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 like a wizard from a fairy tale.

Emily couldnt resist asking,

“Granddad, are you a wizard?”

When he shook his head, her face fell slightly.

“Then why do you have a staff?” she pressed.

“It helps me walk, makes it easier to get around,” explained George Wilson, introducing himself.

“So, you’re really old then?” Emilys curiosity was insatiable.

“By your standards, maybe. By mine, not so much. My leg was broken recentlyI took a bad fall. Until it heals, I need the stick.”

Just then, Emilys grandmother, Margaret, appeared, took her hand, and led her toward the park. Margaret nodded politely at their new neighbour, who smiled back. But it was Emily who formed the closest bond with the sixty-two-year-old man. While waiting for her grandmother, shed dash out early to share every bit of newsthe weather, what Margaret had cooked for lunch, even how her friend had been poorly the week before.

George never failed to treat his young neighbour to a fine chocolate sweet. Each time, Emily would thank him, unwrap it, take a neat bite of exactly half, then carefully fold the rest back into its wrapper and tuck it into her coat pocket.

“Didnt you like it?” George once asked, puzzled.

“Its lovely. But I want to share with Grandma,” she explained.

Touched, George brought two sweets the next timeonly for Emily to do the same.

“Whos the second half for now?” he asked, amused by her thriftiness.

“Mum and Dad. They can buy their own, but they love it when I treat them,” she reasoned.

“Ah, I see. Youve got a kind heart, and a close family,” George observed. “Youre a lucky girl.”

“And Grandmas kind too. She loves everyone,” Emily began, but Margaret soon emerged, taking her hand.

“Oh, George, thank you for the treats, but Emilyand Ishouldnt have too many sweets. Forgive us.”

“Well then, what *can* I give you?” George frowned. “I insist on being a good neighbour.”

Margaret chuckled. “Nuts, perhaps? But only eaten at home, with clean hands. Agreed?”

Emily and George nodded. From then on, Margaret would find walnuts or hazelnuts stashed in her granddaughters pockets.

“My little squirrel,” Margaret teased. “But these are expensive, love. George needs his medicineyou see how he limps?”

“Hes not old or lame!” Emily defended her friend. “His legs getting better. He even wants to ski by winter!”

“Ski?” Margaret raised an eyebrow. “Well, good for him.”

“Can I have skis too, Grandma?” Emily begged. “George promised to teach me!”

Soon, Margaret spotted George walking briskly through the parkno stick in sight.

“Granddad, wait for me!” Emily sprinted to join him.

“Wait for me too!” Margaret called, hurrying after.

And so, the trio fell into a routine. For Margaret, the walks became a pleasure. For Emily, a gameskipping, dancing, climbing benches, then marching ahead, chanting,

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

Afterwards, George and Margaret would rest on the bench while Emily played. Still, hed slip her a few nuts before parting.

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

George confessed thenhed been a widower for five years. Only recently had he downsized from his three-bedroom flat, keeping a one-bedroom for himself and securing a two-bedroom for his sons family.

“I like it here. Im not one for crowds, but good neighbours matter.”

Two days later, a knock came at Georges door. Emily and Margaret stood there with a plate of scones.

“Weve come to treat *you*,” Margaret said.

“Got a kettle?” Emily added.

“Absolutely! What a joy!” George ushered them in.

Over tea, the flat felt cosy. Emily marvelled at Georges books and paintings, while Margaret watched, touched by his patience as he explained each piece.

“My own grandchildren are far offuniversity students now. I miss them,” George admitted. “Your grandmas still young, though.” He ruffled Emilys hair and handed her paper and pencils.

“Ive only been retired two yearsno time to mope,” Margaret said, nodding at Emily. “And my daughters expecting again. Were lucky to live so closepractically all together.”

All summer, the three were inseparable. By winter, true to her word, Margaret bought Emily skis, and they took to the parks groomed trails. George and Margaret grew so close they never walked apart.

But one day, George left to visit family in London.

Emily missed him terribly. “Whens George coming back?” shed ask.

“Hell be gone a month, love. Well look after his flat meanwhile,” Margaret saidthough she missed him too: his gifts, his cheer, the way hed fix a loose socket or replace a bulb.

After just a week, the bench felt empty. Then, on the eighth day, Margaret stepped out to find George waiting.

“Back so soon?” she gasped.

“Londons too noisy,” he shrugged. “Everyones busy. Why wait around? Heres where I belongwith you two. Feels like family now.”

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

The adults laughed. “No, love. Theyre grown. Moneys betterhelps with their studies.”

“Im glad youre back,” Margaret smiled. “Feels right, everyone home.”

Emily hugged George tightly.

“Weve made pancakeslight, with fillings. Come for tea and tell us about London,” Margaret invited.

“Whats to tell? The capitals grand as ever. But Ive brought surprises…” George offered his arm to Margaret, took Emilys hand, and they hurried inside as the first spring drizzle beganan early, unexpected thaw.

“Whys it so warm today?” George mused.

“Because springs coming!” Emily declared. “Soon its Mothers Day, and Grandma will host. Youre invited, Granddad!”

“Oh, how I love you both,” George murmured, climbing the stairs.

After tea, he gifted Emily a painted wooden nesting doll and Margaret a silver brooch. Back outside, they walked their usual route, Emily hopping over damp paving stones, chanting,

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

The snow had greyed, the paths peeking through. And in that moment, George understoodfamily isnt just blood. Sometimes, its the people who make coming home feel like spring.