I am eight years old, and my favourite place in the world is St. Jamess Park. Not because of the rusty swings or the sandpit filled with dry leaves, but because of Mr. Thompson.
«Hello, champ!» he always calls out from his bench when he sees me running over after school.
Mr. Thompson has snow-white hair, always wears a brown felt hat, and his hands are the most wrinkled Ive ever seen. But theyre kind handshands that know how to fold paper boats and taught me how to whistle through my fingers.
«Mum, can I go to the park?» I ask every afternoon.
«One hour, Oliver. No longer,» she replies without looking up from her papers.
Mum is always working. She says shes had to keep the house going by herself since Dad left. She never asks what I do in the park or who I play with.
Mr. Thompson tells me incredible stories. He says he travelled the world when he was youngmet pirates in the Caribbean and once dined with a king in Europe.
«Did you really meet a king?» I ask as we share the biscuits he always brings.
«As real as you sitting here with me,» he says with a wink. «But the greatest treasure I ever found wasnt gold or silver.»
«What was it?»
«It was a family. A beautiful wife and a son who looked just like you at your age.»
When he says that, he grows sad. His blue eyes, which always sparkle when he sees me, turn dull, like the sky before rain.
«Where are they now?»
«My wife is in heaven,» he sighs. «And my son… well, sometimes families break, champ. Like a plate that shatters when it falls.»
«But broken plates can be fixed with glue.»
«Plates can,» he smiles sadly. «Families are more complicated.»
Weve been friends for three months when Mr. Thompson surprises me.
«Here, this is for you,» he says, pulling a wooden box from his coat pocket.
Inside is an old, heavy golden pocket watch.
«It belonged to my father, and his father before him,» he explains. «One day, itll be yours, when youre grown.»
«Why are you giving it to me?»
«Because youre special, Oliver. More special than you know.»
That night, I show the watch to Mum. Ive never seen her go so pale.
«Where did you get this?» she snaps, snatching it from my hands.
«Mr. Thompson gave it to memy friend from the park.»
«Mr. Thompson? What does he look like?»
I describe himtall, white hair, blue eyes, always wearing a brown hat.
Mum sits at the kitchen table and stares at the watch for a long time, as if it were a venomous snake.
«Oliver, I dont want you going back to that park. Do you hear me?»
«Why?»
«Because I say so. And give me that watch.»
«No! Its mine! Mr. Thompson gave it to me!»
Mum locks the watch away in a drawer.
«That man is dangerous. I dont want you near him ever again.»
For a week, Mum walks me to and from school. Im not allowed anywhere alone. I feel like a prisoner.
«Why cant I see Mr. Thompson?» I ask every day.
«Because hes a liar,» she says. «And liars hurt children.»
But I know he isnt a liar. His eyes are kind, and he taught me that liars never look you in the eye when they speak.
On Friday, I escape. I tell Mum Im going to the bathroom at break time and sprint to the park.
Mr. Thompson isnt on his bench. I ask the flower seller if shes seen him.
«Oh, love,» she says sadly. «Mr. Thompson fell ill. They took him to hospital three days ago.»
«The hospital? Which one?»
«St. Bartholomews, but»
I dont let her finish. I run.
St. Barts is six streets away. I arrive sweaty and breathless. At reception, a nurse tells me Mr. Thompson is in room 204.
I find him in a white bed, hooked up to beeping machines. He looks small without his hat.
«Mr. Thompson!» I cry.
He opens his eyes and smiles weakly.
«Champ… I knew youd come.»
«Are you very ill?»
«A little,» he says, trying to sit up. «Come here. I need to tell you something.»
I step closer, and he takes my handhis fingers cold.
«Oliver, do you know your full name?»
«Oliver Bennett Cooper.»
«And did you know Cooper was your dads name?»
«Yes, Mum told me.»
«Did you know my name is also Cooper? Edward Cooper.»
It takes a moment to sink in.
«Youre… youre my family?»
Tears roll down his wrinkled cheeks.
«Im your grandfather, champ. Your dad was my son.»
The world tilts. Everything makes sense nowwhy he gave me the watch, why he said I was special, why he grew sad speaking of family.
«Why didnt Mum tell me?»
Mr. Thompsonmy grandfathersighs deeply.
«When your dad died, your mum and I had a terrible row. Over money, the house… grown-up things that dont matter. She was so angry, she cut me off. Moved house, changed neighbourhoods, so I couldnt find you.»
«So Dad did have family?»
«He had a father who adored him. And who adores you, even if weve had so little time.»
«Is that why you gave me the watch?»
«It was your great-grandfathers, then mine, then your dads. Now its yours by right.»
Just then, Mum bursts in, furious and frightened.
«Oliver! Ive been looking everywhere!»
She freezes when she sees my grandfather. They stare at each other for a long, silent moment.
«Emily,» he says softly.
«Edward,» she whispers, her voice cracking.
«Mum,» I say, «why didnt you tell me Mr. Thompson was my grandfather?»
She sinks into a chair beside the bed and covers her face.
«Because I was angry,» she murmurs. «So angry.»
«Why?»
«When your dad died, your grandfather and I fought over everything. The house, the business, the insurance. I thought he only wanted to take things from menot that he wanted to know you.»
«I never wanted to take anything, Emily,» my grandfather says. «I just wanted to know my grandson.»
«I know,» she sobs. «I know, and Im so ashamed. Hes been alone all these years, and Oliver grew up without family.»
«I havent been alone these past months,» my grandfather smiles. «Ive had the finest grandson in the world playing with me in the park.»
«Did you know who I was?» I ask.
«From the first day. Youre just like your dad at your age. Same eyes, same cheeky grin.»
Mum reaches for my grandfathers hand.
«Edward, forgive me. Please.»
«Theres nothing to forgive, love. Just lost time we cant get back.»
«But we can make the most of whats left,» Mum says.
My grandfather smileshis full, warm smile for the first time in days.
«Does that mean I can see you every day?» I ask.
«Every day you like, champ.»
He stayed in hospital another fortnight. Mum and I visited every afternoon. She brought his things from the boarding house where hed been living and set them up in my room for when he came home.
When he was finally discharged, Mum had prepared the old guest room for him.
«This was always your home, Edward,» she said. «Im sorry I made you feel otherwise.»
Now my grandfather lives with us. He helps with my homework, tells me more stories of his travels, and every afternoon we walk together to the park where we met.
The golden watch sits on my bedside table, but its no longer just my treasure. Its the story of my familyproof that broken things can sometimes be mended.
And that grandfathers who appear out of nowhere in parks? Sometimes theyve been waiting for you all along.
