Lost and Found
The man opposite me pulled out a pair of needles and a bundle of chunky navy yarn from his weathered satchel whilst the spring landscape engulfed him. Fascinated, I stopped unpacking my bag (which I was emptying to prepare for the night ahead), and sat down beside him to see a pair of familiar needles, dark brown wood with lighter rims.
“How long have you had those needles for?” I asked.
He glanced at me and then back at his work, “Many… many years. They belonged to my grandmother. It’s all that I have left of my family.”
“Really?” I said curiously. I looked into my bag and took out my own knitting needles which bared a similar resemblance, except for the fact that they were entangled in a light green ball of yarn. “Did she have any like these?”
He looked down at me with shock plastered across his face, “Yes, why they’re the exact same ones my grandmother used to have. H…how did you find these?”
“George!” I turned my head where I saw the memorable stern face of Mr Flunter, the orphanage’s carer standing in the entrance of the small park. “How dare you run off like that?” Come back at once!”
Annoyed at my failed attempt to run away, I stood up from the bench we were both sitting on and took one last glance at the stranger before turning to my Mr Flunter.
“Wait,” cried the stranger, “Where did you get these needles from?”
“My father gave them to me. He told me they belonged to his mother and when she passed away, she gifted the needles to him.”
“And where is your Father now?”
“That is enough,” Mr Flunter muttered sternly before gazing down at me, “You need to go home now.”
He muttered a short apology to the stranger and without a seconds thought pushed me into his car and drove me back to the orphanage. So much for running away without getting caught, I thought.
“You shouldn’t be talking to strangers George,” Mr Flunter stated after an unbearably long silence, “What would have happened if you were kidnapped?”
“Does it matter?” I said defeatedly. “I’m an orphan, like anyone would care if I disappeared.”
After another long silence, he uttered, “You are grounded for the next month, except for school you are not allowed to leave the orphanage. And that includes any future run away attempts you may have planned.”
As soon as we arrived, I ran to the box that I was supposed to call my room with the only redeeming factor being that at least I could call it my own. I sat in the empty corner, by the thin, oblong window just opposite the door and began to knit another square. I like to knit, knitting gives me my own method of escapism as it helps me to focus, just one stitch after another.
A week after my failed attempt to run away, I came back from school where I was called into Mr Flunter’s office. When I entered, I saw Mr Flunter behind his desk, and the stranger I met a week ago, sitting in one of his chairs.
He told me to sit down and greet the stranger who sat opposite me and instead of questioning him, I greeted him once again.
“George,” Mr Flunter said gently, “I would like you to meet your uncle.” I stared in shock to the person sitting in front of me, it didn’t make sense, my father never mentioned that I had an uncle. We would receive the odd card from someone but I never knew of any other close relatives, why didn’t my parents tell me? I never realised that someone in my family was still alive.
“I know it’s sound very strange but I used to live in Ireland and never learnt about your father’s passing. It was only after I returned to England and actually went to see your parents that I found out that they had passed. My brother and I were never that close and he never told me that he had a child of his own so I never knew you were alive, never mind being kept in here. It was only by chance that you saw me in the park that day and only by chance that you noticed my knitting needles. Those knitting needles you have were your grandmother’s most prized possession and when she died, she gave one pair to my brother and the other to me. So, it was only once you showed them to me that I discovered who you were.”
My heart felt tight so full of confusion. Was my own father so ashamed of me that he didn’t tell his family about me, even his own brother? My uncle knelt, grabbed both of my shoulders gently and uttered, “I know that I have been away for a very long time and I’m sorry for missing all those years but please, please let me make it up to you George.”
Tears formed in my eyes as I hugged him.
“I’m so sorry George”
In the midst of this reconciliation I heard Mr Flunter say: “George, would you like to live with your uncle?”. I turned to my uncle, then at Mr Flunter and nodded my head.
“Well then, you better start packing,” Mr Flunter said with a smile on his face, the first time I ever saw him wear one.
I ran back to my room as quickly as I could to pack up all my things whilst my uncle signed the last of the paperwork. I had been waiting for a moment like this for few years. I had met with other foster parents but none of them ever seemed to like me and ever since I have been trapped in this prison. It is only now; I can finally escape. After I had packed the little possessions I had, I ran back to Mr Flunter’s office.
My uncle held my hand as he led me out of the office and into a much brighter world. I took one last look at the orphanage, knowing now, that I was finally found.
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Author Becky AbleÂ
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Cover photo: Lucy Rose Jones
Instagram @_lucyrjones