The Broken Window

Everyone on Elm Street in Liverpool knew Mrs. Doyle. She was eighty-one, she lived alone at number 14 with a large gray cat, and she complained about everything: the noise, the bins, the parking, and especially the children who played football in the street. When a ball landed in her garden, she kept it. Kai, who was eleven, had lost three balls that way.

One Saturday afternoon in April, Kai was practicing his shots against the wall of his own house, across the road. He kicked the ball much harder than he meant to, and it flew over the street and straight through Mrs. Doyle's front window. The sound of breaking glass seemed to go on forever. Then there was silence, and then the gray cat ran out of the house at top speed.

Kai's first thought was to run. His best friend Ryan, who had seen everything, suggested hiding in the park until dinner. But Kai's mum had always told him that running away makes things worse, so he took a deep breath, walked across the road and rang the bell.

Mrs. Doyle opened the door with his ball in her hands. She looked angrier than he had ever seen anyone look. Before she could say a word, Kai apologized. He admitted that it was his fault and explained that he had been practicing and the shot had gone wrong. He promised to pay for the window with his pocket money, even if it took him a year. Then he offered to help her find the cat.

Mrs. Doyle didn't say anything for a long time. Then she told him that the window would cost much more than a year of pocket money. Kai's face fell. "However," she continued, "I might have another idea." She explained that she had a bad back and that her garden had become a jungle since her husband died. She said she would forgive him if he helped her in the garden every Saturday until the summer holidays. Kai agreed immediately.

The first Saturday was hard. Mrs. Doyle complained that he was pulling up the flowers instead of the weeds, and she reminded him three times to put the tools back in the shed. But by the third week, something had changed. She started bringing out lemonade and biscuits, and she told him stories about Liverpool in the 1960s, when she was a young nurse and once served tea to a very famous band.

By July, the garden was full of roses, tomatoes and beans. Kai's dad had paid for the new glass, and Kai had paid him back with part of his pocket money. On the last Saturday, Mrs. Doyle went into the house and came back with a big plastic bag. Inside were all the balls she had kept over the years, about twenty of them, including Kai's three. "Take them," she said. "But you'll still come on Saturdays, won't you? The tomatoes won't look after themselves." Kai promised that he would.