Early Spring

Early Spring

Little Emily, a four-year-old girl, studied the “newcomer” who had recently appeared in their neighbourhood. He was a silver-haired pensioner sitting on a bench, leaning on a walking stick as if he were a wizard from a fairy tale.

Emily tilted her head and asked point-blank:

“Grandad, are you a wizard?”

When he shook his head, her face fell slightly.

“Then why dyou have a staff?” she pressed.

“It helps me walk, love,” replied George Wilson, introducing himself.

“So, you’re very old, then?” she continued, eyes bright with curiosity.

“To you, maybe,” he chuckled. “But to me? Not so much. Just hurt my legtook a bad fall. Needs time to mend.”

Just then, Emilys grandmother, Margaret, appeared, taking her hand to lead her to the park. She nodded politely at the new neighbour, who smiled back. But it was Emily who became Georges little companion. While waiting for her grandmother, shed slip outside early to tell him everything: the weather, what Margaret had cooked for dinner, even how her friend had been poorly a week ago.

George always gave her a chocolate barthe good kindand watched, amused, as she unwrapped it, took exactly half, then carefully folded the rest into the wrapper and tucked it into her coat pocket.

“Why not eat it all?” he asked once.

“Its lovely,” she said. “But I save some for Gran.”

Touched, he gave her two bars the next time. Still, she only ate half.

“Now whore you saving for?” he teased.

“Mum and Dad,” she explained. “They can buy their own, but they like it when I share.”

George smiled. “Youve a kind heart, Emily. And a tight-knit family.”

“And Grans kind too. She loves everyone,” Emily began, but Margaret was already there, taking her hand.

“Oh, George,” Margaret said gently, “thank you for the treats, but sweets arent good for heror me, really.”

George frowned. “What can I give you, then?”

“Weve plenty at home,” she assured him.

“Nonsense. I want to be neighbourly,” he insisted.

Margaret relented. “Nuts, then. But only at home, with clean hands. Agreed?”

Emily and George nodded. From then on, Margaret would find walnuts or hazelnuts tucked in Emilys pockets.

“My little squirrel,” she sighed. “But these are dear, George, and you need your medicine.”

“Hes not old, Gran!” Emily protested. “His legs getting better. He says hell ski by winter!”

Margaret raised a brow. “Ski, is it?”

“Will you buy me skis, Gran?” Emily begged. “George promised to teach me!”

Soon, Margaret saw George striding through the park without his stick.

“Grandad, wait for me!” Emily called, darting after him.

“Hold on, thenwait for me too!” Margaret laughed, hurrying to keep up.

They walked together often after that, Emily bouncing ahead, singing as she went: “Left-right, left-right! Heads up, march on!”

Afterwards, George and Margaret sat on the bench while Emily played with friendsthough she never left without a few nuts from George.

“You spoil her,” Margaret fretted. “Lets save this for special occasions.”

George admitted then that hed been a widower for five years, having just downsized his London flat to move nearer his son.

“I like it here,” he said. “Good companys hard to findbut Ive found some.”

Two days later, Margaret and Emily knocked with a plate of scones.

“Tea?” Emily asked brightly.

“Absolutely!” George beamed, ushering them in.

Over tea, Emily marvelled at his books and paintings while Margaret watched, warmed by his patience as he explained each one.

“My grandkids are grownuniversity, busy lives,” he murmured. “But you? Youve youth on your side.”

Margaret smiled. “I only retired two years agono time to mope. And my daughters expecting again. Lucky were close.”

All summer, they met. Come winter, true to her word, Margaret bought Emily skis, and the trio glided along the parks groomed trails.

Then George left to visit family in London.

Emily missed him terribly. “Whens he coming back?”

“A month, love,” Margaret saidthough she missed him too: his help fixing things, his steady presence.

A week passed. The bench felt empty.

On the eighth day, Margaret hurried outsideand there he was.

“George! Youre early!”

He waved it off. “Londons too loud. Everyones busy. I missed you bothlike family.”

“Did you bring your grandkids sweets?” Emily asked.

George laughed. “No, lovetheyre too grown-up. Gave em money instead.”

Margarets heart lifted. “Im glad youre back. Feels right.”

Emily hugged him fiercely.

“Pancakes tonight,” Margaret said. “All sorts. Come for teatell us about London.”

“Whats to tell? Still standing,” he chuckled, offering an arm to Margaret and a hand to Emily as rain began to fallsoft, unexpected, the first hint of spring.

“Whys it so warm today?” George mused.

“Because springs coming!” Emily cheered. “Soon its Mothers Day, and Grans having a partyyoure invited!”

Georges eyes crinkled. “Ah, I do love you two.”

After pancakes, he gave Emily a painted nesting doll and Margaret a silver brooch. Outside, the snow had turned to slush. Emily hopped over puddles, chanting:

“Left-right, left-right! Heads up, march on!”