Lucy hated everyone. Especially her mother.
She knew, without a doubt, that when she grew up and got out of this place, shed track her down.
No, she wasnt going to fling herself into her arms and cry, *”Hello, Mummy dearest!”*
She was going to watch her first. Then make her pay. For every year Lucy spent in the childrens home, for every tear shed while her mother lived happily somewhere else.
Somehow, she just *knew* thats exactly how her life had turned out.
Lucy had always been in care. For as long as she could remember.
A few times, shed been moved to other homesusually because she kept getting into fights. Didnt matter if it was a boy or a girl in front of her.
Shed been punished, locked in isolation, denied sweetsbut she still hated the carers, the other kids, the whole miserable world.
By fourteen, shed stopped fighting. Not because shed suddenly turned nice, but because everyone was too scared of her now.
Lucy got bored. Shed wander off to some far corner of the homes grounds and just sit there, dreaming of the day shed find her mother and make her sorry.
One day, she heard a strange melody. She paused. It wasnt like anything shed heard before.
Lucy loved musicalways froze when she heard something beautiful. But this tune it was haunting. Sad, almost mournful. And she couldnt even tell *what* was making the sound.
She stood, pushed through the hawthorn bushesand there he was. The new caretaker. Shed already teased him a few times.
What was he *playing*? She strained to see, overbalanced, and somehow toppled straight into the shrubs.
The man stopped and turned. Lucy scrambled up, brushed herself off angrily, and made to leave. But then he spoke.
“Want me to teach you?”
She blinked. *Her?* Could she ever play like that?
She took a step toward him. The caretaker looked about fifty-five. Odd, doing this job at his age.
Lucy came back the next day. He showed her how to play the flute. The oddest thing? Hed carved them himself. Rough but elegant.
When she managed her first proper tune, she hugged him without thinking. Thats when they finally talked.
His name was Edward Wilson, and he lived in a tiny cottage on the homes grounds.
“Why?” she asked. “No family? No home?”
“I had everything once, Lucy. A house, a family Ten years ago, I lost my Margaret. Thought Id never get through itif not for my son.”
Hed remarried after. Pretty woman, but greedy. “Didnt matter, as long as she was good to my Tom.”
Five years later, Tom died in a car crash. The flata nice three-bedder in central Londonhad been in his name for years.
“So my daughter-in-law packed me a suitcase and showed me the door.”
“Why didnt you fight it?”
“What for, Lucy? Everyone I loved is gone. Just waiting my turn now. Thats all.”
For a moment, she hated his daughter-in-law more than her own mother. Even considered revengestarting with her.
When Edward learned what Lucy carried in her heart, he was horrified. How did she bear all that hate?
They talked often. Slowly, Lucy softened. She stopped cutting her hair short, stopped throwing punches to prove a point.
One day, he asked, “You leave next year. Decided what youll do?”
She blinked. “No. Never thought past well, revenge.”
“Suppose you *do* get it. You track her downthough heaven knows howthen what?”
She left without answering. Didnt see him for a week. Then she returned.
“I want to build things.”
For a year, they worked toward her getting into construction college. Uni could wait.
On her last day, they sat on their bench until evening. Lucy criedfirst time in years.
“Edward, Ill come back. Once Im sorted.”
“Lets agree on thisIm not going anywhere. *You* focus on getting qualified, standing on your own feet. Then visit the old man.”
“Old? Youre not *that* old.”
He gave her a flute as she left.
—
Fifteen years passed. Lucy married latenever found anyone who really *got* her.
At thirty, she had a daughter, Katie, and divorced soon after. That little girl was her whole world.
Now, she could afford anything. So she hired someone to find her mother.
It didnt take long.
Her mother had been a lonely woman, desperate for a childthen diagnosed with cancer two months before the birth.
Doctors gave her a year. So she made the hardest choice: to give Lucy up straight away.
Lucy found her grave. A grand headstone with an angel.
She often thought of Edward. But when she returned years later, he was gone. The home had new staff, a new director.
On weekends, she took Katie to the park. That child, cheeky as anything, had a heart too big for her tiny frame.
By six, shed mastered the art of convincing Lucy to buy treats”for the ducks!” or “for *all* the children!”before confessing the truth. Today was no different.
“Mum, can we get sausage, bread, and juice? *Please?*”
Lucy sighed. “Whos it for *this* time?”
“Maybe better you dont know? Less stress?”
“Were not leaving till you tell me.”
Katie sighed dramatically. “Theres a man. He hasnt got a home.”
Lucy nearly fainted.
“Mum! Dont freak out! Hes just *old*. And he doesnt beghe tells stories and poems! Youre not *really* bothered about a bit of sausage, are you?”
Lucy, a grown woman with a high-flying job, had no comeback. She bought the food.
At the park, Katie pointed. “Wait here. Hes by the pond.”
Lucy saw a shabby old man surrounded by kids. Safe enough.
That night, as Lucy read in bed, she heard *that melody* again.
She rushed to Katies room. The girl jumped. “Mum! Did I wake you?”
“Katie! What was *that*?”
Katie held up a flute. “The mans teaching me. I cant get the middle bit right.”
Lucys eyes filled. “Let me show you. That part took me ages too”
She played the whole tunethen burst into tears. Katie panicked. “Mum! Is the music *that* sad? I wont play it again!”
Lucy shook her head. She fetched her own flutedarker with age.
“Katie, where does that man *live*?”
“By the pond. His stuffs in the bushes.”
“Get your coat.”
They found him easily. Katie called, “Grandad!”
He emerged, worried. “Whats wrong, poppet? Shouldnt you be home?”
Lucy stepped forward. “Edward. Hello.”
He froze. Turned slowly. Stared.
“Lucy? Cant be.”
She hugged him tight. “It is. No more feeding mosquitoes. Youre coming home.”
“Home?”
“*My* home. If not for you, Id have nothing. So its yours too.”
All the way back, Edward wiped his eyes. The tears wouldnt stop.
If not for Lucy holding his arm, he mightve stumbled. But one thing was certain nowhe wouldnt die alone. Not anymore.
