The Mysterious Painting
Alice sat in the backseat of the car, gazing out the window. Her spirits were high, as though it were the eve of a holiday—Christmas, or perhaps her birthday. But her birthday was in December, and now it was July.
Behind the wheel sat a stern, broad-shouldered man. All Alice could see was the back of his shaved head, which merged into a thick neck. The sight of it made her uneasy—something about it felt unpleasant, almost robotic. She craned her neck, trying to catch a glimpse of his face.
“Sit down!” he snapped without turning.
Alice flopped back into her seat and returned to watching the blur of fields, forests, and villages rushing past. They overtook two cyclists, a man and a boy, who glanced at her through the glass. Her excitement swelled again. This was her first trip to another town, to meet grandparents she had never seen before.
“How much longer?” Alice asked.
“Not long,” came her mother’s voice from the front.
“Why didn’t we visit Nan and Grandad before?”
Mum muttered something indistinct.
“Is there a river there?”
“Yes. There’s everything there. Stop chattering—you’ll see when we arrive.” Her mother’s voice sharpened with irritation.
Alice fell silent. Lately, her mother had been quick to snap over the smallest things. It had started after Dad left, packing his things and walking out without another word.
*I hope we get there soon*, Alice thought. *Maybe this is a holiday—Mum packed so much, even my toys. Even my schoolbag. Why would I need my schoolbag on holiday?* Questions swirled, but she didn’t dare ask.
Leaning back, she began to hum softly, drifting from one note to another.
“Stop that whining!” her mother snapped. “We’ve had enough noise already.” Alice frowned and bit her lip.
At last, they reached the town. Alice pressed her face to the window as the car stopped outside a red-brick terrace house.
“Here we are. Home sweet home,” Mum said, stepping out. But her voice held no joy, only resignation.
The house was old, grey, with two front doors. No garden, no playground with bright plastic slides and swings like back home—just two benches by the entrance.
The driver unloaded their bags from the boot, eyeing the house impassively. Mum asked him to wait, then grabbed the suitcase and bags and headed for the door. Alice hurried behind. The door was wooden, its peeling brown paint a far cry from the secure metal door with a keypad she was used to.
“Open it,” Mum said irritably.
Alice rushed forward, pushing open the creaky door. They climbed to the top floor. Mum set the suitcase down on the concrete landing to ring the bell—but before she could, the door swung open on its own. A tall, severe woman stood there, saying nothing, just staring.
Mum lifted the suitcase and stepped inside. Alice followed, immediately pressing close to her side. She already knew: this was Nan.
“Well? Don’t just stand there. Come in,” Nan said, not unkindly but without warmth.
Alice didn’t move. She clung to Mum like a shadow. A tall, grey-haired man emerged from the room.
“This is your Grandad, Edward,” Mum said quietly. “Her clothes are in here, toys here, shoes…”
“We’ll manage,” Nan replied briskly. “Aren’t you staying for tea?”
“No, the taxi’s waiting,” Mum said.
Then it hit Alice—Mum was leaving her here. She threw her arms around her waist, panic rising.
“Mummy! Don’t go! Don’t leave me here—take me with you!”
“You didn’t tell her?” Nan said reproachfully.
Mum didn’t answer. She tried to pry Alice’s hands away, but the girl clung like a burr.
“I’ll come back for you. Stay with Nan and Grandad for now. Enough!” Mum suddenly raised her voice, wrenching Alice’s hands free and shoving her back.
Nan’s arms closed around Alice, holding her tight as she twisted like an eel.
“Go on… Just go,” Nan said sharply, and Mum slipped out the door.
“Mummy! Let me go!” Alice screamed.
Nan released her, but Mum was already gone.
“Alice.” Grandad’s voice was calm. He stood before her, tall and steady. Alice shrank back, staring up at him in fear—but his eyes were kind, curious.
“Come on,” he said, taking her hand and leading her inside.
