I was watching over Toms little sister while their mum was at work. No one could have guessed what would happen next.
Mrs. Harper, the headmistress, mentioned that Tommy Gray hadnt turned up for lessons since midNovember. At first I thought hed simply caught a cold autumn, the usual bugs, nothing out of the ordinary. But a week passed, then another, and he was still absent. During breaks I found myself waiting for Tommy to slip into the classroom, sit at his windowside desk and pull out his favourite blue maths notebook. His desk seemed to have vanished from my mental picture of the room.
By the end of the second week my worry was unbearable. I hadnt heard anything from his parents no phone call, no note. It was odd. Tommy had always been a diligent pupil, quiet but eager. He loved maths, rarely missed lessons, and his notebooks were always immaculate. It cant be that simple, I thought, flipping through the class register.
After school I walked over to the school office.
Eleanor, do you happen to know whats happened to Tommy Gray? I asked, sitting on a stool by the desk. Hes been missing for ages.
The secretary looked up from her paperwork, adjusted her glasses and gave a short sigh.
Nobodys called. Maybe theres a problem at home again. You know the area, dont you?
I knew the area well. The council estates with peeling paint, courtyards where rubbish often piled up by the doorsteps, noisy groups of teenagers who seemed to claim every bench on every corner, and the neverending squabbles that travelled through thin walls.
I frowned.
But you cant just leave him alone. He has a mother, doesnt he?
His mothers there, yes, Eleanor said dryly. But what kind of mother?
I stood up without a word.
Fine, Ill sort it out myself, I muttered, pulling my coat tighter.
Whatever you say, go and look, she grumbled after me. Its up to you.
I didnt answer. I hurried across the school playground, one question looping in my head: whats happened to Tommy?
The hallway of the Gray house smelled of damp and stale cigarette smoke. A flickering bulb hung in the stairwell, and the steps were smeared with grime. I went up to the third floor and knocked on the door, its brown paint flaking away.
Is anyone home? I called, but only silence answered.
I knocked louder. A minute later the door creaked open a fraction, and Tommy peered out.
Mrs. Harper? his voice trembled.
Tommy, hello. Why havent you been at school? Whats wrong?
He stayed silent, looking lost and exhausted. His cheeks were hollow, dark circles under his eyes.
Will you let me in? I asked softly.
Tommy glanced around as if checking for anyone behind the door, then opened it wider.
The flat was small and untidy. In the corner a threeyearold girl was playing with a plastic spoon. Tommy quickly shut the door behind me so the little one wouldnt feel the chill from the hallway.
Thats my sister, Poppy, he whispered.
Tommy, tell me whats going on, I said, sitting on a chair. Wheres your mum?
Shes at work, he answered, hanging his head.
And why isnt Poppy in nursery?
Mum didnt have time to arrange it, he muttered. She said she was too busy.
I sighed.
So youre looking after her while Mums away?
Tommy nodded.
What about school?
He hesitated, then said quietly, I cant make it. I cant leave Poppy alone shes tiny.
A knot tightened in my chest. My pupils never spoke of such things.
Tommy, I said gently, meeting his eyes, have you eaten today?
He shrugged.
Im not sure maybe this morning.
I stood.
All right, this wont do. Stay here while I fetch something. Ill be back quick.
Where are you going? he asked anxiously.
To get food and help, I replied, tugging my coat on. He wanted to protest but stayed silent.
I left the flat, phone in hand. I knew I couldnt just abandon those children.
An hour later I returned. Tommy opened the door again, this time his gaze a little less frightened.
Youre back? he whispered.
Of course, I said cheerfully, stepping inside with heavy shopping bags. I promised.
He pointed shakily toward the kitchen.
I followed his direction, set the bags on the table loaf of bread, a bottle of milk, a bag of oats, a few apples, even a packet of biscuits. Tommy stared at the spread, wideeyed.
This all for us? he asked.
Who else would it be for? I smiled. Now, wheres the frying pan?
What are you going to do with all this? he asked, wary.
Cook dinner, I replied firmly. And you go play with Poppy.
He lingered in the doorway, fists clenched.
You really intend to do all this yourself? he asked, uncertain.
I turned, rolled up my sleeves and said, Absolutely. Who else if not me?
I pulled out eggs, butter, grabbed the bread and set the kettle on. The pan hissed as I dropped a knob of butter in. Tommy watched, not knowing how to react.
