We had visitors in the house. To be honest, we almost always had people dropping by.
Everyone kept drinking and drinking; the table was covered in bottles, but there wasnt a bite to eat. Not even a crust of bread. Just ashtrays full of cigarette stubs and an empty tin of pilchards. I took another long look at the table, hoping Id missed something, but there was nothing.
Alright, Mum, Im off, I said, slowly pulling on my battered boots. Secretly, I still hoped Mum would stop me, maybe say, Where are you off to, lad? Its freezing out, and youve not even eaten. Stay home. Ill make some porridge, send the visitors away, and clean up in here.
I always longed for a gentle word from her, but Mum wasnt one for kindness. Her words prickled, making me want to curl up tight and vanish.
But this time, I decided I was leaving for good. I was six years old and fancied myself quite grown-up. My first order of business was to earn some money and buy myself a proper rollmaybe two, if luck was with me. My stomach grumbled with hunger.
I hadnt a clue how to go about earning money, but as I wandered past the corner shops, I noticed an empty bottle sticking out of the snow. I pocketed it. Then I found a discarded carrier and spent half the day trawling the pavements for empty bottles.
After a while, Id collected quite a lot. The bag jingled as I walked. I started picturing a lovely, fresh roll with poppy seedsor perhaps one with currants, maybe even sugar icing if I managed enough bottles. But I knew Id never afford the icing, so decided to look for a few more.
I wandered over towards the railway platform, where blokes would wait for their train with a pint. Setting my heavy bag down by the kiosk, I ran off to grab another freshly discarded bottle. Just then, some rough-looking man appeared. He snatched my bag, glared at me, and I had no choice but to turn away quietly as he made off with everything Id worked so hard to gather.
Just like that, my dream of a warm roll vanished like morning mist.
Even bottle-collectings no easy game, I muttered, trudging down the slushy pavement.
The wet snow clung to my feet, soaking my thin socks and freezing me numb. Darkness crept in. I dont quite remember how I ended up in some block of flats, collapsing on a landing. I huddled near a radiator and drifted off into a deep, feverish sleep.
When I woke, I wasnt sure if I was dreaming. It was warm, peaceful, and there was the smell of something utterly delicious. Then a woman walked in, smiling kindly.
Well, young man, she said, her voice all soft and comforting, are you warm now? Had a good sleep? Breakfast is waiting, dont you worry. I found you last night, curled up like a kitten in the hallway, and brought you home.
Is this my home now? I asked, barely believing my luck.
If you havent got one, then why not? she replied.
From then on, my life turned into something out of a fairytale. This kind woman fed me, cared for me, and bought me new clothes. I eventually told her everything about Mum and home.
Her name was Lily. To me, it sounded like something out of a storybookthe sort of name only a real fairy godmother could have, beautiful and magical. Id never met anyone called Lily before.
One day, she asked, wrapping her arms around me like only a real mother could, Would you like me to be your mum?
Of course I wanted nothing more. But happiness doesnt always last. Exactly a week later, Mum showed up.
She was almost sober, furious, and started shouting at Lily for taking me in. No ones taken away my rightsIm still his mother! she yelled.
As she dragged me away, snowflakes drifted down from the sky, and it seemed like the lovely house I was leaving behind was a castle from a winters tale.
Life took a turn for the worse after that. Mum drank even more, and I ran away more and more often, sleeping in the local train station, collecting bottles, buying bread when I could. I never really made friends or asked anyone for help.
Eventually, Mum lost her rights, and I was sent to a childrens home.
The hardest thing was that I could never remember where that white castle was, or how to find the kind woman with the beautiful name who had once saved me.
Three years passed.
I kept myself to myself at the home; drawing was my only escape. I always drew the same thing: a white house with snow falling on it.
One day, a journalist came to the childrens home. The matron showed her round, introducing her to everyone. When they reached me, she said, This is Leo. Hes a lovely boy, interesting too, but he still struggles to fit in. Were working on finding him a proper home of his own.
Hello, Im Lily, the journalist said.
Hearing her name, something changed. It was as if sunlight broke through inside me. I started talking, truly talking, and told her all about the kind Lily who once tried to take me in. The more I spoke, the lighter I felt, and my cheeks flushed with excitement. The matron watched, astonished at my transformation.
Lilys name was the key that unlocked my heart.
The journalist, Lily, listened to my story and couldnt hold back her tears. She promised to tell my story in the local paper, hoping that the other Lily would see it and realise I was waiting for her.
She kept her word. And a miracle happened.
You see, Lily didnt take the paper. But on her birthday, her colleagues gave her flowers, wrapped in newspaper because it was winter. At home, while unwrapping them, her eyes caught the article: Kind woman LilyA boy named Leo is looking for you!
She read every word and knew at once that it was methe boy shed once carried home from a stairwell and longed to adopt.
I recognised her the minute she arrived. I rushed to her and wrapped my arms around her. We both criedme, Lily, and all the carers who were there.
Ive waited for you so long, I choked.
They barely managed to persuade me to let her go. She couldnt take me home straight awaythere were papers and courts and all manner of formalitiesbut she promised to visit me every day.
P.S.
From there, my life became happy. Now Im 26. Ive finished university and am engaged to a wonderful girl. Im outgoing, full of laughter, and above all, I love my mum, Lily, with all my heart.
Much later, when I was grown, Lily told me her husband had left because they couldnt have children. Shed felt so terribly alone and unwanted. Then she found me sleeping in a freezing stairwell and poured all her warmth and love into me.
After Mum took me back, Lily thought sadly, It wasnt meant to be. But finding me again in the childrens home brought her joy beyond words.
Later, I tried to trace my birth mother. All I learned was that wed lived in rented flats. Some years back, she left with a man recently out of prison, and no ones heard from her since. I didnt feel the need to look further. Life with Lily was where my real story began.
Sometimes, its the smallest acts of kindness that stay with you foreverand the family you choose can heal the deepest wounds.
