Were off to visit my mum.
As we step into the building, we come across a little boy, about five, crying his eyes out.
Why are you in tears?
I ask.
He sobs,
I came to see my nan.
I went to play in the garden, and when I came back, she wouldnt open the door.
I tell him,
Dont worry, shes probably just popped to the shops.
Shell be back soon.
But he cant stop crying, poor thing.
Whats your name?
O-o-liver
And which flat are you from?
Number eighteen
The people in flat eighteen have just moved in, and Ive not met them yet.
I ring their doorbell, but theres no reply.
I cant just leave the lad sitting on the stairs.
Come on, Oliver, you can be our guest.
Ill leave a note on your nans door.
We head to ours.
While my husband keeps him company, I jot a quick note: Oliver is in Flat 28. I slip downstairs and stick it to her door.
Back at home, Olivers already racing toy cars with my son.
Everythings sorted.
I wash his face and ask,
Would you like some vegetable soup?
Yes, please.
He finishes the bowl in no time.
For your main, theres meatballs.
Fancy some?
Yes!
His appetite is enormous.
Two meatballs vanish in seconds.
Do you want some fruit compote or juice?
Tea, please.
That throws me at five, Id only have drunk tea if there was nothing else left.
We all have tea and a bit of biscuit cake, while Oliver and my husband talk serious matters like car makes and how fast they go.
Mum gets home.
I explain how we ended up with a small guest.
Odd she says the woman in flat eighteen is your age.
I dont see why thats strange.
A woman of forty can easily be grandmother to a five-year-old.
Mum decides my logics sound and joins us to help entertain our visitor.
She brings the toy box, and the whole gathering gets even livelier.
An hour later, the doorbell rings.
I answer.
Theres a woman my age at the door.
Good afternoon she says.
Ive just got in from work and found this note.
Was there perhaps a muddle with the flats?
It feels odd straight away that shes come from work, and the name Oliver means nothing to her.
Youre not missing a grandson?
I ask.
No grandchildren just yet she replies.
Somethings not adding up.
I go back to the lounge.
Mums loading up a toy lorry with blocks, my husband tying a bit of string to it, while Oliver, clearly in charge, directs the operations.
Oliver I say, sitting beside him which bit of town did you come from to visit your nan?
From London.
Do you know your own address?
He recites his street, house number and flat.
And your nans address?
He gives another street name, and it all clicks into place.
Hed strayed from one courtyard to another during his play, and when the other children left, he thought it was time for him to head home, too.
The flats looked identical.
Instead of his nans block, he ended up in ours.
He knocked, there was no answer, so panic set in and the tears began.
I give him a toy car for being brave, scoop him up, and off we go to look for his nan, who must be out of her mind with worry.
Over in the next courtyard, we hear someone calling,
Oliver!
Oliver!
We run towards the voice and spot a lady about my age, panic written all over her face.
Is he yours?
Yes, he is!
With relief, she hugs him tight.
We explain what happened and all share a laugh, though her laughters shaky shes clearly still anxious.
Oliver, on the other hand, thinks its all great fun hes even got a new car to take home.
She thanks us again and again, while we slip away before her tears start up properly.
As were going, we hear,
Oliver, come in for your lunch, you must be starving.
Already eaten he says, gliding his new car along the ground.
Hes had a good meal I add, glancing back starter, main, and a cup of tea.
Well, I never!
she exclaims.
He never usually touches his food, we can barely get him to eat soup.
I raise an eyebrow, remembering the feast he had at ours.
He waves his car in the air and shouts,
See you tomorrow!
Ill come back!
A Visit to Mum Turns Into a Rescue Mission: Little Boy Lost, Meatballs, and a Surprising Family Mix-Up in Our London Flat