Tommy, why are you just standing there? I said softly. Go see your sister. Shes probably bored.
He glanced at the room where Poppy sat with a doll, watching us from the corner.
Shes always like that, he muttered. Quiet.
Then its time to cheer her up, I replied with a grin. Dinner will be ready soon.
Reluctantly he left the kitchen, and I kept cooking. Within twenty minutes the table held scrambled eggs, sliced bread, mugs of tea and a small plate of apples.
Everythings ready! I called. Come and eat!
Tommy and Poppy sat down. Poppy eyed the food shyly at first, then took a bite and brightened.
Delicious, she whispered, clutching her spoon.
Of course it is, I winked. I tried my best.
Tommy ate in silence, occasionally shooting me quick looks. Finally he asked, Why are you doing all this?
I set my fork down and looked him straight in the eye.
Because you matter to me, Tommy. Youre my pupil, I care about you. Thats only natural.
His cheeks flushed and he buried his face in his plate.
After dinner I began clearing the table. Tommy tried to help, but I stopped him.
You go tidy up Poppys toys. Ill manage the rest.
Ten minutes later I reentered the room. Everything was neat: toys gathered, floor swept.
Good job, I praised. Tomorrow Ill speak to the neighbour. I think she can pop in now and then while your mums at work.
The neighbour? Aunt Linda? Tommy asked, surprised.
Yes, shes very kind. Ill talk to her and things will settle. And you, Tommy, will come to my house for extra lessons.
Your house? Why? he asked, cautious.
For tutoring, I said. You cant keep missing school.
He hesitated a moment, then nodded.
Alright then.
I smiled. Thats the spirit. Everything will fall into place, youll see.
From then on Tommy spent his evenings at my flat after my teaching day ended. We dove into maths and literature, sometimes putting the books aside to just chat.
Mrs. Harper, he once said, drawing circles in his notebook, I sometimes wonder what would have happened if you hadnt come.
Someone else would have, I replied, smiling. But it wouldnt have been the same.
No, he shook his head firmly. No one else would have.
I looked at him thoughtfully, then changed the subject. By the way, youre on maths, not philosophy. What about question three?
He blushed, then returned to the problems. He understood that my help was about more than just checking homework.
Gradually his school life improved. Teachers stopped nagging, and neighbours noticed he no longer loitered around the estate for nothing. Occasionally, seeing his mother, exhausted after a shift, I saw her try to spend more time with the children.
Thank you, a neighbour said once when she met me outside the block. If it hadnt been for you, I dont know what would have become of Tommy.
Dont mention it, I waved off. Hes a sharp lad. He just needed a push.
Pride warmed my voice.
Time passed. Tommy grew more confident, no longer asking why I spent my evenings with him. He simply accepted my support and repaid it with determination.
How do you manage it all, Mr. Harper? he asked one day, flipping through a history book. You have your own job.
I manage because youre clever, Tommy. You pick things up quickly, I replied.
He looked away, a hint of embarrassment, but my words lingered with him. He threw himself into study.
Six months later his grades were back up, fivestar marks appearing in his diary. I felt a quiet joy seeing my effort bear fruit.
Years later I retired from teaching, settled into a modest cottage, and enjoyed a slower pace. Former colleagues would drop by, swapping stories about the school, complaining about students, noting how things had changed.
I listened, but my thoughts often drifted back to the children Id helped.
One hot summer afternoon a knock sounded at my front door. I wiped my hands on an apron and opened it to find a tall young man holding a bouquet of wildflowers.
Good afternoon, Mr. Harper, he said, his voice unmistakably familiar.
Tommy? I asked, squinting at the man before me.
He smiled and nodded. Yes, its me. I thought Id stop by and see you.
Come in, I said, a little flustered, opening the door wider.
We sat in the kitchen for a long while. Tommy talked about university, about how his mother finally landed a good job.
Thank you for everything you did for me, he said suddenly, his tone serious.
Dont be ridiculous, Tommy, I replied gently. I just gave you a little help.
No, you gave me a future. Without you Id have struggled, he insisted.
Tears welled in my eyes.
The important thing is that youre happy, I whispered, my voice trembling.
We talked for ages, reminiscencing about the past. When he finally left, I stayed seated in the quiet, looking at the flowers on the table, feeling that perhaps theres nothing more meaningful than being there when someone truly needs you.
