A boy plays every day with an old man in the park without realising who he really is…
Im eight years old, and my favourite place in the world is St. James Park. Not for the rusty swings or the sandpit full of dry leaves, but for Mr. Henry.
“Hello, champ!” he always calls out when he spots me running towards him after school.
Mr. Henry 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 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 longer,” she replies, barely looking up from her paperwork.
Mums always working. She says shes had to keep the house going by herself since Dad left. She never asks what I do at the park or who I play with.
Mr. Henry tells me incredible stories. He says when he was young, he travelled the world, 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, winking. “But the greatest treasure I 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, his voice falters. His blue eyes, usually bright when he sees me, turn dull, like the sky before rain.
“Where are they now?”
“My wifes in heaven,” he sighs. “And my son well, families sometimes 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. Henry surprises me.
“Here, this is for you,” he says, pulling a 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 are you giving it to me?”
“Because youre special, Oliver. More special than you know.”
That night, I show Mum the watch. Ive never seen her go so pale.
“Where did you get this?” she snaps, snatching it from my hands.
“Mr. Henry gave it to memy friend from the park.”
“Mr. Henry? What does he look like?”
I describe himtall, white hair, blue eyes, always in a brown hat.
Mum sits at the kitchen table, staring at the watch for a long time, as if its a venomous 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. Henry gave it to me!”
Mum locks the watch 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. Henry?” I ask every day.
“Because hes a liar,” she says. “And liars hurt children.”
But I know Mr. Henry isnt a liar. His eyes are kind, and he taught me liars never look you in the eye.
On Friday, I escape. I tell Mum Im going to the loo at break and sprint to the park.
Mr. Henry isnt on his bench. I ask the flower seller if shes seen him.
“Oh, love,” she says sadly. “Mr. Henry fell ill. They took him to hospital three days ago.”
“Which hospital?”
“St. Marys, but”
I dont let her finish. I run.
St. Marys is six streets away. I arrive breathless and sweating. At reception, a nurse tells me hes in Room 204.
I find him in a white bed, hooked to beeping machines. He looks so small without his hat.
“Mr. Henry!” I shout.
He opens his eyes and smiles weakly.
“Champ knew youd come.”
“Are you really sick?”
“A bit,” he says, trying to sit up. “Come here. Ive 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 Bennett Carter.”
“And did you know Carter was your dads surname?”
“Yes, Mum told me.”
“Did you know my surname is Carter too? Henry Carter.”
My brain takes a second to catch up.
“Are you are you my family?”
Tears roll down his wrinkled cheeks.
“Im your grandad, champ. Your dad was my son.”
The world tilts. Suddenly, everything makes sensethe watch, why he called me special, why he looked so sad talking about family.
“Why didnt Mum tell me?”
Mr. Henrymy grandadsighs.
“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 cut me off. Moved houses, changed neighbourhoods so I couldnt find you.”
“So Dad did have family?”
“He had a father who loved him. And who loves you, even if weve had so little time.”
“Is that why you gave me the watch?”
“It was your great-grandads, then mine, then your dads. Now its yours.”
Just then, Mum bursts in, frantic.
“Oliver! Ive been looking everywhere!”
She freezes when she sees Grandad. They stare at each other, silent.
“Emily,” Grandad says softly.
“Henry,” Mum whispers, her voice breaking.
“Mum,” I say, “why didnt you tell me Mr. Henry was my grandad?”
She sinks into the chair by the bed and covers her face.
“Because I was angry,” she says. “So angry.”
“Why?”
“When your dad died, your grandad and I fought over everythingthe house, the business, the insurance money. I thought he wanted to take things from me, not not that he wanted to know you.”
“I never wanted to take anything, Emily,” Grandad says. “Just to know my grandson.”
“I know,” Mum sobs. “And Im ashamed. All these years hes been alone, and you grew up without family.”
“I wasnt alone these past months,” Grandad smiles. “I had the finest grandson in the world playing with me in the park.”
“Did you know who I was?” I ask.
“From the first day. Youre the spit of your dad at your age. Same eyes, same cheeky grin.”
Mum reaches for Grandads hand.
“Henry, forgive me. Please.”
“Nothing to forgive, love. Just wasted time we cant get back.”
“But we can make the most of whats left,” Mum says.
Grandad smilesproperly, for the first time in days.
“Does that mean I can see you every day?” I ask.
“Every day you want, champ.”
Grandad stayed in hospital another fortnight. Mum and I visited every afternoon. She packed his things from the flat hed been living in and set up the spare room for him.
When he was finally discharged, Mum had the guest room ready.
“This was always your home, Henry,” she said. “Im sorry I made you think otherwise.”
Now Grandad lives with us. He helps with my homework, tells me more stories of his travels, and every evening we walk 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 sometimes, broken things can be fixed.
And that grandads who appear out of nowhere in parks sometimes really are grandads whove been waiting for you all along.
