HOMELESS
I truly had nowhere left to go. Not even for a night. I sat on a bench in Waterloo Station, trying to convince myself it would be okay to stay there for a night or two, but what about after that? Suddenly, a thought came to me that felt like a lifelinethe cottage! How could I have forgotten it? Well, calling it a cottage was a stretch. It was more an old, crumbling hut on the outskirts of Kent, but better that than another night in a train station.
Clutching my worn duffle bag, I boarded the train heading out of the city, pressed my cheek to the chilly window, and closed my eyes. The events of the past few years replayed sharply in my mind. Two years ago, my parents died in an accident and I was left utterly alone. The little money I had wasnt enough to pay university tuition, so I had to drop out and take an exhausting job at the market.
Things took a turn when fortune finally smiled on me for a brief while. I met Edwardkind, polite, and everything I thought I was missing. Just two months later, we had a modest wedding and moved into my parents’ flat in Central London.
It shouldve been a happy new beginning. But life rarely follows our plans. Edward suggested we sell the flat to fund a business hed dreamed up. He made it sound so promising, and I trusted him completely. Surely, our money worries would soon be over, and maybe, just maybe, we could think about starting a family. I desperately wanted to become a mother.
The business failed, disastrously. Arguments over money followed, tearing at our already fragile bond. Soon after, Edward brought another woman home, and coldly asked me to leave. It all happened so quickly.
At first, I thought about going to the police, but realised there was nothing I could accuse him of. I had signed the papers to sell the flat and handed him the money myself.
***
I arrived at the little station in Kent just as dusk was falling and drifted alone down the overgrown lane. Spring had barely crept in, and it would be weeks before anyone else came out this way. The garden was wild and neglected after years of disuse, the cottage barely more than a shell. Still, I told myself Id sort it out. Clinging to the idea, even though I knew things could never really go back to the way they were.
The key was still hidden beneath the porch, but the swollen wooden door refused to budge no matter how I pushed. After struggling fruitlessly, I slumped down on the step and burst into tears, drained and hopeless.
Just then, a wisp of smoke curled from the neighbouring plot. I heard the muffled clatter of someone moving about. Relief flooded meperhaps the neighbours had arrived early this year. I hurried over.
Aunt Rosemary? Is that you? I called.
Instead, I saw an elderly man, overgrown beard and all, warming water over a small fire in a battered tin mug. He looked up at me with gentle surprise.
Who are you? Wheres Aunt Rosemary? I asked, taking an involuntary step backwards.
Dont be alarmed, please, and dont call the police. I mean no harm to anyone. I just live out here, in the open. I dont go into the house, I promise, he said quietly.
Strangely, his voice reassured mea cultured, warm baritonenothing like what Id have expected. Clearly, hed once been an educated, well-spoken man.
Are you homeless? I blurted out, realising too late how rude it sounded.
Yes, thats right, he said, eyes downcast. Do you live around here? Dont worry, I wont be any bother to you.
Whats your name?
Michael.
And your family name? I pressed.
He looked momentarily surprised. Fredericks.
I took in his appearance. His clothes were threadbare but relatively clean, and there was an air of dignity about him.
I dont know who to ask for help I said quietly, my voice shaking.
Whats happened? he asked, kindly.
My doors stuck, I cant get it open.
If you dont mind, Ill take a look, he offered.
Id appreciate that more than I can say, I replied, almost desperately.
While Michael fiddled with the door, I sat numb on the bench, thinking about how little separated uswe both were, in a sense, homeless. Who was I to judge his circumstances?
Miss, there you go! Michael said, smiling as the door creaked open. Are you staying the night then?
Of course, where else? I said, surprised at the question.
Is there any heating inside? he asked, practical.
Theres a wood stove I think, but I havent got a clue how it works, I admitted, feeling suddenly overwhelmed.
And firewood?
No idea, I admitted again, lost.
Alright, pop inside, Ill sort something, Michael said and walked out briskly.
I spent nearly an hour tidying up inside, shivering in the cold, damp space, heart heavy with despair. Before long, Michael showed up, arms laden with firewood. I was honestly happier to have his company than Id have expected.
Methodically, he cleaned out the stove and soon had a cheerful fire burning. Within an hour, the cottage already felt warmer.
Keep feeding the stove a little at a time, and put it out before bed. The warmth will hold through til morning, he advised.
And where will you go? I asked.
To the neighbours plot, for now. I cant face going back to Londonnot with nothing there but memories.
Wait, have dinner with me first. Ive tea and a bit of supper, I said, more firmly than Id intended.
He didnt protest, simply hung his old jacket by the stove and sat down.
Forgive me asking, but youre not what I expected a homeless person to be. How did you end up here? No family?
He told me hed been a university lecturer, spending his entire career on teaching and research. Old age crept up unnoticed, until he found himself truly alone.
A year ago, a niece began visiting. She gently promised to care for him, provided he would leave his flat to her. Desperate for company, he agreed. She persuaded him to sell his London flat for a snug cottage with a big garden out herea perfect retirement. He trusted her. After the sale, she suggested they deposit the money in a bank for safety. At the bank, she took the bag and disappeared through a side exit. He waited for hours.
She never returned, and when he finally tracked down her old address, a stranger told him she’d sold up and left two years before.
And so, here I am, with nothing and no family, living out here, he finished with a tired sigh.
Its a sad story, I said softly. I thought I was the only one with such luck I told him everything that had happened to me. He listened sympathetically.
Its all a bit grim, isnt it? But Ive lived my life. Youre young, everything can be rebuilt. Dont lose hopetheres always a way, he encouraged.
Lets not dwell on the miserycome, the teas ready, I said, forcing myself to smile.
I watched as he tucked into pasta and sausages, eating with a gusto that made me ache with sorrow for his loneliness. I thought to myself, How frightening it must be to end up completely alone, unwanted.
Afterwards, he surprised me by saying, I could help you get back into university, you know. I still have friends there. Ill write a letter to Professor Collins, an old mate of mine. You should meet him; Im sure hed help you find a grant place.
That would be wonderful, thank you! I replied, hope flickering for the first time in months.
Thank you for supper and for listening, Michael said, rising. I should go, its late.
No, please. I dont like the thought of you out there. There are three bedroomsstay in one. Honestly, Im frightened here, too. I dont understand this stove, and Im useless on my own, I admitted quietly.
He considered, then nodded. I wont leave you. Youre not alone anymore.
***
Two years have passed. I passed my exams, and now with summer holidays on the horizon, I made my way back to our little Kent cottage. Officially, I lived in university accommodation, but I always hurried back here for weekends and breaks.
Hello! I called as I hugged Grandpa Michaelhed become that to me.
My dear, youre here! Why didnt you phone? Id have met you at the station. How did the exams go? His eyes sparkled.
I did really well! Almost all distinctions! I grinned. And I brought cakeput on the kettle, lets celebrate!
We sat together sharing news over tea. Michael had planted grapes and begun building a little pergola in the garden. Itll be lovely to sit here in the shade, he said proudly. I laughed and told him he was the master of the place.
Hed changed completely. No longer alonehe had a home again, and, as he said with a smile, a granddaughter. I, too, had found family after all. Im endlessly grateful that fate brought us togetherhe became my true granddad, the family I desperately needed when I had no one else.
