I am now sixty years old, long retired, quietly living out my days. For the past ten years, I’ve lived aloneno husband, no children nearby, no friends dropping by for tea. My children have families and busy lives of their own in far-off towns, my husband passed some years ago, and I have my beloved summer cottagemy pride and delight, offering both joy and a pleasant distraction. As soon as the weather warms, I move out there, tidy up the house and garden, plant flowers, and make bright beds. Life there feels calm and soothing, a place to rest my soul.
Yet in the winter, it becomes impossible to stay. The snow grows heavy and I can no longer manage it alonetheres no one about to help, and so I return to the city. Autumn, at least, is bearable. This year, I caught a chill in September, so I stayed in town for a week to recover, but the moment the cold eased, I hurried back to my cherished country retreat.
When I arrived, I noticed the front gate was flung wide open. I thought perhaps someone had trespassed into the garden. Looking round, all seemed in its place, but I noticed the door was ajar. My heart lurchedhad the house been burgled? I crept quietly inside. Everything remained just as Id left it, save for a blanketone I never usedthrown over a chair, and a mug left out on the table. I always wash the crockery straight away. Something wasnt right.
My first fright faded, replaced with annoyancewho did they think they were, making free with my things, drinking out of my favourite mug? Peering out the back window, I spotted hima peculiar boy sitting by a little fire, warming his small hands over the flames. There was my uninvited guest.
I stepped outside, coughing pointedly, watching for his reaction. The troublemaker startled and looked frightened, but did not bolt. Instead, he walked right towards me.
Please, madam, forgive me. I’ve only just arrived he said softly, humility and fear written all over his face. Something in me softened at once.
How long have you been here? What have you eaten?
Only two days, he replied, I didnt have much to eat. Just some bread. Ive only crumbs left now
The boy proudly pulled out a fishing rod, a crust of white bread skewered on the end.
Whats your name, lad? And how did you find yourself here?
Philip, he answered, My mother and stepfather cast me out. I dont want to live with them any longer
Surely the whole village must be looking for you?
No one is, its always the same. This isnt even the first time Ive run away. Im gone for weeks, and nobody caresthey hardly notice. I only return when Im truly starving, and even then, theyre not glad to see me
As it turned out, the youngster wasnt even from our village. The story was ordinary, yet terribly sada mother without work, new stepfathers coming and going like changing the weather, hardly any food at home, but always the presence of drink and drunkenness.
After hearing his tale, my heart filled with sorrow, and I wondered how I might help him. Of course, I couldnt leave him to fend for himself, so I let Philip stay with me and gave him something to eat. I spent the night in deep thought. By morning, I remembered an old friendsomeone who, I thought, worked in the local council. I decided to telephone her; if she couldnt assist, perhaps she could at least point me in the right direction.
She assured me she could help, and promised to take matters in hand. It took some running about, gathering endless papers, but after several weeks, I was made Philip’s legal guardian. He could hardly believe his luck. His mother, to my knowledge, never even asked after him.
So now, we live as grandmother and grandsonduring the cold season in my flat, and in warmer weather, at the cottage. Soon, Philip will be off to school, and Im sure hell do splendidlyhe already writes, reads, counts beautifully, and sketches with real skill. What an artist he is!
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