Early Spring
Little Emily, a four-year-old girl, was eyeing the “newcomer” whod recently appeared in their courtyard. He was a silver-haired pensioner, perched on a bench with a walking stick in hand, leaning on it like a wizard from a fairy tale.
Emily couldnt help but ask:
“Grandad, are you a wizard?”
When he shook his head, her face fell just a bit.
“Then why dyou have a staff?” she pressed.
“It helps me walk, love. Makes things easier,” explained George Wilson, introducing himself.
“So, youre really old, then?” Emily inquired, curiosity undimmed.
“By your standards, maybe. By mine? Not so much. Just a bad fallbroke my leg. So, Im stuck with this stick for now.”
Just then, Emilys grandmother appeared, took her hand, and steered her toward the park. Margaret Bennett greeted the new neighbour with a smile, which he returned. But the real friendship blossomed between George and Emily. The little girl, always a step ahead of her grandmother, would dash outside early to update her elderly friend on everything: the weather, what Gran had cooked for lunch, and even her best friends sniffles from a week ago.
George never failed to treat Emily to a posh chocolate. And every time, without fail, shed thank him, unwrap it, bite off exactly half, then carefully rewrap the rest and tuck it into her coat pocket.
“Not a fan?” George once teased.
“Its lovely! But Im saving half for Gran,” she explained.
Touched, he brought two chocolates the next time. Yet again, Emily bit one in half and stashed the remainder.
“Whos the lucky one now?” George asked, amused by her thriftiness.
“Mum and Dad. They could buy their own, but they like being treated,” she clarified.
“Ah, I see. Youve got a tight-knit family. Lucky girland a kind heart to boot.”
“Grans kind too. She loves everyone,” Emily began, but Margaret had already emerged, reaching for her hand.
“Oh, George, thank you for the sweets, but reallyEmily and I shouldnt indulge. Doctors orders,” Margaret said apologetically.
“Well, now Im stumped. What *can* I give you, then?”
“Weve got everything at home. Truly, nothing needed,” Margaret smiled.
“Nonsense. I insist. Besides, Im cementing neighbourly relationsno shame in that,” George chuckled.
“Fine. Nuts it is. And well only eat them at home, with clean hands. Deal?” Margaret looked between George and Emily.
They nodded. Soon, Margaret found walnuts or hazelnuts tucked in Emilys pockets.
“My little squirrel,” she sighed. “Dyou know these are dear these days? George needs his medicine, lovehes got a bad leg.”
“Hes *not* old, and hes *not* lame!” Emily huffed. “His legs getting better. Hes even going skiing by winter!”
“Skiing?” Margaret raised an eyebrow. “Well, good for him.”
“Gran, can I get skis too?” Emily begged. “George said hed teach me!”
On their park walks, Margaret began spotting George striding along the pathsno stick in sight.
“Grandad, wait for me!” Emily would sprint to catch up, matching his pace.
“Hold on, thenwait for *me*,” Margaret would laugh, hurrying after them.
Soon, the trio fell into a rhythm. For Margaret, it was a pleasant stroll; for Emily, a game. The girls energy was boundlessdancing ahead, scrambling onto benches, then marching beside them, chanting, “Left-right, left-right! Heels down, eyes front!”
Afterward, Margaret and George would rest on the bench while Emily played with friendsnever without a few nuts from George slipped into her pocket first.
“You spoil her,” Margaret fretted. “Lets save treats for holidays, please?”
Over time, George confided in Margaret: hed been a widower for five years, had finally downsized from a three-bedroom to a one-bed flat, and gifted the other to his sons family.
“I like it here. Not one for crowds, but a bit of companys niceespecially next-door.”
Two days later, a knock came at Georges door. There stood Emily and Margaret, bearing a plate of scones.
“Our turn to treat *you*,” Margaret said.
“Got a kettle?” Emily piped up.
“Absolutelywhat a delight!” George ushered them in.
Over tea, the flat felt cosy. Emily marveled at Georges bookshelf and his collection of watercolours, while Margaret watched, touched by his patience as he explained each painting.
“My own grandkids are off at uni. Miss em,” George admitted. “But your grans still young!” He ruffled Emilys hair and handed her paper and pencils.
“Only two years retiredno time to mope,” Margaret nodded at Emily. “Plus, my daughters expecting again. Lucky were just next door, really. Feels like were all together.”
All summer, the trio thrived. Come winter, true to her word, Margaret bought Emily skis, and they took to the groomed trails in the park.
George and Margaret grew so close they scarcely walked apart. With Emily (who skipped nursery) usually at Grans, the three met daily. But then George left to visit family in London.
Emily moped. “Whens George coming back?”
“A full month, love. Said hed make the most of it. Well keep an eye on his flatthats what friends do,” Margaret said, though she missed him too: his little gifts, his cheer, the way hed fix a loose socket or replace a bulb.
After just a week, the bench felt empty. On the eighth day, hurrying out, Margaret stopped shortthere sat George.
“Back so soon? You said youd stay longer!”
“Bah,” George waved. “Londons noise wore me out. Everyones busy till evening. Saw em, had a chinwagthats enough. Truth is, I missed you two. Feels like youre family now.”
“Did you bring your grandkids chocolates?” Emily asked.
The adults laughed.
“No, poppet. Theyre all grown up. Gave em cash insteadstudents always skint,” George winked.
“Glad youre back. Feels right, all of us here,” Margaret smiled.
Emily hugged George, melting him completely.
“Weve stacks of pancakes today. All sorts of fillingsjust as good as scones. Come for tea and tell us about London,” Margaret urged.
“London? Same as ever. But waitIve brought surprises.” George took Margarets arm and Emilys hand as they headed inside, just as the first spring drizzle began. The thaw was early, unexpected.
“Whys it so warm today?” George mused, glancing at Margaret.
“Cause springs coming!” Emily declared. “Soon its Mothers Day, and Grans having guests. Youre invited, Grandad!”
“Ah, youre priceless, my dearest neighbours,” George sighed, climbing the stairs.
After pancakes, he unveiled his gifts: a bright Russian doll for Emily, a silver brooch for Margaret. Back outside, they walked their usual route, the snow now grey and slushy. Emily hopped over drying paving stones, chanting, “Left-right, left-right! Heels down, eyes front!”
George and Margaret exchanged a glance, quickened their pace, and followed their tiny commander into the budding spring.
