We Went to Visit Mum at Her Place

We Went to Visit Mum.

We went to visit my mother. As we entered the building, we found a five-year-old boy weeping uncontrollably.

“Why are you crying?” I asked.

He sniffled and said, “I came to see my nan. I was playing in the garden, and when I came back, she wouldnt open the door.”

I patted his shoulder. “Dont worry, shes probably just popped to the shops. Shell be back soon.”

But the poor lad wouldnt stop crying.

“Whats your name?”

“Al-alfie”

“And which flat is yours?”

“Num-ber eight-teen”

The residents of flat eighteen were new, and I hadnt met them yet. I rang the bell, but no one answered. I couldnt just leave him there on the landing.

“Come on, Alfie, youll be my guest. Ill leave a note on your nans door.”

Back in our flat, while my husband kept him company, I scribbled a note: “Alfie is at flat 28.” I hurried downstairs and pinned it to the door.

By the time I returned, Alfie was already racing toy cars with my son. All was well.

I wiped his face and asked, “Fancy some vegetable soup?”

“Yes, please.”

He polished off a bowl in seconds.

“And for your next course, how about some meatballs?”

“Alright.”

He had quite the appetite, wolfing down two meatballs at once.

“Would you like jam or juice?”

“Tea.”

I was surprisedat five years old, Id only have drunk tea if there was no jam.

We sat sipping tea with biscuit cake while Alfie and my husband debated important matters, like car brands and their top speeds.

My mum came home. I explained our little guest.

“Thats odd,” she said. “A woman about your age lives in flat eighteen.”

I shrugged. A forty-year-old could easily be a grandmother to a five-year-old.

Mum accepted my reasoning and joined in entertaining him. She brought out the toy box, which made the whole affair even livelier.

About an hour later, the doorbell rang.

I opened it to find a woman my age on the doorstep.

“Good afternoon,” she said. “I just got home from work and found this note. There must be some mix-up with the flats?”

It struck me as strange that shed just come from work and that the name Alfie meant nothing to her.

“You havent lost a grandson, have you?” I asked.

“I dont have any grandchildren,” she replied.

Something wasnt right.

I went back to the living room. Everyone was busyMum was stacking blocks onto a toy lorry, my husband was tying a string to a toy, and Alfie, the foreman of the operation, was giving orders.

“Alfie,” I said, sitting beside him, “where exactly did you come from to visit your nan?”

“From Manchester.”

“Do you know your home address?”

He rattled off the street, number, and flat.

“And your nans address?”

He named the street, and suddenly it all made sense.

In his games, hed wandered from one courtyard to another. When the other children left, he thought he should go home too. The buildings looked identical. Instead of his nans block, he ended up in ours.

Hed knocked, but no one answered, so he panicked and started crying.

I gave him a toy car as a gift, scooped him up, and we went to find his nan, who must have been frantic.

In the next courtyard, we heard someone calling, “Alfie! Alfie!”

We ran toward the voice and saw a woman my age, clearly distraught.

“Is this your grandson?”

“Yes!”

With relief, she hugged us.

We explained what had happened, and everyone laughedthough Nans laughter was a bit shaky, as shed been terrified.

For Alfie, it was all great funhe had a new car, after all.

As she thanked us profusely, we made our exit before the tears could start again.

We were halfway back when we heard, “Alfie, come for lunch, you must be starving!”

“I already ate,” he called back, pushing his car along the ground.

“Hes already eaten,” I confirmed, turning around. “First course, second course, and tea.”

“What a surprise!” she said. “He never has an appetitewe can barely get him to eat soup.”

I raised an eyebrow, remembering how much hed devoured at ours. He waved his new car and shouted, “See you tomorrow! Ill be back!”

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