HOMELESS
Emily found herself with nowhere left to gonot truly anywhere at all. A couple of nights on the benches at Paddington, maybe. But then what? Despair gnawed at the edges of her thoughts, until something flickered warmly in her mind: The allotment! How could I have forgotten? But even in her own head, allotment sounded more generous than the truthwhat stood there was a near-collapsed garden shed. Yet even so, Emily reasoned, it was better than a station platform.
She boarded the train from London, leaning her cheek against the cold glass and closing her eyes. Memories battered her: parents gone, support vanished, university abandoned when funds ran dry. The market stalls had become her only lifeline.
After all that, fate had seemed to toss her a rare bone, and she met someone she thought was love. Oliver appeared a good, decent man, and two months after that first meeting, a modest wedding brought a glint of hope back to her days.
But it seemed joy was never meant to linger; another trial lay in wait for Emily. Oliver suggested they sell her familys beloved flat in the heart of Bath, and use the proceeds to start a small shop. He painted the plan in colours so bright that Emilystill a little naïvecouldn’t doubt him. She imagined a future where money was no longer a worry, and even, one day, a baby of their own. Once our feet are under us, well talk about little ones. I want nothing more than to be a mother! she dreamed.
The shop never blossomed. Fights flared over the squandered pounds, and soon their threadbare marriage unravelled. Oliver brought a new woman home, and Emily was simply shown the door.
At first, all she wanted was to run to the police, but what would she have told them? She sold her own flatand handed Oliver every penny herself.
***
At the small village station, Emily stepped into the biting wind and wandered along the empty platform. Spring was barely stirring; not a single other person in sight. The plot had grown wild over the past three years, brambles and nettles making a tangled mess of what she remembered. Oh well, Ill tidy up; maybe things will feel like they used to, she lied to herself, knowing deep-down things could never be the same.
She quickly rooted out the old key from beneath a chipped paving stone, but the swollen wooden door refused to budge. She prised at it with numb fingers until tears burned her eyes and she slumped in defeat against the step.
Then, across the hedge, she caught a whisper of smoke and the distant clatter of movement. Emilys heart raceda neighbour! She hurried over.
Aunt May! Are you home? she called.
Instead, an unfamiliar old manwildly bearded, yet somehow dignifiedwas crouched beside a feeble fire, boiling water in a battered tin mug.
Who are you? Wheres Aunt May? Emily asked, edging back.
Dont worry, the old man replied, his voice cultured, deepa voice you might expect to hear giving lectures at Oxford. Please, dont ring the police. Im only here in the garden. I dont go inside.
Are you homeless? Emily blurted, embarrassed by her own bluntness.
Yes, Im afraid I am. He lowered gentle eyes to the ground. You live nearby? I wont trouble you.
Whats your name?
Michael.
And your surname? she asked quietly.
Surname? He seemed amused. Fletcher. Michael Fletcher.
She studied him. His clothes, while worn, were cleanish; there was a certain dignity about him, despite his situation.
I dont know who to turn to, she finally admitted, voice brittle as dry grass.
Whats wrong, dear? Michaels tone was kind.
My door wont open. Its stuck; I cant get in.
Ill take a look, if you like, he offered.
Thank you, she whispered.
As Michael fiddled with the swollen doorframe, Emily sat on the cold bench, thinking: Who am I to scorn him? Im just as losthomeless in my own way.
Emily, all done! Michael Fletcher smiled, shouldering the door open. Are you planning to spend the night in that old place?
Well, yes, where else? she shrugged.
Is there heating?
Theres a stove I think. Dont really know how it works, though.
Any logs?
Not sure, she admitted, feeling helpless.
Go on in. Ill work something out, he said, then vanished into the shadows.
Inside, Emily tried to impose order on the chaos, but the cold pressed in, sharp and unkind. She shivered, not daring to hope she could survive here alone. Then, unexpectedly, Michael returned, arms full of firewood. She was strangely glad of his companyjust having another human soul around was something.
He coaxed the old stove to life, and soon the shed-turned-chalet grew warm.
There we are, Michael said, satisfied. Add a small bit now and then. At bedtime, let it die downyoull be warm until morning.
What about you? Will you be all right? Emily asked.
Ill make do in the next garden, Michael said softly. No use going back to the citytoo many ghosts there, too many memories.
Dont go yet. At least have a cup of tea and something to eat with me first, Emily insisted.
He smiled, accepted her offer, and sat by the glowing stove.
Forgive me for asking You dont seem like someone whod end up well, out here. What happened? she asked gently.
Michael explained that hed spent his life teaching at university. All his years devoted to students, to research. Old age crept up quietly, and he found himself quite utterly alone.
A year ago, a niece began to visit, speaking softly of her willingness to care for him if only hed leave her the flat in his will. Michael, craving companionship, agreed.
The story played out almost as old as trust itself: The niece convinced him to swap his London flat for a cottage in Kent, tucked away among apple trees and foxgloves. She insisted he shouldnt carry so much money about, and undertook to deposit it for him. At the bank, she took the envelope and vanished through the side entrance. He waited for hours, never saw her again. At her old address, a stranger explained that the niece had sold the flat years ago.
So, you see A rather gloomy tale, Michael finished, eyes glistening in the glow.
Emily found her own story spilling out, her voice low. Michael patted her arm. Youre still young, Emily. Theres time for things to mend. Every problems got its answerjust dont lose hope.
Shall we stop with the doom and gloom, and eat? she said, managing a smile.
She watched as Michael devoured the cheap supper shed madespaghetti and sausage slicesgrateful that she could share what little she had.
Its frightful, truly, to end up alone, Emily thought, to know that no one will look for you, no one would miss you if you vanished.
Then, out of nowhere, Michael said, I can help you get back into your course, if youd like. I still know folks at the collegeIll write to the head, hes an old friend. You can meet with him. You might get a scholarship, you know.
That would be wonderful! Emilys eyes shone with hope.
Michael gathered himself to leave. Thank you, dear, for supper for listening. Its late, Ill be off, he said.
Dont go, she whispered, suddenly afraid of the stove, the night, her own solitude. There are three rooms here. Please, stay. Truth is, Im scared to be by myself.
I wont abandon you, Michael said softly, and in his eyes Emily saw the promise was real.
***
Two years turned, and summer holidays came round again. Emily, now almost finished with her course, rode the train out of the city once more. The allotment hut had become something close to a home, though she lived in the halls during term time.
Hello! she called, as she reached the old garden, flinging her arms around Granddad Mike.
Emily, my dear! You should have rung, I’d have come down to meet you. Well? Did you pass all your exams? he grinned.
Yes! Nearly all firsts! she laughed, raising a bakery-box. Tea and cake to celebrate!
They sat in the garden, sipping tea, sharing small stories.
Ive planted grapevines. Ill build a little arbour over theremake it nice and cosy, Michael said.
Youre in charge heredo what you like! I just come and go, like a guest, Emily teased.
Michaels world had changed; he was no longer alone. The plot was tidy, the fence mended, and here was a granddaughter in all but name. Emily, too, had found her anchor: Michael wasnt just shelter, but family given by fate. She was grateful for the strange twist of fortune that had given her a grandfathersomeone to care, and to care for, when she needed it most.
