Im sixty years old, long retired now, and very much living my own life. Its been a decade since I started living aloneno husband, no children at home, no friends stopping by. My sons and daughters are wrapped up in their own lives and families scattered across the country, my husband has passed away, and now its just me and my little holiday cottagethe one thing that brings me real joy and a spot of entertainment. As soon as the weather starts warming up, I head straight there, give the house and garden a good tidy, and then start planting, making flower beds. I feel at peace and completely relaxed out in the countryside.
But winters are another matterI simply cant cope with the snow, clearing it off the drive is too much. Theres no one around to lend a hand, so I have to move back to the city flat for the winter. I can manage autumn alright. This year, I caught a bit of a cold in September and stayed in the city for a week, but the moment I felt better, I rushed back to my beloved cottage village.
When I got there, I saw my gate hanging wide open. I thought, someones wandered into my garden. Inside, everything seemed as I left it, but then I caught sight of the front door, left ajar My heart racedhad the place been burgled? I tiptoed in quietly. Thankfully, nothing seemed out of place, except for a blanket I never use and a mug on the table. I always wash up straight after teaso what was going on?
Once the fright faded, I felt indignation. Who on earth had been here, making free with my things, drinking from my mug? I glanced out the window and to my surprise there, behind the house, sat a strange lad, warming his small hands by a little fire hed made for himself. Well, there was my uninvited guest.
I stepped outside and cleared my throat, keeping an eye on him. The rascal jumped, clearly startled, but instead of running, he came straight up to me.
Please, maam, Im sorryIve not been here long
His quiet, meek voice pulled on my heartstrings at once.
How long have you been here? When did you last eat?
Just two days I havent had much to eat Only a bit of bread, and theres a heel left
With a hint of pride, he showed me an old fishing rod with a piece of white bread stuck on the end.
Whats your name, lad? And how did you end up here?
Im Oliver. My mum and stepdad threw me out. I didnt want to live with them anymore
I expect the whole village is out looking for you.
No ones lookingits just how it always is. Ive run off before, gone for weeks sometimes. Nobody ever cared, no one noticed. Id only go back when I was starving, and they were never glad to see me
Turned out, the poor boy wasnt even from our village. Just the usual sad story. His mother was out of work, there were different stepdads every few months, and there was rarely much to eat at home, unless it was drink and drunken company.
After hearing all this, a terrible sadness settled in my chest, but I knew I had to do something for him. Naturally, I took the boy inside and made sure he had a proper meal; I spent half the night lying awake, trying to think what I should do next. In the morning, I remembered my old friend Margaret, who I thought might work in social services these days, so I gave her a ringif she couldnt help, at least shed know whom I should call.
Margaret promised she could help and would take charge of things. I had to gather a pile of paperwork but, after a few weeks, I was granted guardianship of Oliver. He could hardly believe his luck, and his mother never once asked after him.
These days, we live like grandmother and grandson, spending winters in the flat and the rest of the year at the cottage. Soon Oliver will be starting school, and Im confident hell do just fine; he already reads and writes beautifully and is quick at sumsand what a talented artist hes turning out to be! Sometimes I can hardly believe the beauty of what he brings home.
Looking back, I realise that sometimes the best gift you can give is simply to be there when no one else will. In helping Oliver, I found new purpose and a sense of family I thought was lost.
