The Stranger

That’s where it happened, I would later say to my children as we skipped along the cliff edge. I would point to a patch of grass sheltered by a rock formation. That’s where I met him.

I’d gone there the first time because it felt secure, sheltered and wild enough all at the same time. I needed to feel the pull of the moon upon the tide. I wanted to watch the water creeping up to greet the land and then speeding back to tell the abyss about all that it had found. I needed to feel bare and exposed, but only to the sea. I only trusted the sea. This was the farthest point of the island that I could find, away from people. I had nothing with me but my thoughts and they were plenty. I sat huddled and bent-backed staring into the blue, listening to the roar of the waves colliding with one another in the wind, letting the watery music fill my mind and take over it.

Out of nowhere, a stranger appeared and interrupted my solitude, untethering me from the sea. He cut through the magnitude of my surroundings and left me weightless, a kite without its line, swirling aimlessly in the breeze. I did not thank him for it.

“Are…are you okay down there?”

I didn’t have any words to give.

“It’s just… you’re dreadfully close to that cliff edge, miss.”

I had the strength to lift my head and look into his eyes. He folded.

“Oh, dear, dear, dear, whatever is the matter?”

My heart had sunk. Sorrow came over me and I felt drowned in it. Words failed. I was too tired. Too hungry. Too cold. I would do anything not to feel. That was the matter.

“Come now, please, take my hand… please… come with me.”

We walked in silence. My feet were bare and cold on the dewy grass, and then felt the rough of a pavement like sandpaper. The stranger led me to a home with warm walls and a knitted sitting room that smelt of old soap. He spoke on a phone while I slept on a couch.

His words drifted in and out of focus….

“She was so cold, it’s December Michael, she looks like she’s lived outdoors for I don’t know how long…she looks…wild.”

When I woke, he brought me tea. It had been a long time since I had tasted tea, held a mug, or slept anywhere other than ground. Mothers tell curious children that strangers are danger - they usually mean me. I was not curious, I just had nothing left to lose.

“I’ve got a friend who volunteers at a homeless shelter. He can take you to the mainland and give you a place to stay, people to stay with.”

I’d tried this way before. They told me to leave after five days. A flu was spreading and then they were full, or some other excuse. In reality, they were underfunded, understaffed and over-worked. I ended up back on the street, hiding from police after eating food without paying for it. I sought refuge on a ferry using a ticket that fell out of a child’s pocket. I didn’t know where the ferry was headed but it was warm and sheltered and that’s how I ended up here, on this island. Still, the stranger was kind for trying to help and couldn’t help not knowing any of this.

I smiled. I nodded.

“I’m not sure what they are going to do for you or how they can really help, and I’m not a doctor of the mind but I can tell you this much; your life is precious, don’t give up on it.”

Sure enough, the friend arrived and took me to a shelter. I didn’t know where it was at the time, I didn’t ask and no one thought to tell me. It felt the same as the others. People came and went and there was not a single face I could hold on to. Not one that saw me.

I had been there a week when I found the package lying there on my pillow. It was addressed to me. It had my name on it.

Inside was a small black notebook. I opened the first page to find these words:

Use this to tell your story. It matters.

From the stranger on the cliff edge.

He didn’t know where I’d come from, or even the sound of my voice. He saw me and knew I needed his help and he gave it. I thought then that maybe I would write something, about how it all started, about how hard it is to find home once you’ve lost one. I found out from a volunteer that more than 4,000 people slept on the streets in England on any given night that year. I started to write. I wrote and wrote until my knuckles went red and my fingers stiff. It was when I reached the middle of the book that I found the details of a bank account he had set up in my name. I went to the bank the next day and discovered that the account held five hundred pounds. I wept. I never had a chance to thank him for it. I decided then that I would write about that man. That stranger on the cliff edge. He changed my life with blind trust and unconditional kindness. I used the money in the account to publish my story. My book helped to raise awareness of women's homelessness, and doubled the funding for all homeless charities in Southampton – which is where (unbeknown to be at the time) I’d ended up. Three months after my book's publication I’d earnt twenty thousand pounds and so moved into a small flat I could call home. Now that I run the biggest homeless charity in the U.K., I do everything in my power to help each individual without conditions. I don’t ask their story but I do give them every chance to tell it. Trust and kindness towards others sure can go a long way, and somehow the stranger knew it.

Recently, I have hired a private investigator to find this man, this stranger who transformed my entire world in a day. I'm not sure if I will ever find him, or what I will say if I do, but I do know now that angels are real people all around us. Real people with a healthy mix of imperfections and good intentions. And I also know that you, dear reader, might just be someone's angel too.