When I returned home, I found the front door flung wide open. My very first thought was: Goodness, someones broken in! I could just picture some opportunist hoping Id stashed wads of cash or a secret stash of family jewels somewhere inside. My names Dorothy Wilkinson, by the way, and Im sixty-two years old. Its been five years since I lost my husband and, like most folks my age, my grown-up children have their own families and lives elsewhere. While its warm, I live in my small cottage in the countryside. But once the cold sets in, I pack my bags and head back to my two-bedroom flat in town. As soon as the birds start singing again, though, Im straight back out to my cottage.
I must say, Ive really taken to rural life. Theres nothing quite like breathing in that crisp country air and pottering about in my beloved garden. And just a short walk away, theres a dinky little wood, brilliant for picking blackberries and mushrooms come summer.
It so happened I had to dash off to the city for a whole week on business. Returning to find my door swinging open, I was convinced someone had ransacked the place. Bet they thought thered be envelopes full of fivers, or maybe Grans pearl necklace lying about, I mused. Yet, to my surprise, nothing seemed out of place and there wasnt so much as a scratch on the lock. Stranger still, there was a plate on the table and I never, ever leave dishes behind, especially when I know I wont be back for days.
Thats when it dawned on me someone had been living here while I was away. To say I was peeved would be putting it mildly. But as I stepped into the living room, there he was: a young boy, fast asleep on my sofa, snoring away without a care.
It all made sense. The lad woke with a start and rubbed his eyes, not at all panicked, and with great politeness said:
Oh, Im terribly sorry for being here like this.
I could tell right away the boy had been brought up properly. I couldnt help but feel for the little chap.
How long have you been staying in my house? I asked.
Just two days, he answered.
Arent you hungry? What have you been eating? I asked.
I had some pasties. Theres still a bit left, if youd like some? the boy offered, pulling out a slightly stale bag of sausage rolls.
And whats your name? I asked.
Henry, he replied.
Im Dorothy Wilkinson. Why are you here on your own? Have you lost your way? Where are your parents?
He hesitated, then quietly said, My mum leaves me on my own a lot. And when she comes back, shes always in a terrible mood and shouts at me. She says Im the biggest problem in her life, and if it wasnt for me, shed be happy. Two days ago she started yelling again and I just couldnt take it anymore, so I left.
Do you think shes looking for you now?
Definitely not. Its happened a few times before, and she never bothered. Sometimes Id be away for an entire week and she wouldnt even notice. She’s always happier without me. And its not as though shes ever thrilled when I come back either.
As it turned out, Henrys mum was keener on chasing after boyfriends than caring for her son. Shed often stay over at friends places, leaving poor Henry to fend for himself.
I really felt for the child, but as a pensioner, I didnt think there was much I could do. No social services would let me foster a boy my age, and he flat out refused the idea of going to a childrens home. At the very least, I could give him a decent meal and let him stay for another night. It was safer than being left to his own devices.
All night, I tossed and turned thinking about Henry and worrying what would become of him. Suddenly, I remembered my good friend Margaret, who works for social services. First thing in the morning, I rang her for advice.
Margaret was willing to help, but it took a little while to sort things out. Three weeks later, I was able to adopt Henry properly. He was absolutely over the moon and, frankly, so was I. His mother happily signed away her parental rights the moment she heard someone actually wanted to take care of him.
Now its just the two of us. Henry tells everyone Im his gran, and truth be told, Im chuffed to bits to have the chance to be one. Hes a bright, resourceful lad, and this autumn he started year one at the local primary school. His teacher cant stop singing his praises. Henry picked up reading in no time and is a whizz with sums.
All in all, I reckon fate has done me a good turn, and I couldnt be happier with my unexpected grandson.
