year 6 with three Cs—disgraceful! And you’re just sat there playing cards, some grandad you are!”
“What can I do? Every man is the architect of his own fortune!” Albert muttered, repeating his favourite saying.
“That may be so, but not entirely. We’ll see what kind of architect *he* is when he gets here!” Margaret declared.
“You shouldn’t have agreed,” Albert grumbled. “Spoilt and disobedient, that one. Youngest of the lot—no discipline. What’s he even going to do here? Glue himself to his phone while you wait on him? Boys his age eat like horses!”
With clear reluctance, Albert closed his laptop.
“I’ll go dig your vegetable patch, how about that?”
“Oh, don’t be daft!” Margaret laughed. “Three little patches for herbs and carrots. And why *my* vegetable patch? He’s *our* grandson, and he’s *our* responsibility!”
“I haven’t forgotten a thing!” Albert scowled. “You’re the one who’s forgotten what *you* were like at his age. His own parents can’t handle him, let alone us!”
“They’ve taken his phone, by the way,” Margaret added.
“Well, that’s just perfect!” Albert groaned and stomped out into the garden.
Margaret started preparing lunch. Suddenly, the front door flew open—Albert was back.
“Why so soon?” she asked, stirring the chopped vegetables into the simmering chicken broth.
“It’s pouring down, Maggie! Just look out the window!” Albert was clearly relieved his back ached—no digging in the rain today. “We’ll just buy what we need at the shops.”
“Like your mother used to say, ‘A little rain is a lazy man’s blessing,'” Margaret smiled.
“And who’s the lazy one now?” Albert huffed. “Calling *me* lazy? You’re something else, Maggie!”
“Oh, stop grumbling. Fetch the spare blanket and pillow from the cupboard—Oliver’s arriving soon!”
“Oliver should’ve stayed home with his parents,” Albert muttered all evening. “No peace for us in our old age—they’ve saddled us with a right challenge! We’ve done our bit!”
The next morning, a car pulled up to their house in Woodbury. Out stepped Oliver—sulky, with a scowl on his face. He did manage a small smile for his grandparents when greeting them, but it quickly vanished.
“What am I even supposed to do here?”
“That’s *exactly* what I was thinking—nothing to do here,” Albert mumbled under his breath.
But Oliver heard.
“Are you not happy to see me, Grandad?”
“What’s there to be happy about? You look miserable, and you’ll just be more trouble for us!”
“Mum, did you hear what Grandad just said?” Oliver turned to his mother, Emma, but she cut him off.
“Mum, Dad, ignore him—he just loves a good grumble, it’s his age. Right, I’m off—I’ll pick Oliver up later and we’ll catch up then. Mum, here’s his phone—if he gets too much, just hand it over. And don’t stress, he needs everything repeated a hundred times. Kids these days are all the same,” Emma whispered before driving off.
“No one cares about us,” Albert muttered. “Just dumped the lad here and dashed off.”
“They’re always like that—never a spare minute,” Oliver sighed, slinging his backpack over his shoulder and trudging inside.
“Bert, maybe you could dig the vegetable patch today?” Margaret asked. “Otherwise, I won’t get anything planted.”
“Maggie, enough about that blessed patch! My back’s killing me—you want me laid up in bed? Not like you’ll find another treasure there. Ask the boy—he’s young and full of energy!” Albert grumbled.
“What treasure, Grandad?” Oliver poked his head out from the living room.
“I thought you never listened?” Margaret chuckled. “Well, your grandad once dug up an old jewellery box in the garden.”
“What was inside?”
“Interested? I’ll show you later.”
“Gran, where do I dig? Got nothing better to do anyway,” Oliver offered suddenly.
“The spade’s in the shed—three patches behind the house. Take your pick,” Margaret nodded.
Oliver raced off like the wind.
“Gone as quick as a flash—looking for treasure,” Margaret grinned. “Should we plant something for him to find?”
“I’ve got better things to do! He’ll take two digs and give up—lazy as they come!” Albert waved him off.
“Oh, listen to you—who’s the kettle calling the pot black?” Margaret shook her head.
Oliver spent over an hour digging. Offended at being called lazy, Albert went to tidy the shed. Margaret cleaned the house and began cooking. The soup smelled heavenly.
Then Emma called.
“Mum, forgot to mention—Oliver’s become so fussy lately. Won’t touch soup, just lives on pizza and sandwiches. I brought some groceries—don’t fuss over him!”
“*You* don’t fuss, love. If Oliver’s here, we’ll manage,” Margaret reassured her.
Just as she hung up, a shout came from outside.
“Gran! Grandad! I found something—come quick!”
“Did Bert actually plant something?” Margaret wondered. But the stunned look on Albert’s face told her otherwise. They rushed outside.
“Grandad, look!” Oliver was clutching something, eyes shining.
But Margaret gasped at what *else* she saw.
“Oliver, you dug up *all* the patches?! Bert, look how strong our grandson is—not everyone could do that!”
Oliver glowed under the praise.
“I tried, Gran—Grandad’s back hurts. But look what I found! It’s almost a treasure!”
Albert stared—then froze.
“Hang on—that’s my wallet! The one I lost last year!” he exclaimed. “Oliver, you’re a star! Dug up the garden *and* found what I lost! All because Gran kept nagging—one minute to the shops, next minute digging. Then—poof!—no wallet, with half my pension inside! Cheers, Oliver!”
At lunch, to everyone’s surprise, Oliver devoured the soup and even asked for seconds. Hard work builds an appetite! Afterwards, he and Albert sorted through tools in the shed.
“This jewellery box is what Gran and I found,” Albert showed him. Memories inside—old coins and letters.”
“Wow, Grandad!” Oliver gazed at him in awe.
They tidied the shed together. Found Thomas’s old bike—still in great shape, just needed the tyres pumped. And when the neighbours’ grandson, Jacob—an old friend of Oliver’s—came to visit, the place truly came alive. Now, Oliver barely came indoors unless it was to help with the next task.
Turned out, Oliver *loved* helping—especially when praised.
“Mum and Dad are always here and there—they just wave me off. But it’s *brilliant* here! Can I stay longer?” he asked when it was time to leave.
“Of course, lad!” Albert exclaimed. “With a grandson like you, my back doesn’t even ache anymore. Who said Oliver was lazy? Top lad—reminds me of myself!”
When Emma came to collect him, she was stunned.
“Mum, he’s grown—so much more mature! What did you ***”Oh, just gave him a bit of time and praise—seems that’s all he really needed.”**