The room was filled with old furniture—a sofa, a piano against the wall. It felt cosy, quiet, the only sound the ticking of a clock. Later, they had tea and pancakes. The pancakes were the best Alice had ever tasted.
That evening, Nan took her outside to meet two girls playing by the door. “You’ll be living here now?” one asked.
“No, Mummy’s coming back for me soon,” Alice said firmly, though her eyes stung with tears.
September came and went. Mum never returned. Alice started school, sharing a class with the two girls—Year 2B. Life with Nan and Grandad wasn’t bad. They never argued, never raised their voices, unlike her parents.
Lately, her parents had only shouted. Then Dad left. Mum began disappearing in the evenings. Alice would stand by the window, straining to see through the dark until a taxi finally pulled up. Then she’d scramble into bed, heart pounding with relief—*Mum’s back*—before drifting off.
She missed her for a long time. Then, slowly, she stopped. Nan mentioned her only once—”She’s sorting her life out”—and Alice grew up without worry.
In Year 8, Nan fell ill and passed away. For the first time, Alice saw an old man cry.
She and Grandad carried on. Nan had taught her well—how to fry potatoes, make pancakes, where to find the cheapest groceries. After school, Alice enrolled at a local college. There were no universities in town, and she wouldn’t leave Grandad.
One day, he led her to a painting on the wall. It was an odd thing—messy, abstract, a jumble of shapes with maybe a person hidden in them. It seemed out of place among the floral wallpaper and dark wood. Alice never asked why it hung there—some relic of Nan and Grandad’s taste.
“Your dowry,” Grandad said.
“This painting?” Alice frowned.
“No, not this. But beneath it—an icon. A real one, blessed, valuable. You’re a rich bride, Alice. Keep it safe. If times get hard, you can sell it—but only to the right buyer.” He handed her a slip of paper with an address. “Tell no one.”
She nodded, though she didn’t understand. Life went on—until Mum reappeared.
Alice knew her instantly when she opened the door. Age had worn her down—unkempt, missing teeth, clothes hanging loose.
“Can I come in?” Mum rasped, irritation already creeping into her voice.
“Didn’t think to call first?” Grandad said behind Alice. “Another man throw you out?”
“Where’s Mum?” She dropped a battered bag on the floor.
“You remembered. She died five years back. No address to send word to. Why are you here!”
“Missed you, didn’t I?” She wandered inside. “Nothing’s changed. Even this awful painting’s still here. Always wanted to chuck it.”
“Wasn’t yours to touch,” Grandad said sharply.
Mum asked Alice questions, even hugged her. Alice stood stiff, feeling nothing. Grandad grew agitated, clutching his chest. An ambulance took him away—his heart, they said. Pre-heart attack.
Left alone with Mum, the silence was thick.
“Don’t look at me like that,” Mum said over tea. “I was in love, lost my head. We moved up North. Meant to fetch you, but… it was better here. Cold up there, dark half the year. My husband didn’t want you. He wanted his own. But I couldn’t give him one. So he beat me. Knocked my teeth out. Once he died, I came back. But you and Grandad… never wanted me.” She bared her ruined mouth. “Stay a bit, then go. Come with me? Got a flat in London—big city, universities.”
“And Grandad?”
“What about him? He’s old. Might not last.”
“Don’t say that!” Alice shouted.
She stormed out, returning late. The next day, she visited Grandad in hospital. He seemed stronger. She told him of Mum’s offer.
“Don’t worry. I won’t go. She keeps calling people—asking for money.”
“That’s why she’s here. Wants the icon. Got nothing else from us.”
“Where did it come from?”
“Long story. After the war, churches were looted. My grandmother hid the icon—painted over it to disguise it. Never saw what was underneath. But she said it protected us. All came home from the war aliveYears later, when Alice’s own daughter asked about the painting, she simply smiled and said, “Some things are better left a mystery.”
