Elizabeth woke up late. Her first thought was that she’d overslept—breakfast wasn’t ready, and her daughter and grandson would be up any minute. Then she remembered they’d left yesterday—she’d even seen them off at the train station herself. She dragged herself out of bed and shuffled to the bathroom. Normally, she’d plan her day—what to tackle first, what could wait till tomorrow—but today, her mind kept circling back to her daughter and grandson.
She missed them terribly. The last time they’d visited was for her late husband’s funeral two and a half years ago. Oliver had shot up since then, nearly as tall as her now. Next time they came—if it took another three years—she might not even recognize him.
If only they lived closer, they could see each other more. She’d begged Emily to move back so many times. What was keeping her in another city now that she was divorced? Then again, Elizabeth understood. Emily had grown used to her independence, living life on her own terms. She never should’ve left Manchester in the first place.
Elizabeth had never warmed to her son-in-law. Quiet type—wouldn’t say a word unless prompted. Hard to tell what he was thinking—probably hiding something. Just wasted her daughter’s time, really. And for what? A divorce. Elizabeth sighed.
Now they were stuck trying to divide the flat. Far better if her ex-son-in-law just paid Emily her share outright. They could’ve bought a wee one-bedder here—Elizabeth would’ve moved into it and given Emily and Oliver her place. But the ex wouldn’t budge—his parents kept meddling. “If only Alan were still here. He’d have sorted this mess in no time.” Another sigh.
She washed her face and studied herself in the mirror. Emily was right—she’d really let herself go. Stopped dyeing her hair ages ago—the grey had taken over—and she looked rough, tired. When Alan was alive, she’d made the effort. But who was there to impress now? Just the neighbours, and they hardly popped by. A phone ring snapped her out of it.
Dashing to grab her phone, she realized Emily and Oliver should’ve been home by now—this was likely her calling.
“Emily—you made it all right? … Thank God … I knew you would … I’ll try not to mope, promise. But do think about moving back … No, I’m not pressuring you. Just saying—time’s slipping by. I’m not getting younger. It’d be easier for you with me around … Don’t shout…”
Emily was getting cross, and Elizabeth wasn’t in the mood for a row. Already feeling low as it was. So she wrapped it up on a brighter note.
She made the bed, still arguing with Emily in her head—well, more like monologuing. “Always the same. She does what she wants. Look where that’s got her. If only Alan…” Another sigh. “Ah well. She’s a grown woman. Let her figure it out.”
After tea and her blood pressure pills, Elizabeth decided enough procrastinating—she’d head to the hairdresser’s right then. Might lift her spirits. She’d mostly adjusted to life alone after Alan passed, but with the house empty again, she was barely holding back tears.
At the salon, the young stylist took her time—Elizabeth nearly dozed off. But the result? Gorgeous. A sleek, modern cut and ash blonde to mask the roots took years off her face. She couldn’t stop staring. Should’ve done this ages ago. She swore to herself she’d start regular appointments.
Back home, she lingered at the mirror, admiring the change. In better spirits, she opened her laptop. Just before New Year’s, she and Oliver had gone shopping—she’d splurged on a new one for him despite Emily’s scolding. Oliver had been thrilled, hugging her tight and handing over his old laptop. He set her up with a social media profile—surprisingly, she remembered a few things—then helped pick an old photo of her from twenty years back as the profile pic. She ought to update it with a fresh selfie. Later.
Scrolling through her feed, she spotted a message notification—or a “DM,” as Oliver would say. Some bloke named Victor—ecstatic he’d found her—asked her to reply.
She zoomed in on his photo. No recognition. Probably catfishing—saw a flattering old photo and played the “long-lost mate” card.
Roughly her age, beaming smile, decent teeth (a retired dental nurse, she always noticed). She nearly ignored it—but curiosity won. “How do we know each other?”
An hour later, they were deep in conversation. Turned out he was Victor Ashford—her old classmate. As proof, he sent a photo of their Year 11 class, circles around them both.
