An eight-year-old boy plays every day with an old man in the park without realising who he really is…
My favourite place in the whole world is St. Jamess Park. Not because of the rusty swings or the sandpit full of dry leaves, but because of Mr. Edwards.
“Hello, champ!” he always calls out from his bench when he spots me running over after school.
Mr. Edwards has snow-white hair, always wears a brown felt hat, and his hands are the most wrinkled Ive ever seen. But theyre kind handshands that make paper aeroplanes and taught me how to whistle with my fingers.
“Mum, can I go to the park?” I ask every afternoon.
“One hour, Oliver. No longer,” she replies without looking up from her paperwork.
Mums always working. She says shes had to keep the house going on her own since Dad left. She never asks what I do at the park or who I play with.
Mr. Edwards tells the most incredible stories. He says he travelled the world when he was young, met pirates in the West Indies, and once dined with a king in Europe.
“Did you really meet a king?” I ask as we share the biscuits he always brings.
“As real as you standing here with me,” he says, winking. “But the greatest treasure I ever found wasnt gold or silver.”
“What was it?”
“It was a family. A beautiful wife and a son who looked just like you at your age.”
When he says that, his face falls. His blue eyes, which always light up when he sees me, turn dull like the sky before rain.
“Where are they now?”
“My wife is in heaven,” he sighs. “And my son… well, sometimes families break, champ. Like a plate that shatters when it falls.”
“But broken plates can be glued back together.”
“Plates, yes,” he says with a sad smile. “Families are trickier.”
Weve been friends for three months when Mr. Edwards surprises me.
“Here, this is for you,” he says, pulling a wooden box from his coat pocket.
Inside is an antique golden pocket watch, heavy and old.
“It belonged to my father, and his father before him,” he explains. “One day, itll be yours when youre older.”
“Why give it to me?”
“Because youre special, Oliver. More special than you know.”
That night, I show the watch to Mum. Ive never seen her go so pale.
“Where did you get this?” she snaps, snatching it from me.
“Mr. Edwards gave it to memy friend from the park.”
“Mr. Edwards? What does he look like?”
I describe him: tall, white hair, blue eyes, always wearing a brown hat.
Mum sits at the kitchen table and stares at the watch for ages, as if it were a poisonous snake.
“Oliver, I dont want you going back to that park. Do you hear me?”
“Why not?”
“Because I say so. And give me that watch.”
“No! Its mine! Mr. Edwards gave it to me!”
Mum wrestles it from my hands and locks it in a drawer.
“That man is dangerous. I dont want you near him ever again.”
For a week, Mum walks me to and from school. She wont let me go anywhere alone. I feel like a prisoner.
“Why cant I see Mr. Edwards?” I ask every day.
“Because hes a liar,” she says. “And liars hurt children.”
But I know Mr. Edwards isnt a liar. His eyes are kind, and he taught me that liars never look you in the eye when they speak.
On Friday, I escape. I tell Mum Im going to the loo at breaktime and sprint to the park.
Mr. Edwards isnt on his bench. I ask the flower seller if shes seen him.
“Oh, love,” she says sadly. “Mr. Edwards fell ill. They took him to hospital three days ago.”
“Which hospital?”
“St. Thomas, but”
I dont let her finish. I run.
St. Thomas Hospital is six streets away. I arrive sweating and out of breath. At reception, a nurse tells me Mr. Edwards is in Room 204.
I find him in a white bed, hooked up to beeping machines. He looks small without his hat.
“Mr. Edwards!” I shout.
He opens his eyes and smiles weakly.
“Champ… knew youd come.”
“Are you really sick?”
“A little,” he says, trying to sit up. “Come hereIve something important to tell you.”
I step closer, and he takes my hand. His fingers are cold.
“Oliver, do you know your full name?”
“Oliver Carter-Bennett.”
“And did you know Bennett was your dads name?”
“Yeah, Mum told me.”
“Did you know my name is also Bennett? Edward Bennett.”
It takes a few seconds to sink in.
“You… youre my family?”
Tears roll down his wrinkled cheeks.
“Im your grandad, champ. Your dad was my son.”
The world tilts. Suddenly it all makes sensewhy he gave me the watch, why he said I was special, why he looked sad talking about his family.
“Why didnt Mum tell me?”
Mr. Edwardsmy grandadsighs deeply.
“When your dad died, your mum and I had a terrible row. Over money, the house… grown-up things that dont matter. She was so angry she forbade me from seeing you. She moved house, changed neighbourhoods, so wed never find you.”
“So Dad did have family?”
“He had a father who adored him. And who adores you, even if weve had so little time.”
“Is that why you gave me the watch?”
“It was your great-grandfathers, then mine, then your dads. Now its yours by right.”
Just then, Mum bursts in, furious and frightened.
“Oliver! Ive been searching everywhere!”
She freezes when she sees my grandad. They stare at each other in silence.
“Emily,” he says softly.
“Edward,” she whispers, her voice breaking.
“Mum,” I say, “why didnt you tell me Mr. Edwards was my grandad?”
Mum sinks into the chair by the bed and covers her face.
“Because I was angry,” she murmurs. “So angry.”
“Why?”
“When your dad died, your grandad and I fought over everything. The house, the business, the insurance money. I thought he only wanted to take things, not to know you.”
“I never wanted to take anything, Emily,” my grandad says. “I just wanted to know my grandson.”
“I know,” she sobs. “I know, and Im so ashamed. Hes been alone these three years, and Oliver grew up without family.”
“I wasnt alone these last months,” my grandad smiles. “I had the best grandson in the world playing with me in the park.”
“Did you know who I was?” I ask.
“From the first day. Youre just like your dad at your age. Same eyes, same cheeky grin.”
Mum reaches for my grandads hand.
“Edward, forgive me. Please.”
“Nothing to forgive, love. Just lost time we cant get back.”
“But we can make the most of whats left,” Mum says.
My grandad smiles, and for the first time in days, its his real smile.
“Does that mean I can visit you every day?” I ask.
“Every day you like, champ.”
My grandad stayed in hospital two more weeks. Mum and I visited him every afternoon. She brought his things from the flat where hed been living and set them up in my room for when he came home.
When he was finally discharged, Mum had prepared the spare room for him.
“This was always your home, Edward,” she said. “Im sorry I made you feel otherwise.”
Now my grandad lives with us. He helps with my homework, tells me more stories of his travels, and every afternoon we go to the park where we met.
The golden watch sits on my bedside table, but its not just my treasure anymore. Its my familys storyproof that broken things can sometimes be mended.
And that grandads who appear out of nowhere in parks are sometimes real grandads whove been waiting for you all along.
