**A Strangers Sorrow**
I woke feeling unwella strange dizziness, my vision clouded. Id half hoped not to wake at all, but this stubborn body refused to give up. And Sonya wasnt here anymore I sighed deeply.
At the supermarket till, a small queue had formed. A woman ahead of me was taking her time, and I felt a prickle of irritation. She was elegant, well-kept, even beautiful, utterly composed. Her daughter had asked for almond milk, so here she was. A bitter smile touched her lips. *Stop lying to yourselfyou didnt want to go home.* Lately, the house had felt stifling. Not that it wasnt comfortabletheyd earned enough for a lovely flatbut theyd stopped talking. Once, she and Ben had laughed together, just like that young couple now chirping behind her.
A scruffy punk with a childish tuft of hair on his neck was nuzzling his girlfriend. She mightve been pretty if not for the blackblack nails, lips, hair, even a shaved temple. Some rebellious statement. But he adored her, feeding her bits of a fresh baguette, stars in his eyes.
Ridiculous. The place was empty, yet a queue? A businessman with a briefcase, yoghurt, and pastries huffed behind me, tapping his foot.
I noticed it all with the sidelong awareness of an old soldier. But my hands fumbledcoins slipped in my worn-out wallet, my focus fraying.
The cashier snapped at me. *Old fools, holding everyone up.*
I hurried offforget the overpriced sourdough. Sonya and I had lived simply, barely scraping by on our pension. The flat had grown shabbyleaky taps, burst pipes. Too much for a man in his eighties. And Sonya wasnt here to help
Wed met during the war. Shed lied about her age to enlist, just a girl then. A nurse, fearless, dragging wounded men from the battlefield. Id been a scout. Captured near the end, unconscious, no papers. The Germans never knew I was JewishI didnt look it. When they liberated the camp, I was nearly gone. Sonya saved me, even gave me a dead mans papers. *Clever girl.*
No childrenthe war saw to that. Wed planned to move to Israel in the seventies when she fell ill. Terrified of the paperwork, but it was her only hope. A hard life, always afraid.
After she died, the days blurred. Bread and milk were enough for an old man.
At the till, I finally stopped fumbling with my coins, muttered an apologythen my legs gave way.
The elegant woman was first to reach me, cradling my head. The punk rolled his jacket under me, his girl called an ambulance, the businessman fanned me with his hat.
*This little islandstubborn, proud. Bloody foreigners, they grumble, yet no ones sorrow goes unnoticed.*
By the time paramedics arrived, theyd bondedsmiles warmer, eyes kinder.
Emma, a doctor, took charge. My pills were in my pocket, forgotten. She noted my details, called the hospital next day. I was fine, but whod fetch me?
She drove me home herself. Why this old man tugged at her heart, she couldnt say. But the leaking bucket in the kitchen shattered her. A frail man in a crumbling flatthe image haunted her.
Next evening, she knocked. No answer, but laughter spilled from inside. She stepped in, stunned. There I sat, beaming, while the punk and his girl watched, hypnotised, like Mowglis bandar-log. Theyd come to check on me.
*Emma, dear, come in!* I tried to offer her my chair
They started with small repairspaint, a new tap. But the old building crumbled at their touch, the job snowballing.
I protested, butGod help meI hadnt felt so alive in years.
The kids worked tirelessly. The businessman, a neighbour, turned out to be a decent plasterer. Brought his own supplies.
Then, mid-chaos, Emmas Ben appeared.
*Christ, whatve you done?*
Shed told him, but she never thought hed listened. Lately, theyd barely spoken.
A tech CEO, always in suits, he rolled up his sleeves, checking damp, wiring. *Joss, take notes*
He rallied his firm. *Veteran. Alone. Needs help.*
Emma spread the word. So did the businessman. The kids posted online.
First came the service teamwalls painted, doors hung in hours. The directors nephew brought windows*Client never collected them. God bless you, sir.* Neighbours donated tiles.
Strangers brought kitchen units. Who told them? Ben and the boy fitted them himself.
Bit by bit, the world pitched in.
And Emmashe glowed, took leave for the first time in years. Ben rushed to her side, joking, smearing paint on her cheek. Kissed her, twice.
The kids grew quieter. Orphans from broken homes, theyd found something in this old soldier. The girl scrubbed off her makeupa freckled face beneath. The boy was too tired to rebel.
I watched them, these cast-off children, and my restored flat *What are you planning?*
The businessman was a grand chess partner. Turned out he worked for the DWPsorted my pension properly.
The kids dug deeperarchives, war museums. Months of emails, rejections. Thenmy real name, my medals, restored.
*Emmadont go overboard!* Ben laughed, fitting the new tap. *Next month youll drag me to Botswana to rebuild houses*
A towel sailed past him, catching the light like Scarletts red sail.
Outside, the greengrocer argued with the baker. Kids shrieked. Cars honked.
But in this old soldiers flat, lives collided, physics bent, and the universe rerouted onto a new path.
Because here, no sorrow is ever truly a strangers.
