Guests Were Always in the House—Always Drinking, Bottles All Around, But Not a Crumb of Food: A Six-…

There were guests in the house againthere always seemed to be guests at theirs. Everyone kept drinking, pints and glasses scattered across every available surface, but not a scrap of food in sight. Not even a crust of bread to nibble on… The kitchen table was littered with stubbed-out cigarettes and a lone empty tin of baked beans. Oliver gazed around hopefully, but there was nothing.

Alright, Mum, Im off, he said quietly, slowly tugging on his battered, half-torn boots.

He lingered, just in case shed stop himjust in case shed say, Where are you off to, love, without any supper? And its freezing out there. Stay in, Ill whip up some porridge, send the guests home, and mop the floor.

Oliver always waited for a gentle word from his mother, but her words were always rough, prickly, the kind that made him want to shrink away and hide.

This time, though, he resolved to leave for good. At six, he decided he was grown up, or at the very least ready to earn a few pounds and buy a roll or maybe even two, his stomach grumbling for something, anything.

He didnt know how to make money, but as he passed the newsagents on the high street, he spotted an empty bottle poking out of the slush. He pocketed it, then found a discarded carrier bag, and spent the rest of the day collecting empties. The bag was heavy and clinked with glass now. Oliver started envisioning a soft, fresh roll from the bakerymaybe with poppy seeds, or currants, or even icing, although he figured he wouldnt have enough bottles for the icing and decided to search for a few more.

Oliver wandered over to the railway platform where men huddled, sipping lager as they waited for the next train. He set his bag by the kiosk and darted after another freshly discarded bottle. But while he was gone, a grubby, wild-eyed man swaggered up, grabbed the bag, glared at the skinny boy and sent Oliver fleeing without a word.

His hopes for the roll vanished like a mirage.

Collecting bottles isnt easy work, Oliver thought, trudging back through the slushy, lamplit streets. His feet were soaked and numb with cold. Soon darkness fell. He hardly remembered straying into the stairwell of a block of flats, collapsing against the radiator, drifting quickly into a deep, warm sleep.

When Oliver awoke, he almost thought he must still be dreaming. It was cosy, calm, and he could smell something delicious drifting through the air.

Then a kind-faced woman entered, wearing the gentlest smile he’d ever seen.

Well then, young man, she said softly, warmed up now? Had a good sleep? Lets get you some breakfast. Truth be told, I was passing last night and there you were, curled up like a lamb on the stairs. Couldnt leave you there, so I brought you home.

Is this my new home? he asked, still almost not daring to hope.

If youve got nowhere else, then yes, it is, she replied.

From there, life felt like something from a storybook. The kind ladyher name was Gracefed him, looked after him, bought him snug new clothes. Bit by bit, Oliver confessed all about life with his mum. Grace was a simple name, but to Oliver it sounded magical, like something only a fairy godmother might have.

One day, she hugged him tightly, just like a real loving mother, and asked, Would you like me to be your mum? Of course, he wanted nothing more.

But happiness was short-lived. His mother came for him just a week later, half-sober but raging, shouting at Grace, I still have all my rights, no ones taken my son away yet.

As she dragged Oliver from the house, snowflakes drifted down, and to him, the flat where Grace lived looked just like a white castle.

From then on, life was bleakhis mother drank, he ran away. He slept at train stations, scavenged bottles, bought bread when he could. He kept to himself, never asked anything of anyone.

Eventually, the council took him away. His mothers rights were revoked and Oliver was sent to a childrens home. The saddest part for him was that he could never quite remember where that castle-like house was, where the kind lady with the enchanted name lived.

Three years passed.

Oliver stayed at the childrens home, withdrawn, quiet. His only comfort was to sit alone and draw, and he always drew the same image: a white house with snowflakes drifting down from the sky.

One day, a journalist visited the home. The matron showed her around, introducing her to the children. She came up to Oliver.

Olivers a lovely, thoughtful boy, explained the matron, but hes still struggling in a group after all this time. Were hoping to find him a family.

The journalist knelt down. “Hello, Im Grace, she said with a smile.

Oliver jolted awake, instantly chatty. He poured out his memories of the other kind Grace, the one whod once saved him. With every word, his spirits brightened; his cheeks flushed. The matron was stunned at the transformation.

Graces name proved to be a golden key to Olivers heart.

Grace the journalist was moved to tears by Olivers story. She promised to write about him in the local paperperhaps the gentle lady Grace might see it and know Oliver was waiting for her again.

She kept her word. And then, a miracle.

The woman named Grace didnt normally read the paper, but on her winter birthday, colleagues brought her flowers wrapped in newspaper for warmth. At home, unraveling the bouquet, her eyes caught a small headline: Kind Woman Grace: A Boy Named Oliver is Looking for You!

She read the article and knew in her heart it was her Oliverthe boy shed carried in from the stairwell all those years ago.

When Oliver saw her again, he knew her instantly. He ran towards her, arms open wide. They embraced and cried, the staff watching with tears too.

Ive waited so long for you, Oliver sobbed.

It was hard to persuade him to let Grace leave, but she promised shed visit every day. She needed to begin the adoption process, but she would be there for him.

P.S.

From then, Olivers life was transformed. Hes now 26 years old, graduated from the Institute of Technology, and planning to marry a wonderful girl. He’s cheerful, sociable, and adores his mum, Grace, to whom he owes everything.

Later, when he was grown, Grace confessed her own heartbreakher husband had left her because she couldnt have children and shed felt so alone, so adrift. In that moment of sorrow, she found Oliver on the stairwell and warmed him with her love.

When his birth mother reclaimed him years before, Grace sadly thought, Perhaps it wasnt meant to be. But she was overwhelmingly grateful when fate led her back to him.

Oliver tried once to look into the fate of his birth mother. He learned that theyd only ever rented a flat, and years ago, shed taken off with a man just out of prison. He didnt look further. There was no need.