**Grandad’s New Purpose**
Six months had passed since Edward Wilson lost his wife. The raw, searing pain had dulled, retreating somewhere deep beneath his ribs, where it lingered like a stubborn shard of ice—only to melt at the most inconvenient moments. When a neighbour would ask, “How’s it going, Ted, managing on your own?” his eyes would glisten before he could stop them.
“Getting soft in my old age,” Ted would think, then chide himself mentally. “Then again, never had a loss like this before…”
He’d lived in the village most of his adult life. Retirement was supposed to mean endless free time, but after his wife passed, time seemed to stand still. Nothing felt worthwhile anymore—except perhaps Sunday services at the village church.
His daughter, Emily, had married and moved to the city. His grandson, Oliver, was nearly old enough for primary school. When summer arrived, Emily, her husband James, and Ollie came for a visit.
“Dad,” Emily began, pointing at the boy, “we’ve brought you a project. He was just a baby when Mum helped look after him, but now it’s your turn—time to turn him into a proper little man.”
Ted raised an eyebrow. “And what’s his dad doing, then?”
“James?” Emily laughed. “Bless him, he’s hopeless with tools. You know him—more at home with a guitar than a hammer. We’re signing Ollie up for music lessons next term, maybe even James’s class. But boys need balance, don’t they? So—help me out. I want him to grow up like you: clever with his hands, hard-working.”
Ted smirked and gave Ollie a once-over. “Right then, love. So be it. I’ll teach him what I know. While I’ve still got time…”
“Don’t start that,” Emily cut in. “You’ve years ahead of you. Just help with Ollie, that’s all I ask.”
That afternoon, Grandad took Ollie to the shed. They inspected the workbench, the shelves of tools, and began setting up the boy’s own little corner. Ted repurposed an old desk, sawing down the legs and covering the top with a sheet of zinc. Ollie needed tools, too—small ones, just his size.
A shelf above his mini workbench held tiny hammers, screwdrivers, pliers, a junior saw, and a pair of nippers. In ancient cough-drop tins (left over from Ted’s own childhood), nails of every size rattled like treasure.
Ollie was enchanted, shadowing Ted and pestering him with questions. Emily barely dragged them in for lunch before they rushed back to their “proper bloke’s work.”
“Right,” Ted announced by evening. “That’s enough for today. Tomorrow, we’re fishing—so let’s sort the gear and hit the hay early.”
Summer days flew by in happy chaos. Emily and James noticed Ted standing taller, his eyes bright again.
“Honestly, Em,” James whispered one night, “you’re a genius. A teacher through and through. You’ve given the lad a grandad to look up to—and given your dad a reason to smile.”
“Everyone needs looking after,” Emily murmured. “Big or small. We can’t let him fade away. Thank goodness Ollie’s here—better than any medicine.” She sighed and headed for the garden, just as her mum used to. The roses had to be perfect, the hedges neat. If everything stayed just so, maybe Dad wouldn’t feel the world had ended when Mum left.
When summer ended, Emily returned to the city, but James and Ollie stayed behind, helping Ted with chores.
But autumn came, and Ollie started Year One. For the occasion, Ted was invited to town—to see his grandson off in his smart little uniform. Dressed in a suit and tie (last worn a decade ago), Ted stood proudly at the school gates, gripping Ollie’s hand during assembly. As the national anthem played, his back straightened, his chest swelled, and in that moment, he made a silent vow: no more moping. He’d pour every ounce of energy into Ollie, into helping Emily—into living properly again.
Back home that evening, Ted sat at the kitchen table with a blank sheet of paper. Like a schoolboy himself, he carefully wrote a list—plans for next summer, when Ollie returned. A play area. Swings. A climbing frame. A sandpit. He’d even rig up a rope swing on the old oak by the lane—just like the one from his own childhood. Oh, and the footbridge by the stream needed fixing…
The list grew daily, more ideas sprouting like weeds. Soon, a second sheet appeared—”Accounts”—where Ted tallied up lumber, bolts, rope, paint, and sand. So much to do! If only he could get supplies delivered before winter, he could build everything come spring…
Now, Ted woke early, scribbling daily tasks on scraps of paper, determined to tick them off. Ollie visited often—weekends, holidays, half-terms. The house buzzed again. Emily scrubbed floors, baked pies, hung fresh curtains. Meanwhile, Ted, James, and Ollie tinkered in the shed, chopped firewood, skied in the woods.
On Father’s Day, Emily presented all three “her men” with matching camouflage jackets. Such laughter! Then came Mother’s Day.
“What’d you like, love?” Ted pressed.
“Go on, don’t hold back,” James added. “Our one and only lady—name it.”
“One and only?” Emily grinned. “Well… let’s say the family’s expanding. Don’t know who yet—but chances are, it’s a girl.”
Silence. Then—chaos. Cheers, hugs, James spinning Emily around, Ollie bouncing as Ted wiped his eyes.
“Thank the Lord,” Ted breathed. “Your mum always wanted a granddaughter. Though another lad wouldn’t be half bad either…”
Once calm returned (sort of), Ted raised his tea. “Right. No more gloom. Double grandkids means double the work—so I’d best not keel over yet.”
“What if it’s another boy?” he joked. “Where’ll I find enough tools?”
Ollie piped up: “I’ll share mine, Grandad. We’ll manage. Brothers do, don’t they?”
