Every morning, a spry octogenarian steps out into the courtyard of our little block of flats. Shes always dressed neatly, with a hat that could belong in a vintage shop. I moved into the building at the tail end of autumn, and on my way to the office Id invariably spot my neighbour. Sometimes shed be perched on the bench beneath the towering lime tree, other times shed amble slowly, leaning on her cane.
After a few weeks we started exchanging greetings. Id pause, ask how MrsMargaret Thompson was feeling, and wish her a good day. Shed always flash a warm smile and thank me politely.
At the end of December a newcomer arrived in our courtyard: a dog. He was small and scruffy, his coat a tangled mess that made it hard to tell his breed. No one knew where hed come from.
When Margaret tossed him a piece of sausage, his fate was sealed. From that moment he claimed the courtyard as his kingdom he probably wouldnt have survived elsewhere, looking as miserable as he did.
Most of the residents werent thrilled. Many tried to shoo him away, shouting Go on, off you go! whenever he padded over with pleading eyes, silently begging for a crumb. Still, he managed to nab a few treats someone would fling him a crust of bread, another a tiny bone. Margaret would bring him stale biscuits or a slice of yesterdays loaf, speaking softly as she patted his head, calling him Paws.
In early spring, when the snow was almost melted away, I ran into Margaret in the courtyard. She told me shed be leaving that evening with her granddaughter, Emily, for a country retreat and would stay there until autumn. Possibly even until the end of autumn, she added. Weve got a solid wood stove out there, and it stays nice and toasty even on the coldest nights.
She asked me to promise a visit.
By late August I finally made the trip to see her. After buying a small present for about five pounds, I caught the bus to the village where she was staying. I found her on the veranda, peeling huge red apples. Lying on the wooden steps beside her was a dog, stretched out in contentment.
Paws, come on, greet our guest! she called.
The dog sprang up, wagging his fluffy tail, and trotted over to me. He was a striking animal now, his coat glossy and wavy, catching the sunlight like a polished piece of mahogany.
MrsMargaret, is this really the same scruffy Paws from our courtyard? I asked, halfamused.
Yes, thats him! Hes turned into a proper handsome fellow! she replied with a grin. Come in, have a cuppa. Fill me in on all the city gossip!
We lingered over tea, a pot of cherryinfused brew, chatting away. Paws, after finishing his porridge, curled up by the warm stove, sighing softly in his sleep perhaps dreaming of chasethesquirrel adventures.
Outside, a gentle breeze made the apple tree branches sway, and ripe red apples drifted lazily onto the grass, completing the picture of a perfectly ordinary, wonderfully odd English summer.
