An eight-year-old boy plays every day with an old man in the park, unaware of who he truly is…
Im eight years old, and my favourite place in the world is St. Jamess Park. Not because of the rusty swings or the sandpit filled with dry leaves, but because of Mr. Edward.
“Hello, champ!” he always calls out from his bench when he spots me running over after school.
Mr. Edward has snow-white hair, always wears a brown felt hat, and his hands are the wrinkliest Ive ever seen. But theyre gentle handsones that fold paper boats and taught me how to whistle through my fingers.
“Mum, can I go to the park?” I ask every afternoon.
“One hour, Oliver. No more,” she answers without looking up from her paperwork.
Mum is always working. She says shes had to keep the house running by herself since Dad left. She never asks what I do at the park or who I play with.
Mr. Edward tells me incredible stories. He says he travelled the world when he was young, met pirates in the Caribbean, 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 sitting here with me,” he says with a wink. “But the greatest treasure I ever found wasnt gold or silver.”
“What was it?”
“It was family. A beautiful wife and a son who looked just like you at your age.”
When he says that, he grows quiet. His blue eyes, usually so bright 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 can,” he smiles sadly. “Families are trickier.”
Weve been friends for three months when Mr. Edward surprises me.
“Here, this is for you,” he says, pulling a small wooden box from his coat pocket.
Inside is a golden pocket watch, old and heavy.
“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 my hands.
“Mr. Edward gave it to memy friend from the park.”
“Mr. Edward? What does he look like?”
I describe himtall, white hair, blue eyes, always wears a brown hat.
Mum sinks onto a kitchen chair and stares at the watch for a long time, 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 said so. And give me that watch.”
“No! Its mine! Mr. Edward gave it to me!”
Mum locks the watch in a drawer and pockets the key.
“That man is dangerous. I dont want you near him ever again.”
For a week, Mum walks me to and from school. I feel like a prisoner.
“Why cant I see Mr. Edward?” I ask every day.
“Because hes a liar,” she says. “And liars hurt children.”
But I know Mr. Edward doesnt lie. His eyes are kind, and he taught me that liars never look you in the eye.
On Friday, I sneak away. I tell Mum Im going to the loo at break and bolt for the park.
Mr. Edward isnt on his bench. I ask the flower seller if shes seen him.
“Oh, love,” she says sadly. “Mr. Edward fell ill. They took him to hospital three days ago.”
“Which hospital?”
“St. Marys, but”
I dont let her finish. I sprint all the way.
St. Marys is six streets away. I arrive breathless and sweaty. At reception, a nurse tells me hes in Room 204.
I find him in a white bed, hooked up to beeping machines. Without his hat, he looks small.
“Mr. Edward!” I shout.
He opens his eyes and smiles weakly.
“Champ… knew youd come.”
“Are you very ill?”
“Just a bit,” he says, trying to sit up. “Come closer. Ive something important to tell you.”
I lean in, and he takes my handhis fingers cold.
“Oliver, do you know your full name?”
“Oliver Wilson Carter.”
“And did you know Carter was your dads surname?”
“Yes, Mum told me.”
“Did you know my surname is Carter too? Edward Carter.”
It takes a moment to sink in.
“Are you… my family?”
Tears roll down his wrinkled cheeks.
“Im your grandfather, 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 grew sad talking about family.
“Why didnt Mum tell me?”
Mr. Edwardmy grandfathersighs.
“When your dad died, your mum and I had a terrible row. Over money, the house… grown-up nonsense. She was so angry, she forbade me from seeing you. Moved houses, changed neighbourhoods so I couldnt 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 rightfully yours.”
Just then, Mum bursts in, frantic.
“Oliver! Ive been searching everywhere!”
She freezes when she sees my grandfather. They stare at each other in silence.
“Emily,” he says softly.
“Edward,” she whispers back, her voice cracking.
“Mum,” I say, “why didnt you tell me Mr. Edward was my grandad?”
She sits beside 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 everythingthe house, the business, the insurance. I thought he only wanted to take things, not… not to know you.”
“I never wanted to take anything, Emily,” says my grandfather. “I just wanted to know my grandson.”
“I see that now,” she cries. “And Im so ashamed. These three years, hes been alone, and you grew up without family.”
“I wasnt alone these past months,” he smiles. “I had the most wonderful grandson 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 agesame eyes, same cheeky grin.”
Mum takes my grandfathers hand.
“Edward, forgive me. Please.”
“Theres nothing to forgive, love. Just lost time we cant get back.”
“But we can make the most of whats left,” says Mum.
He smilesproperly, for the first time in days.
“Does that mean I can visit every day?” I ask.
“Every day you like, champ.”
My grandfather stayed in hospital another fortnight. Mum and I visited every afternoon. She brought his things from his lodgings and set up the spare room for him.
When he was finally discharged, Mum had turned the guest room into his.
“This was always your home, Edward,” she said. “Im sorry I made you feel otherwise.”
Now my grandfather lives with us. He helps with my homework, tells me more stories of his travels, and every evening we walk together to the park where we met.
The golden watch sits on my bedside table, but its more than just my treasure now. Its my familys historyproof that broken things can be mended.
And that grandfathers who appear out of nowhere in parks are sometimes real ones whove been waiting for you all along.
