**10th June 2023**
Im eight years old, and my favourite place in the world is St. Jamess Park. Not for the rusty swings or the sandpit full of dried leaves, but for old Mr. Whitmore.
«Hello, champ!» he always calls out when he spots me running over after school.
Mr. Whitmore has snow-white hair, always wears a brown felt hat, and his hands are the most wrinkled Ive ever seenbut theyre kind hands, the sort that can 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 more,» she replies without looking up from her paperwork.
Mums always working. Says shes had to keep the house going on her own since Dad left. Never asks what I do at the park or who I play with.
Mr. Whitmore tells the most incredible stories. Says he travelled the world when he was young, met pirates in the Caribbean, and once dined with a king in Europe.
«Did you really meet a king?» I ask, sharing 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?»
«A family. A lovely wife and a son who looked just like you at your age.»
When he says that, his bright blue eyesusually twinkling when he sees mego dull, like the sky before rain.
«Where are they now?»
«My wife is in heaven,» he sighs. «And my son well, families sometimes break, champ. Like a plate dropped on the floor.»
«But broken plates can be glued back together.»
«Plates can,» he smiles sadly. «Families are trickier.»
Weve been friends for three months when Mr. Whitmore surprises me.
«Herethis is for you,» he says, pulling a wooden box from his coat pocket.
Inside is an antique gold pocket watch, heavy with age.
«It belonged to my father, and his father before him. One day, itll be yours properly, when youre grown.»
«Why give it to me?»
«Because youre special, Oliver. More than you know.»
That night, I show Mum the watch. Ive never seen her go so pale.
«Where did you get this?» she snaps, snatching it from me.
«Mr. Whitmore gave it to me, my friend from the park.»
«Mr. Whitmore? What does he look like?»
I describe himtall, white hair, blue eyes, always in a brown hat.
Mum sits at the kitchen table, staring at the watch like its a poisonous snake.
«Oliver, youre not to go back to that park. Understood?»
«Why?»
«Because I said so. And give me that watch.»
«No! Its mine! Mr. Whitmore gave it to me!»
She locks it in a drawer.
«That man is dangerous. You stay away from him.»
For a week, Mum escorts me to and from school. I feel like a prisoner.
«Why cant I see Mr. Whitmore?» I ask daily.
«Because hes a liar,» she says. «Liars hurt children.»
But I know he isnt. His eyes are kind, and he taught me liars cant look you in the eye.
On Friday, I escape. I tell Mum Im going to the loo at break and bolt to the park.
Mr. Whitmore isnt on his bench. The flower-seller gives me a sad look.
«Oh, love Mr. Whitmore fell ill. They took him to hospital three days ago.»
«Which hospital?»
«St. Thomas, but»
I dont let her finish. I run.
St. Thomas is six streets away. I arrive sweating and gasping. The nurse at reception says hes in Room 204.
I find him in a white bed, hooked to beeping machines. He looks small without his hat.
«Mr. Whitmore!»
His eyes open weakly.
«Champ knew youd come.»
«Are you very ill?»
«A bit,» he croaks, trying to sit up. «Come here. Something important to tell you.»
He takes my handhis fingers cold.
«Oliver, do you know your full name?»
«Oliver Carter-Bennett.»
«And did you know Bennett was your dads name?»
«Yes, Mum told me.»
«Did you know my name is Bennett too? Edward Bennett.»
It takes a moment to sink in.
«Are you my family?»
Tears slip down his wrinkled cheeks.
«Im your grandad, champ. Your dad was my son.»
The world tilts. Suddenly, the watch, his sadnessit all makes sense.
«Why didnt Mum tell me?»
Grandad sighs.
«When your dad died, your mum and I had a terrible row. Money, the house grown-up nonsense. She was so angry, she moved away so I couldnt find you.»
«Did Dad have family, then?»
«A father who adored him. And who adores you, even if we only had these few months.»
«Is that why you gave me the watch?»
«Your great-grandfathers, then mine, then your dads. Now its yours by right.»
Mum bursts in, frantic.
«Oliver! Ive been searching everywhere!»
She freezes when she sees Grandad. They stare at each other a long time.
«Eleanor,» he says softly.
«Edward,» she whispers back.
«Mum, why didnt you tell me?»
She sinks into a chair, covering her face.
«Because I was angry. So angry.»
«Why?»
«When your dad died, your grandad and I fought over everything. The house, the business, the insurance. I thought he wanted to take things from menot that he wanted to know you.»
«I never wanted to take anything, Eleanor,» Grandad says. «Just to know my grandson.»
«I see that now,» she cries. «These years hes been alone, and you grew up without family.»
«Not entirely alone these last months,» Grandad smiles. «I had the finest grandson in the world sharing biscuits with me.»
«Did you know who I was?» I ask.
«From the first day. Youre the spitting image of your dad at your age.»
Mum takes Grandads hand.
«Edward, forgive me. Please.»
«Nothing to forgive, love. Just lost time.»
«But weve time left to make new memories,» Mum says.
Grandads smilefor the first time in daysis full again.
«Does this mean I can visit every day?»
«Every day you like, champ.»
Grandad stayed in hospital another fortnight. Mum and I visited daily. She brought his things from his old flat to ours, ready for when he was discharged.
When he finally came home, Mum had prepared the guest room.
«This was always your home, Edward,» she said. «Im sorry I made you feel otherwise.»
Now Grandad lives with us. Helps with my homework, tells more stories, and every afternoon, we walk to the park where we met.
The pocket watch sits on my bedside tableno longer just my treasure, but my familys story. Proof that broken things can mend.
And that grandfathers who appear out of nowhere in parks? Sometimes theyve been waiting for you all along.
**Lesson learned:** Anger blinds us to second chances. But loveif we let italways finds a way back.
