Emily, dont think any ill of me! the old man blurted, his voice trembling like a leaf in a gale. Im not a vagrant. My name is Michael Seymour. Ive come to see my daughter. Its a hard tale to tell
The clock ticked down the final hours to New Years Eve. The office was empty, the staff long gone home, but nobody had expected Irene.
To avoid a shift on the first of January she had decided to work ahead, packing a couple of salads, some fruit and a bottle of bubbly in the fridge, all ready for the night. She didnt need to dress up for anyone. She longed to slip off her heels and pull on a soft nightgown.
It had been months since she and Andrew split, the breakup so bruising she was unwilling to dive into a new relationship. Now she was comfortable being alone.
Andrew had tried to win her back, calling repeatedly, but Irene refused to start over. Were not a match, she told herself. Its too messy. She didnt even want to think about him; the past was a cold bucket of water she didnt need splashing on her celebration.
She stepped off the minibus, only a few paces from her flat. By the entrance, on a bench, she spotted an elderly gentleman standing beside a modest fir tree. Probably someones guests, she mused.
She offered a polite hello; the man nodded, his eyes never leaving the ground.
For a heartbeat it seemed his eyes glittered with tearsor perhaps the reflection of streetlightsbut she brushed it aside and hurried inside.
The evening air bit at her skin. After a hot shower she slipped into her favourite fluffy robe, poured herself a mug of tea and drifted to the window.
Strangely, the old man was still seated on the bench.
More than an hour has passed since I got home, and there are only two hours left to midnight. If he came to visit, why is he still out there? And that shine in his eyes! she thought, shaking her head.
She set the table, flicked on the fairylights on her own tiny tree, yet her mind kept drifting back to the lonely figure.
Half an hour later she glanced out again; the man was still unmoving.
Maybe hes unwell. He could freeze out here, she wondered, pulling on a coat and heading outside.
She sat beside him on the bench. He glanced at her, then turned away.
Excuse me, are you alright? she asked gently. Ive noticed youve been sitting here a long time. Its freezing out. Can I help?
He sighed, Nothing, child. Ill sit a while longer and then Im off.
Off where?
To the station. Ill go home. He stared at the ground.
No, that wont do. I cant have you shivering on the bench at dawn. Please, come in. Warm yourself, then you can go wherever you need.
But
No buts! Come.
Irene imagined her friend Samantha seeing this, eyes wide with disbelief, but Samantha wasnt there, and Irene couldnt abandon the old man.
He rose, shuffling toward the tree. May I have it?
Take it, why not.
Inside, the old man placed the fir in the hallway, shedding his coat slowly, each movement a struggle against the chill that had seeped into his bones.
She brewed tea, and he sat at the kitchen table, cradling a mug, warming his hands as he spoke.
Emily, dont think any ill of me! Im not a vagrant. My name is Michael Seymour. I came to see my daughter. Its a hard story to tell We split long ago, I was at fault, I met another woman, fell in love like a fool, saw nothing but roses.
He paused, his voice cracking. At first I hid, then my wife found out about us and the fights at home grew. One night I slammed the door and walked to the one I loved My daughter was five then.
He swallowed, eyes flicking to the teacup. I tried to help, but my ex, Lucy, was proud, refused any aid, even denied child support. She wanted to raise Emily alone. I offered money through my parents, through her, but she turned everything down. She even turned Emily against me.
He looked away. Once, at the nursery, I tried to give Emily a toy, but she ran off, refused to speak, called me nobody. I stepped back, left her life, moved away with my second wife, Martha. I sent money for Emily, but it kept bouncing back. I stopped trying. Ten years later we returned, our parents gone, we moved into their flat, sold it, bought a small cottage near a village. No children came of that marriage. Two years ago Martha died, and Im alone.
He stared at the tree, the lights flickering. I came today, hoping for forgiveness I didnt expect. She lives in the same flat we once shared. I bought a tree, knocked on her door, and she wouldnt let me in. I understand now why Im here. I have no need for anythingmy house, my pension are fine. I could have helped my daughter, shes the only family I have.
He sighed, All would have been different if Lucy had let me see Emily.
He stepped out of the flat, wandering aimlessly until he found this bench, frozen in place as if time had stopped. Maybe hed have stayed there forever, but fate had other plans. Perhaps Im still needed somewhere, he muttered. Thank you, dear, Im warmed now. Ill wait for the bus and go home.
A voice from the hallway called, Where will you go at this hour? The bus isnt until morning, half an hour to midnight. Stay, Ill put a spare mattress on the sofa, you can rest and catch the first bus.
Michael glanced at Irene. Its uncomfortable, love. No one would normally let a stranger stay. Honestly, Id rather not be alone tonight. If youll have me, Ill stay until morning.
Deal, she said, relief softening her shoulders.
At dawn Michael gathered his coat. Thank you, Irene. Youre an angel, saved me from a foolish decision. I was really going to stay on that bench.
He added, Youre welcome to visit. Its not farmy place has space, a small apiary with five hives, the gardens beautiful in summer. Apples, pears, everything you could wish for. In winter its cosy, the river runs close. Come and rest.
Will do, Michael Seymour, she replied, smiling.
He left, disappearing around the corner. Irene watched the window until his figure vanished.
Thats how it goesstrangers sometimes become family, while kin slip away unnoticed.
Irene had lost her parents early, and after hearing the old mans sad tale she vowed to visit him again. She smiled, hoping the next meeting would be under brighter skies.
