HOMELESS IN THE HEART OF LONDON

I had nowhere to go. Literally nowhere. I could spend a night or two on the platform at the station and then what? Suddenly a lifeline flashed through my mind: The cottage! How could I have forgotten? Though cottage sounds grander than the halfruined hut it actually is, its still better than sleeping on the railways. I thought, as I boarded the commuter train, pressing my forehead against the cold window and closing my eyes.

Memories of the past few years crashed over me. Two years earlier my parents had died, leaving me alone and without any support. I couldnt afford tuition, so I dropped out of university and took a job selling produce at the market.

After all that hardship, luck finally smiled on me, and I met my love, James Whitaker. He was kind and respectable. Two months later we held a modest ceremony.

It seemed I could finally breathe easy, but life had another test ready. James suggested we sell the flat wed inherited in downtown London and start a business together. He painted the picture so beautifully that I didnt doubt a single detail; I was sure he knew what he was doing, and that soon our family would forget all financial worries. Once were on our feet we can think about a baby. I cant wait to be a mother, I dreamed, naive as ever.

Jamess venture failed. Constant arguments over the money he was throwing away drove a wedge between us. Before long he brought another woman home, pointed at the door and told me to leave.

At first I wanted to call the police, but I realised I had no grounds. I had sold the flat myself and handed the proceeds to James

When I stepped off at the station, I walked alone down the deserted platform. It was early spring and the cottage season had not yet begun. The plot had been left to grow wild for three years and was in a sorry state. Ill tidy it up and things will be as they were, I told myself, knowing that as they were was a phrase that would never be true again.

I found the key under the porch without trouble, but the old wooden door had swollen and refused to budge. I strained at it, all my strength, but the door would not give. Defeated, I sat on the steps and began to weep.

Then, from the neighbouring plot, I saw a wisp of smoke and heard voices. Relieved that someone was nearby, I hurried over.

Mrs. Rose! Are you home? I called.

An elderly man, unkempt yet dignified, emerged from the overgrown garden, tending a small fire in a battered tin kettle.

Who are you? Wheres Mrs. Rose? I asked, stepping back.

Dont be afraid. Please, dont call the police. Im not doing anything wrong. I live here, in the yard.

His voice was a warm baritone, the sort youd expect from an educated gentleman.

Are you homeless? I blurted, feeling rude.

Yes, he replied quietly, avoiding my gaze. Do you live nearby? Dont worry, I wont bother you.

Whats your name?

Arthur.

And your middle name? I prompted.

Albert.

I studied Arthur Albert closely. His clothes, though threadbare, were clean enough, and his hair was neatly combed.

I dont know who to turn to for help, I said, sighing heavily.

What happened? he asked kindly.

My doors stuck. I cant get in.

If youd like, I can have a look, he offered.

Id be grateful! I said, desperation in my tone.

While Arthur fiddled with the stubborn door, I sat on a bench, thinking, What right have I to judge him? Im practically homeless too; our situations mirror each other.

Miss Blythe, lets get that door open, Arthur said, pushing it with a grin. Planning to stay the night?

Apparently, I replied, surprised.

Is there heating?

The stove should be there Im not sure.

Any wood?

I dont know.

Alright then, go in. Ill sort something out, he said, heading away.

I spent about an hour cleaning the interior. The cottage was cold, damp, and uninviting. I was feeling down, convinced I couldnt live there, when Arthur returned with a bundle of firewood. A small spark of joy lit within me at the sight of another living soul.

He cleared out the soot from the old stove and lit a fire. Within an hour the room grew warm.

The stoves lit nicely. Just toss a few logs in now and then, and at night you can let it go out. Itll stay warm till morning, he explained.

Where are you off to? To the neighbours? I asked.

Yes. I wont stay long; Im just looking for a corner of the garden to shelter in. I dont feel like heading back to the city Id rather not stir up old memories.

Arthur, stay for tea and a bite first, I urged.

He shed his coat without protest and settled near the fire.

Sorry to pry, but you dont look like a typical tramp. Why are you out here? Wheres your home, your family?

Arthur told me hed spent his whole career lecturing at a university, devoted his youth to science, and only in old age realised how alone he had become. Hed been left with nothing when his retirement came.

A year earlier his niece, Tasha, had started visiting, hinting shed help him if he left her his flat in the city. Hed agreed, hoping it would mean something. She then persuaded him to sell that flat in a cramped part of town and buy a decent house in a suburb with a garden and a cosy gazebo. Shed already found a bargain.

Arthur, yearning for fresh air and peace, signed over without hesitation. After the sale, Tasha suggested opening a bank account so he wouldnt have to keep the money on hand.

Uncle Arthur, sit on the bench while I sort this out. Ill take a bag with mejust in case someones watching, she said at the bank.

She disappeared into the bank, leaving him waiting. Hours ticked by; the bank was empty save for a back door. Eventually, Arthur realized his niece had never returned. He entered the building, only to find no customers and a second exit leading elsewhere.

He could not believe the betrayal. He stayed on the bench, waiting for Tasha, who never came. The next day he knocked on a strangers door, only to learn Tasha had moved away two years earlier and had sold the flat long ago.

What a bleak tale, Arthur muttered. Since then Ive been living on the streets. I still cant accept that I have no home.

I thought I was the only one, I said, sharing my own story.

Its terrible. Ive lived a full life, but you you left university, you have no flat Dont lose hope. Every problem has a solution. Youre young; things will get better, he tried to reassure me.

Enough of the gloom. Lets have dinner! I laughed.

I watched him wolf down spaghetti with sausages, feeling a pang of sorrow for his loneliness.

Its terrifying, being utterly alone on the street, feeling youre useless, I thought.

Blythe, I can help you get back into university. I still have contacts. You could apply for a place on a bursary, Arthur said suddenly. I cant go back looking like a vagrant, but Ill write to the dean. My old friend, Constableno, Constantinewill see to it.

Thank you. That would be wonderful! I replied, relieved.

Thank you for the meal and for listening, he said, standing to leave. Its late.

Wait. Where are you going? I asked softly.

Dont worry. I have a warm shed on a neighbours plot. Ill check in with you tomorrow, he smiled.

You dont have to go out. I have three spacious rooms. Take whichever you like. Honestly, Im scared to be alone. Im terrified of that stove I barely understand. You wont abandon me, will you?

I wont, he promised solemnly.

Two years later I passed my exams with flying colours and, eager for the summer holidays, headed home. I still kept a flat in the city, but spent weekends and breaks at the cottage.

Hey there! I called, hugging Arthur warmly.

Blythe! My dear! Why didnt you call? Id have met you at the station. How did it go? Passed? he beamed.

Yes! Almost everything topgrade! I bragged. I even bought a cake. Put the kettle on, well celebrate!

We sipped tea and swapped news.

Ive planted grapes out back. Planning a little gazebo. Itll be cosy, he said.

Brilliant! Youre the master of this place; do as you wish. I just pop in and out, I laughed.

Arthur was no longer a lonely figure. He had a home, a granddaughter, and I had a new lease on life. He became a fatherfigure to me, and I was grateful that fate had sent a man who filled the void left by my parents and steadied me in my darkest hour.