Finally, she recalled the shy lad from back then. Embarrassingly, she’d only recognized herself by the caption. Hadn’t flipped through an album in decades.
Soon, they were messaging daily. Then Sarah—another classmate—chimed in. They’d shared a desk. Sarah’s profile pic was another touch-up job from her youth.
During a maths test, Sarah once begged Elizabeth for help. She’d obliged—only to run out of time for her own paper. Sarah aced it; Elizabeth scraped a C. Never helped her again. Sarah held a grudge—friendship nosedived after that.
Sarah had always been spiteful. But grudges were pointless now—Elizabeth replied anyway. Bit by bit, her social circle grew. Too busy to wallow. How had she lived without this?
A month flew by. Then Victor proposed meeting up.
“We’re in the same city—no excuse not to. Ladies, name the time and place.”
Elizabeth hesitated. Imagining them all older, greyer—awkward. Glad she’d freshened up, though. She suggested a café—quiet at midday, neutral ground.
She nearly wore a nice dress—too thin for winter, plus, it wasn’t a date. Settled on trousers and a cosy jumper instead. Light makeup—mascara, lipstick, neat brows. A touch of blush. Not bad at all.
Approaching the café, her nerves flared. Blood pressure’s the last thing she needed. Why had she agreed? Too late now. She pushed the door open.
Inside, a man waved from the back. Making her way over, she spotted a blonde woman—plump, back turned—and knew instantly: Sarah Whitmore.
Year 11, Sarah had bleached her hair to “match the name” and stuck with it since. She looked well, despite the weight—which Elizabeth pointed out straight off.
Then she met Victor’s gaze. Hard to believe this striking, silver-templed man was the same timid boy from class.
“You haven’t changed. Knew you at once. Sit.” He pulled out a chair—next to him. Tactful. Better Sarah gawked at her than Victor.
True to form, Sarah shot back a barbed compliment—the silent treatment when another woman outshines you in front of a man. Classic Sarah. Elizabeth relaxed.
“Ladies, I’m chuffed to see you. You both look stunning. Wine to celebrate?” Victor’s gaze bounced between them.
The waiter came. Order placed. Turns out, all three were single. Elizabeth was stunned to learn how many classmates had passed.
By the end, Sarah was sloshed—hanging off Victor as they left.
“Call her a cab—you can’t take her on the bus,” Elizabeth said.
“Why me? What about you?”
“You want me to escort her home?” Elizabeth scoffed.
“Or we drop her off, then I walk you—”
A cab pulled up. Sarah flopped inside—yanking Victor’s sleeve, drunkenly professing love. He wrestled free, slammed the door, and gave her address.
“You know where she lives?” Elizabeth frowned.
“Yeah.” A pause. “We were married.”
“I had no idea…”
Now it made sense—Sarah’s cold shoulder, the possessive glares. Not just flirting—she wanted him back.
They walked—Elizabeth’s flat wasn’t far.
“Two years after school—stupid decision. Split a year later. She’s had two marriages since, but between husbands, she circles back to me. But—I fancied you back then.” He stopped.
“Here we are. Thanks for walking me,” Elizabeth said.
“Invite me up,” Victor blurted.
“What about Sarah?” She smirked. “We’ve had our coffee. Head home—better yet, get a cab.” She slipped inside.
Undressed in the dark, she peered through the window. Empty street. What’d she expect? Him lingering like a lovestruck teen? At their age, he probably had arthritis, dodgy ticker—the works. Some charmer.
She resolved to ignore his messages. No need for drama—vindictive Sarah was trouble enough.
For days, she avoided the laptop. Curiosity won. Victor had apologised—blamed the wine, admitted his teenage crush. Sarah knew—Elizabeth closed her laptop with a soft smile, knowing that even in the quietest moments, life had a way of bringing people back—if only to remind her that she was never truly alone.
