**Visiting Mum**
We went to visit my mother. As we entered the building, we found a five-year-old boy sobbing uncontrollably.
“Why are you crying?” I asked.
He sniffled, “I came to see my nan. I was playing in the garden, but when I came back, she wouldnt answer the door.”
I patted his shoulder. “Dont worry, shes probably just popped to the shops. Shell be back soon.”
But the poor lad kept crying, his cheeks streaked with tears.
“Whats your name?”
“JaJaJasper”
“Which flat do you live in?”
“Numnumber eighteen”
The residents of flat eighteen were new, and I hadnt met them yet. I rang the bellno answer. I couldnt just leave him there on the stairs.
“Come on, Jasper. Youll be my guest. Ill leave a note for your nan.”
Back in our flat, my husband kept Jasper company while I scribbled, *”Jasper is in flat 28.”* I hurried downstairs and pinned it to the door.
When I returned, Jasper was already racing toy cars with my son, giggling. The tension had melted away.
I wiped his face and asked, “Fancy some vegetable soup?”
“Yes, please.”
He gulped down the bowl in seconds.
“For your next course, weve got meatballs. Want some?”
“Yes, please!”
His appetite was impressivehe wolfed down two in one go.
“Would you like jam or juice?”
“Tea.”
I blinked. At his age, Id only have drunk tea if there was no jam in sight.
We sat sipping tea with biscuit cake while Jasper and my husband debated important matterscar brands and their top speeds.
Mum arrived home. I explained our little guest.
“Thats odd,” she said. “A woman your age lives in flat eighteen.”
I shrugged. “A forty-year-old could easily be a grandmother to a five-year-old.”
Mum accepted this and joined in entertaining Jasper, digging out a box of toys that sent his excitement soaring.
An hour later, the doorbell rang.
A woman my age stood there, clutching my note.
“Afternoon,” she said. “Just got back from work and found this. There mustve been a mix-up with the flats?”
It struck me as strangeher coming from work, Jaspers name meaning nothing to her.
“You havent lost a grandson?” I asked.
“Havent got any grandchildren yet,” she replied.
Something wasnt adding up.
Back in the living room, chaos reignedMum stacked blocks onto a toy lorry, my husband tied a string to a toy, while Jasper, the self-appointed foreman, barked orders.
“Jasper,” I knelt beside him, “where exactly were you visiting 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 roadand suddenly, it clicked.
In his games, hed wandered from one courtyard to another. When the other kids left, he thought he should go home too. The buildings looked identical. Instead of his nans, hed ended up in ours.
Hed knocked, but no one answeredso he panicked and cried.
I gave him a toy car, scooped him up, and we set off to find his nan, who mustve been frantic.
In the next courtyard, we heard a voice calling, “Jasper! Jasper!”
We sprinted toward ita woman my age, her face etched with worry.
“Is this your grandson?”
“Yes!”
Relief washed over her as she hugged us tight.
We explained what happened, and laughter bubbled upthough hers was shaky, her hands trembling.
For Jasper, it was all an adventurehe had a new car, after all.
As she thanked us profusely, we made our exit before the tears started again.
We were halfway back when we heard, “Jasper, come for lunchyou must be starving!”
“Already ate,” he called, rolling his car along the pavement.
“He did,” I confirmed, turning back. “Starter, main, and tea.”
“What a surprise!” she said. “He never has an appetitewe can barely get him to finish soup.”
I arched a brow, remembering how much hed packed away at ours.
Waving his new car, Jasper shouted, “See you tomorrow! Ill be back!”
