When I returned, the door was wide open. My first thought was that someone had broken in. Perhaps they thought I kept some cash or jewellery here, I reasoned.
My name is Margaret Jennings, and Im sixty-two. Ive been living on my own for five years now. My husband passed away, and my grown-up children have their own lives and homes. While its still mild outside, I stay in my little cottage just outside the village, but once winter sets in, I head back to my flat in town. I have a cosy two-bedroom there. But as soon as the sunshine returns, Im back at my small cottage in the countryside.
Ive always loved country living. The fresh air does me good, and I enjoy tending to my garden. Theres a wood nearby where you can pick blackberries and mushrooms in the summer.
This time, I had to leave my cottage for a week to deal with some personal matters. When I got back, the front door was ajar. My mind immediately jumped to a burglary. They probably thought I stashed some money or valuables here, I considered. But there were no signs of forced entry, and everything seemed untouched. The only odd thing was a plate on the tablesomething I never leave out when I go away, especially if I know Ill be gone for some time.
It dawned on me that someone had been living here whilst Id been away. This realisation made me rather cross. I walked into the sitting room, and there, fast asleep on my sofa, was a young boy. And in that moment, everything became clear.
He awoke and blinked at me sleepily. He didnt try to run; instead, he sat up and said, Sorry for coming in here like this.
I could tell instantly that he was a polite and well-mannered lad, and I felt a pang of sympathy for him.
How long have you been here? I asked him.
Two days, he replied.
Arent you hungry? What have you been eating?
I had some pasties with me. Theres a bit left if you want any.
He offered me a bag containing the remains of the pasties. They were a little stale by then.
Whats your name? I asked.
Oliver, he answered.
Well, Oliver, Im Margaret. Are you on your own? Did you get lost? Where are your parents?
My mum often left me on my own. When she did come back, she was always in a foul mood and took it out on me. She kept saying I was the reason her life was so hard, that shed be happy if it werent for me. Two days ago, she started shouting at me again. I couldnt take it anymore, so I ran away.
Perhaps shes looking for you by now?
I doubt it. Its not the first time Ive left. Sometimes Id be gone for several days, and she would barely notice. Things are easier for her without me around. When I returned, she never seemed particularly pleased.
It turned out Oliver lived alone with his mother. Instead of caring for him, she would be off pursuing her social life, sometimes staying with friends for days. During those times, Oliver had to fend for himself.
I felt so sorry for the boy, but there was little I could do. Im already a pensioner and no social services office would allow me to take him in officially, and he was adamant he didnt want to go into care. I fed him and told him he could stay the nightit was certainly safer here than with a mother like his.
I barely slept that night, worrying about his future. Then I recalled an old friend, Helen Carter, who worked for social services. First thing in the morning, I rang her and asked for her advice.
Helen agreed to assist, but told me Id need to be patient for a bit. Three weeks later, I was able to adopt Oliver. The boy was overjoyed and so grateful, and when his mother found out that someone else wanted to care for him, she willingly signed off her parental rights.
Now its just the two of us. Oliver tells everyone Im his grandmother, and I feel truly blessed that life has gifted me a grandson.
Oliver is a clever and capable child. This autumn, he started school for the first time. His teacher has nothing but praise for him. He picked up reading in no time and can already solve basic maths problems without any trouble.
