Samuel Whitcombe had been feeling poorly since morning. His head spun strangely, and every now and then, his vision blurred with dark spots. He had half-hoped not to wake up at all, but his stubborn body refused to give up. And yet, his dear Sophie was no longer with him He sighed deeply.
At the supermarket checkout, a small queue had formed, and Samuel grew impatient as a woman delayed the line. She was elegant, well-kept, and even beautiful, standing there perfectly composed. Her daughter had asked for oat milk, so she had stopped by. A faint, bittersweet smile touched her lips. *Dont lie to yourselfyou didnt want to go home.* Lately, the house had become unbearably lonely. They had built a comfortable lifeearned well, bought a lovely flatbut somehow, they had stopped talking. Once, she and Ben had laughed together like that young couple behind her, whispering and giggling.
The scruffy young man with a childish tuft of hair at his neck tenderly wrapped an arm around his girlfriend. She would have been pretty if not for the heavy black eyeliner smudged around her eyes, the dark nails, lips, and shaved templea rebellious statement, perhaps. But her boyfriend gazed at her adoringly, breaking off pieces of fresh baguette for her, stars in his eyes.
Samuel glanced around. The shop was nearly empty, yet somehow there was a queue. A businessman in a suit, clutching a folder, a carton of milk, and pastries, sighed irritably, checking his watch.
Samuel noticed all this from the corner of his eyean old army habit. *Scouts instincts.* But his hands fumbled with the worn leather purse, coins slipping through his fingers as he struggled to focus.
The cashier snapped at him*Hurry up, old man, youre holding everyone up.*
Samuel shuffled away, abandoning the overpriced artisan bread. *Who could afford such things?* He and Sophie had lived frugally. Their pensions were meager, barely enough for basics. Their little flat had begun to crumblea leaking tap, a burst pipe. Repairs cost money. At ninety, he could no longer manage alone. And SophieSophie hadnt lived to see it.
They had met during the war. Sophie, barely more than a girl, had lied about her age to enlist as a nurse. Fearless, she crawled across battlefields, dragging wounded soldiers to safety. Samuel had been a scout. Near the wars end, he was captured unconscious, without papershis unit had perished. He never knew who had pulled him from the wreckage. When the camp was liberated, he was nearly dead. Sophie saved him. She nursed him back, even slipping him the papers of a fallen soldier*After captivity, hed have been marked for life.* Clever girl, his Sophie.
They never had children. Sophie had given too much of herself on those battlefields. They lived quietly, working hard, until the seventies, when Sophie fell ill. Only England could help then. So they came.
They had lived in fear all their lives. Never dared to ask for help.
The early years of exile were harsh. Sophie recovered, but survivors like them were met with suspicion. Even fellow countrymen sometimes scorned them. A hard life. And after Sophie was gone, Samuels days blurred into grey monotony. Bread and milk were enoughwhat more did an old man need?
At the checkout, Samuel finally stopped counting his pitiful coins and muttered an apology before his knees buckled.
The elegant woman was the first to rush forward, catching him, lifting his head. Others followedthe scruffy boy rolled his leather jacket under Samuels head, his girlfriend dialled for an ambulance, the businessman fanned air with his hat.
*How strange. A proud little island, quick to grumble about outsidersbut never indifferent to suffering.*
As they tended to him, something shifted. Smiles softened. Eyes warmed.
Alicea doctortook charge. By the time paramedics arrived, Samuel was stable. He had simply forgotten his pills. She noted their details and, out of habit, followed up the next day.
Samuel was well enough to go home. But there was no one to fetch him.
Alice drove him back herself. She couldnt explain why the gentle old man had touched her heart. Stepping into his flat, she was horrified. A rusted bucket sat in the kitchen, catching drips from the ceiling. The image of a frail man in a crumbling home haunted her.
The next evening, Alice knocked firmly on Samuels door. No answerbut laughter spilled from inside. She stepped in, stunned. Samuel, beaming, sat in his armchair while the young couple from the shop sprawled on the floor, utterly spellbound, like hypnotised banderlogs from *The Jungle Book*.
“Alice, my love, come in!” Samuel tried gallantly to offer her his seat.
They started with small repairsa fresh coat of paint, a new tapbut the old building seemed to crumble at their touch, the work snowballing.
Samuel protested*I dont need much*but secretly, his spirits lifted. He was embarrassed, yes, but his days were suddenly bright with kindness.
Alice and the “banderlogs” worked tirelessly. The businessmanturned out, he lived nearbywas a decent plasterer. He bought materials himself, working methodically.
Then, one Tuesdaymid-chaosAlices Ben appeared.
“Bloody builders! What *have* you done?”
Alice gaped. She had mentioned Samuel to Ben, but she never thought hed listened. Lately, they barely spoke.
“RightJosh, take notes!” Ben, a tech executive in crisp shirts, rolled up his sleeves and crawled under beds, checking damp and wiring. *Once, hed been handy.*
He rallied his firm: *A veteran. Alone. Lets help.*
Alice spread the word. So did the businessman. The banderlogs posted online.
Soon, strangers arrivedwalls were painted, doors replaced. A nephew from the aluminium workshop brought windows. Neighbours donated spare tiles.
Bit by bit, the flat transformed.
Alice glowed, taking leave from the hospital for the first time in years. Ben rushed over daily, teasing her, flicking paintkissing her, twice.
The banderlogs grew softer. The girl scrubbed off her dark makeupbeneath it, a sweet-faced Molly with freckles. The boy, too tired for rebellion, discovered kindness.
They adored each other. And Samuelhis quiet wisdomthey adored him too.
The businessman? A chess partner. And, by chance, a civil servanthe secured Samuels full pension.
The youngsters dug deeper, scouring archives. Months later, they restored Samuels war recordshis true name, his medals.
“Alicedont go overboard!” Ben laughed, fitting the new tap. “Next thing, youll drag me to Zimbabwe to rebuild houses!”
A tea towel sailed toward him, catching the light like a scarlet saila dream fulfilled.
Outside, the greengrocer argued with the baker. Children shrieked. Cars honked.
But in the old soldiers flat, lives collided, laws bent, and paths changed coursebecause on this little island, no ones sorrow goes unseen.