Im sixty-six and, since the start of January, Ive been living with a fifteen-year-old girl who isnt my daughter. Shes the daughter of my neighbour, who sadly went to meet her maker just before the New Year. Theyd shared a tiny rented bedsit three doors down from mineone bed for the pair of them, a makeshift kitchen, and a little table that doubled as their dining room, study, and workspace. The place didnt see much in the way of creature comforts. They got by with only the bare essentials.
The mum had been ill for years, but still somehow managed to work every single day. While I peddled catalogues door to door and delivered orders, shed set up a stall outside the block, selling sausage rolls, porridge pots, and cartons of squash. Her daughter would help out after schoolcooking, serving, tidying up. I often watched them, late into the evening, shutting up shop, bone-tired, counting coins to see if they had enough for the next day. The mum took great pride in her independence and was fiercely hard working. She never asked anyone for help. When I could, Id buy them a bit of shopping or take round something Id cooked, always quietly so as not to offend her pride.
No one ever dropped by at their place. No family, no visitors. The mum never spoke of brothers, sisters, cousins, or parents. The girl grew up like thatjust her and her mum, learning from an early age how to help, not to ask for more, and to make do with what she had. Looking back now, I wonder if I should have insisted on helping more, but at the time, I respected the boundaries she set.
Her mums passing caught us all off guard. One day she was heading off to work, the next she was gone. No long farewells, no relatives appearing from the woodwork. The girl was left in their bedsit, alone, rent still due, the bills piling up, with school looming. I remember her face in those dayswandering back and forth, lost, scared shed end up on the street, unsure if someone would take her in or send her off to some distant stranger.
So I made up my mind and invited her into my home. No committee meetings, no grand speeches. I just told her she could stay with me. She packed her clothes into a few bagsthe sum total of her possessionsand off we went. We locked up the flat, tracked down the landlord, who thankfully understood the situation.
Now shes living with me. Shes not here as a burden, and not as someone expecting everything done for her. Weve split the chores. I handle the cooking and food shopping. She helps with the cleaningshe does the washing up, tidies her bed, sweeps, and sorts out the shared spaces. We both know our roles. Theres no shouting or bossing about. Everythings discussed.
I handle her expensesclothes, exercise books, school bits and bobs, and pocket money for snacks. Her schools two streets away from ours.
I wont lie, moneys tighter now, but that doesnt bother me. Id much rather it this way than know shes on her own, facing the same uncertainty she lived through with her poorly mum.
Shes got no one else. And I, lets be honest, dont have children living with me. In my mind, anyone would do the same. And what do you think about my story?
