Early Spring
Little Emily, a bright-eyed four-year-old, studied the “newcomer” who had appeared in their neighbourhood. He was a silver-haired pensioner perched on a bench, leaning on a walking stick like some wizard from a fairytale.
Emily tilted her head and asked bluntly, “Grandad, are you a wizard?”
When he chuckled and shook his head, her face fell slightly.
“Then why d’you have a staff?” she pressed.
“It helps me walk, love,” explained George Wilson, introducing himself with a warm smile. “Makes it easier to get about.”
“So you’re really old then?” Emily persisted, curiosity sparkling in her eyes.
“To you, maybe,” he laughed. “To me, not so much. Just a bad fallbroke my leg. Still healing, so the stick stays for now.”
Just then, her grandmother, Margaret, stepped out, taking Emilys hand to lead her to the park. She nodded politely at their new neighbour, and he returned the greeting. But it was Emily who formed the real bond with the sixty-two-year-old man. Shed race outside early, eager to update him on everythingthe weather, what Gran had cooked for lunch, even which of her little friends had been poorly the week before.
George always had a good chocolate sweet for her. And every time, without fail, shed unwrap it, bite exactly half, then carefully fold the rest back into the wrapper and tuck it into her coat pocket.
“Not to your taste?” he once teased.
“Its lovely! But Ive got to save some for Gran,” she said matter-of-factly.
Touched, the next time he handed her two sweets. Yet again, she took only half of each.
“Whos the lucky one now?” George asked, amused by her thriftiness.
“Mum and Dad,” she explained. “They can buy their own, but its nicer when someone gives them treats.”
“Ah, I see. Youve got a tight-knit family, havent you?” George mused. “Lucky girland a kind heart youve got.”
“Grans kind too. She loves *everyone*,” Emily began, but Margaret reappeared, taking her hand.
“Oh, George, thank you for the sweets, but reallyneither of us should indulge too much. Hope you dont mind.”
“Well, now Im stumped,” George sighed. “What *can* I give you, then?”
“Honestly, weve plenty at home,” Margaret smiled.
“Nonsense. I insist. Good neighbours share, dont they?”
Margaret relented. “Finenuts, then. And well only eat them at home, with clean hands. Deal?”
Emily and George nodded, and soon Margaret found walnuts or hazelnuts tucked in her granddaughters pockets.
“You little squirrel,” Margaret chided gently. “These arent cheap, love. George needs his medicinesee how he limps?”
“Hes *not* old, and hes *not* lame!” Emily huffed, defensive. “His legs getting better. Hes even going to ski again by winter!”
“Ski? At his age?” Margaret raised an eyebrow.
“Gran, can *I* have skis?” Emily begged. “George promised to teach me!”
On their next park stroll, Margaret spotted George striding alongno stick in sight.
“Grandad, wait for me!” Emily sprinted to catch up, matching his pace with tiny, determined steps.
“Hold ondont leave me behind!” Margaret called, hurrying after them.
Soon, the three fell into a rhythm, walking together daily. For Margaret, it became a habit; for Emily, a gamedashing ahead, dancing on the path, clambering onto benches, then marching alongside, chanting, “Left, right, left, right! Pick up your feet, eyes straight!”
Afterwards, Margaret and George would rest on the bench while Emily played with friendsthough she never left without a few nuts from George.
“You spoil her,” Margaret fretted. “Lets save this for special occasions, please?”
One evening, George confided in Margaretwidowed five years, hed finally downsized from his three-bedroom house to a flat, freeing up space for his sons family.
“I like it here. Never been much for crowds, but a few good souls nearby make all the difference.”
Two days later, a knock came at Georges door. Emily and Margaret stood there, holding a plate of scones.
“Weve brought *you* something,” Margaret said.
“Got a kettle?” Emily added.
“Absolute bliss!” George ushered them in.
Over tea, the flat felt cosy. Emily marvelled at Georges bookshelf and paintings while Margaret watched, touched by his patience as he explained each one.
“My own grandkids are grownuniversity now. Miss em,” George admitted. “Yours is luckyyoure still young!”
He handed Emily paper and pencils.
“Only retired two years myself,” Margaret said, nodding at Emily. “No time to mope. And my daughters expecting again. Blessing, reallywere all close by.”
All summer, they were inseparable. Come winter, true to her word, Margaret bought Emily skis, and the trio took to the groomed trails in the park.
George and Margaret grew so close they never walked alone now. With Emily always at her grans, the three met dailyuntil George left to visit family in London.
Emily moped, pestering Margaret, “Whens George coming back?”
“Hell be gone a month, love. Well look after his place meantime.”
But after just a week, the bench felt empty. On the eighth day, Margaret rushed outand there he was.
“Back so soon?” she gasped. “Thought youd stay longer!”
George waved it off. “Londons too loud. Everyones busysat about waiting. Saw em, had a natter, thats enough. Truth is missed you both. Feels like home here.”
“Did you bring your grandkids sweets?” Emily asked.
The adults laughed.
“No, poppet. Theyre growngot cash instead. Studies and such.”
“Glad youre back,” Margaret admitted. “Feels right, all of us here.”
Emily hugged George, melting his heart.
“Made stacks of pancakes todaylight as air. Come have some, tell us about London,” Margaret urged.
“London? Same as ever. But Ive got proper gifts for you.”
Arm in arm, they hurried inside as the first spring drizzle fell. The thaw had come early, sudden.
“Whys it so warm today?” George mused.
“Springs coming!” Emily declared. “Soon its Mothers Day, and Grans having guests*you* too, Grandad!”
“Ah, youve got me wrapped round your fingers,” George murmured, climbing the stairs.
After pancakes, he presented Emily with a painted Russian doll and Margaret a silver brooch. Back outside, they traced their usual pathsnow now grey and slushy, pavements emerging. Emily hopped between dry patches, chanting, “Left, right, left, right! Pick up your feet, eyes straight!”
Margaret and George exchanged a glance, smiling. Winter was fading. Something new was beginning.
