I had nowhere to go. Literally nowhere. I could spend a night or two on the platform at the station, but then what? Suddenly a lifeline flashed through my mind: The cottage! How could I have forgotten it? Though a cottage is a grand word for a halfruined shack, its still better than ending up at the station. I muttered to myself as I boarded the commuter train, leaning against the cold window and closing my eyes. Memories of the past two years crashed over me. Two years ago my parents died, leaving me alone and without any support. I couldnt afford tuition, so I dropped out of university and took a job selling produce at the market.
After all that hardship, luck finally smiled on me, and I met Thomas. He was kind and respectable. Two months later we held a modest wedding.
It seemed like life might finally be pleasant, but another test came quickly. Thomas suggested we sell the flat we inherited in central London and start a business of our own. He painted the picture so beautifully that I had no doubt his plan was right; I was convinced that once our little venture took off we would forget about money troubles. Then well be on our feet and can think about a baby. I cant wait to be a mother, I whispered, dreaming naively.
The business never got off the ground. Arguments over the money wed spent and thrown away tore us apart. Soon Thomas brought another woman home and shut the door on me.
At first I thought of calling the police, but I realised I had no grounds to accuse him. I had sold the flat and handed the proceeds over to Thomas
I stepped off at the station and walked alone along an empty platform. Early spring was creeping in, but the cottage season hadnt started yet. The threeacre plot had become overgrown and was in a sorry state after three years of neglect. Ill tidy it up and everything will be as it was, I told myself, even though I knew it would never be the same.
I found the key under the porch without difficulty, but the old wooden door had swollen and refused to open. I strained at it with all my might, but it was a stubborn task. Realising I couldnt manage, I slumped on the step and began to weep.
From the neighbouring plot I saw a wisp of smoke and heard a faint clatter. Relieved that someone was nearby, I hurried over.
Mrs. Riley? Are you home? I called.
A wiry old man, his beard tangled with weeds, emerged from his garden. He set a small fire on a barrel and was warming a grimy tin mug of water.
Who are you? Wheres Mrs. Riley? I asked, stepping back.
Dont be afraid. And please, dont call the police. Im not doing anything wrong. I live here, in the yard, he said calmly.
His voice was a deep, gentlemanly baritone, the kind youd hear from a welleducated bloke.
Are you homeless? I blurted.
Yes, he whispered, eyes dropping. Do you live nearby? I wont trouble you.
Whats your name?
Michael.
And your middle name? I pressed.
Frederick, he replied, a hint of surprise.
I studied Michael Frederick. His clothes were threadbare but fairly clean, and he seemed as tidy as one could be in his circumstances.
I dont know who to turn to for help, I sighed heavily.
What happened? he asked kindly.
My doors swollen; I cant get it open.
If you like, I can have a look, he offered.
That would be wonderful, I said, desperation in my voice.
While Michael fiddled with the hinges, I sat on the bench and thought, What right have I to judge him? Im practically homeless myself; our situations arent so different.
Emma, grab a job and youll be set! Michael shouted with a grin, giving the door a shove. Are you planning to stay the night?
Yes, where else? I replied, surprised.
Does the house have heating?
There should be a stove Im not sure, I stammered, clueless.
Right. And firewood? he asked.
I dont know, I admitted.
Fine. Go inside; Ill sort something out, he said decisively before walking away.
I spent the next hour sweeping and clearing the gloomfilled, damp cottage. It was cold and uncomfortable, and I doubted I could live there. Soon Michael returned with a bundle of logs. Seeing another human being there lifted my spirits.
He cleared the soot from the stove and lit a fire. Within an hour the cottage was warm.
The stoves lit, just keep feeding it a few sticks now and then, and put it out at night. The heat will hold until morning, he explained.
Where are you off to? Visiting neighbours? I asked.
Yes. Dont judge me harshly; Ill stay a bit on their plot. I dont feel like going back into the city I dont want to keep digging up the past.
Michael Frederick, wait. Lets have some tea first, then you can go, I said firmly.
He slipped off his coat and settled by the fire. I started, Im sorry to pry, but you dont look like a typical tramp. Why are you out here? Wheres your home, family?
Michael told me he had spent his whole life lecturing at a university, devoting his youth to academia and science. Age crept up unnoticed, and when he finally realised he was alone, it was too late to change course.
A year earlier his niece, Tara, had begun visiting. She hinted she would look after him if he left her his flat as an inheritance. He was grateful and agreed. Tara soon ingratiated herself, suggesting he sell the cramped flat in a gritty part of town and buy a decent house in the suburbs with a garden and a cosy pergola. Shed already found a bargain.
He had always dreamed of fresh air and quiet, so he didnt think twice. After the sale, Tara persuaded him to open a bank account to keep the money safe.
Uncle Mike, have a seat. Ill sort everything. Ill take a bag, just in case someones watching us, she said at the banks entrance.
She disappeared into the building, and Michael waited. Hours passedone, two, threeyet Tara never emerged. When he finally entered the bank, it was empty, with another exit on the far side.
He could not believe his own blood could be so cruel. He sat on the bench, waiting for Tara that never came. The next day he went to her address, only for a stranger to open the door and tell him Tara hadnt lived there for years; shed sold the flat two years prior.
What a bleak tale, he sighed heavily. Since then Ive been on the streets. I still cant accept that I have no home.
Believe me, I thought I was the only one, I replied. My story is similar.
Its all dreadful. Ive lived a full life and you? You left university, lost your flat but dont lose hope. Every problem has a solution. Youre young; things will get better, he tried to comfort me.
What about all this gloom? Lets have dinner! I said with a smile.
I watched him tuck into a plate of spaghetti with sausages, devouring it with gusto. My heart ached for him; he was clearly lonely and helpless.
Its terrifying, being completely alone on the street, feeling useless, I thought.
Emma, I can help you get back into university. I still have good contacts. You could study on a bursary, Michael said suddenly. I cant show up to my old colleagues looking like this, but Ill write to the rector and set up a meeting. My old friend, Constable, will vouch for you.
Thank you. That would be wonderful, I replied, relieved.
Thanks for the supper and for listening. Im off now; its late, he said, standing.
Wait. Its not right you should be leaving, I whispered.
Dont worry. I have a modest shelter on a neighbours plot. Ill drop by tomorrow, he smiled.
No need to go out. I have three spacious rooms. Take whichever you like. Honestly, Im scared to be alone. Im afraid of that stove I dont understand. You wont abandon me, will you?
Never, he promised solemnly.
Two years later I passed my exams with flying colours and was looking forward to the summer holidays. I was staying at the cottage againwell, technically I was in a student hall during term and visited the cottage on weekends and breaks.
Hey there! I called, hugging the nowcheerful Michael.
Emma! My dear! Why didnt you ring? Id have met you at the station. How did it go? Passed? he beamed.
Yes! Almost everything topgrade! I bragged. I even bought a cake. Put the kettle on, lets celebrate!
We sat together, sipping tea and sharing news.
Ive planted grapes over there, and Ill put up a pergola. Itll be lovely and cosy, he said proudly.
Brilliant! Youre the master of this place; do as you wish. I come and go, I laughed.
Michael had transformed completely. He was no longer a lonely wanderer; he had a home, a granddaughtermeand a renewed purpose. I was grateful to fate for sending me a granddad who became the father I never had and stood by me when I needed it most.
