The Apartment
When Julia and her husband moved into their new building, an elderly couple already lived on the ground floor—Eleanor and Albert. They did everything together, always arm in arm, whether grocery shopping, visiting the doctor, or just taking a stroll. They were rarely seen apart.
One evening, returning from a friend’s house, Julia and Victor found an ambulance parked outside their building. Paramedics were carrying someone out on a stretcher, while Albert shuffled behind, struggling to keep up.
Everyone called him “Grandad Albert,” but his wife was always addressed formally—Miss Eleanor, never just Eleanor. His face was deeply lined, his eyebrows snowy white, his pale grey eyes watery and lost under sagging lids. He looked frightened.
“What happened?” Victor asked, stepping closer.
Grandad Albert only waved a hand—whether to say things were bad or to dismiss the question, it wasn’t clear. Victor turned to one of the medics loading the stretcher into the van.
“Are you family?” the man asked brusquely.
“I’m a neighbor. Just concerned,” Victor said.
“Step aside, then. Grief’s no spectator sport.” The medic jumped in and slammed the doors shut.
Grandad Albert tried to climb in after them.
“No, sir. Best stay here. You’ll only be in the way. She’s going to intensive care—no visitors allowed. Neighbor, take him inside, keep an eye on him. Anything could happen.”
The ambulance sped off, sirens wailing. They stood there, listening until the sound faded into the distance.
“Let’s get you home, Grandad. It’s freezing out here—you haven’t even got a coat on,” Victor said gently. “The hospital’s got her. She’ll be looked after.”
The old man let himself be led inside.
“How about coming upstairs with us? Easier with company,” Victor offered as they reached his open doorway.
“Thank you. I’ll wait here,” he murmured, head bowed. “Wait for my Eleanor.”
“Suit yourself. We’re up in flat seventeen if you need us.”
The door clicked shut.
“Poor man,” Julia sighed as they climbed the stairs. “A whole life together. We should let his family know—someone should look after him.”
“He hasn’t got any. Told me once—his brother died young. A nephew somewhere, but who cares about an old man these days? No kids of their own. If anything happens, he’s alone. And old folks don’t last long alone, do they? Like swans. Lose their mate, they pine away.”
“Since when were you such a romantic?” Julia snorted.
The next evening, Victor went to check on him.
“See if he needs anything. Wouldn’t do for him to fade away alone,” Julia agreed.
The door was unlocked. Victor stepped inside.
“You alive in there, Grandad?” he called.
Albert emerged from the kitchen, hunched and weary.
“Sorry—just came to see you. Why’s your door open?”
“Forgot,” he muttered, waving a hand. “Tea?”
“Just ate. You had dinner?”
“Couldn’t swallow a bite. Keep thinking of my Eleanor.” He sank onto a battered stool.
Victor eyed the half-drunk teacup on the table. Delicate bluebells painted in gold trim—almost glowing.
“Eleanor loved pretty things,” Albert sighed. “She’s gone, and still I can’t bring myself to drink from a mug. Force of habit. Sure you won’t join?”
“Don’t lose hope. Medicine’s come a long way.”
“A whole life together. Can’t imagine… She was never ill. Always on her feet. Must’ve run out of strength. Thought I’d go first. Maybe it’s better this way. She’d have suffered worse alone. I’m stronger. You go on—I’ll be alright.”
“How is he?” Julia asked when Victor returned.
“Holding up. Says she was never sick.”
“Then she’ll pull through,” Julia said brightly.
But the next day, Albert came to tell them Miss Eleanor had passed. He asked for help with the funeral.
After, two weeks passed. One evening, Julia sat beside Victor on the sofa.
“Poor old man. All alone now,” she began.
Victor nodded without looking up from the football match.
“I’ve been thinking—”
He nodded again, distracted.
“You’re not even listening! Turn that off.”
“Can’t this wait?”
“No. James turns fifteen soon. A few more years, and he’ll be grown. What if he marries? Brings a wife back here, to this very flat.”
“What wife? What are you on about?” Victor finally looked at her.
“Time flies. How do we fit four—or five—in here?”
“Where’s this going?” Victor scowled. His team was losing.
“Grandad’s eighty-one. I checked. At that age, anything could happen. He’s lonely. And he’s got a two-bedder. If he goes, the council takes it.”
“So? We’re not family. It’s not coming to us.”
“That’s the point. It should. For James. Somewhere to bring his wife.”
Victor blinked. “How?”
“The trick is acting fast—before someone else does.”
“You’re not suggesting we—” he drew a finger across his throat.
Julia gaped. “Are you mad? Nothing criminal. We help him, care for him. Get guardianship. Maybe even a contract.”
“Ah.” Victor exhaled. “You clever thing.” He looked at her with new respect.
“Men always think they’re the smart ones,” she smirked.
“But how do you propose this? His wife just died. He’s still fit.”
“For now. What if someone beats us to it? Then goodbye flat.”
“Already calling it ours? Bit eager, Julia.”
“We’ll take it slow. Start with groceries—heavy bags, you know? Cook him meals. Let him get used to the good life. Then he’ll offer.”
“What if he lives to a hundred?”
“Possible,” she conceded. “But unlikely. You said it yourself—swans.”
The next day, Julia handed Victor a Tupperware.
“Take this down. Ask if he needs anything. Keep him company.”
“Why me?”
“You think I’ll do everything? Men understand each other. James can help too.”
“Keep me out of it,” came James’ voice from his room.
And so they helped, bit by bit. At first, Albert was wary. Then he warmed—served tea, showed photos, talked of his years as an engineer while Eleanor taught literature.
“Shame we didn’t know sooner,” Julia sighed. “James struggles with his essays. Miss Eleanor could’ve helped. He’s a good boy, but time flies. Soon he’ll marry. Where will we all fit?” She cast a pointed glance around Albert’s flat.
He followed her gaze.
“Maybe we could freshen the wallpaper? It’s faded. Been years since you decorated, and pensions don’t stretch far.”
“Oh no, Julia dear. You’ve done enough,” he murmured.
“Nonsense! We’ll pick some tomorrow. Weekend, we’ll hang it. Why wait?”
“Are we really doing his walls?” Victor asked at home.
“Yes. And laminate flooring, if needed. Those floorboards are shot. It’s practically ours.”
“Suppose so. But what if he wants new furniture? We’re not made of money.”
“Think of James’ future. His own space—right next door.”
“Julia, you talk like it’s a done deal. There’s no contract.”
It unsettled him. Yes, the old man was lonely. Without Julia, he might’ve wasted away. But yesterday, Victor had seen Albert striding briskly toward the next estate—smartly dressed in a tweed suit and hat, clearly revitalized by Julia’s cooking.
At dinner, Julia packed another container. “James, take this down.”
“Why me? Homework.”
“Five minutes won’t kill you.”
“Nobody’s going,” Victor said, standing.
“Why not?”
“Saw Grandad Albert heading out when I got home. Dressed to the nines, off somewhere. Must be courting. Spring fever—even an old stump dreams of being a birch.”
“But he adored Eleanor. Only six months since the funeral. Wasn’t dragging his feet before—now he’s off gallivanting.”
“I warned you. All that wallpaper and stew. Now he’ll bring some sweetheart home to your freshly decorated flat. They’ll outlive us all.”
Julia’s eyes glistened.
“Don’t cry. James is still in school—years before he marries. We’ll save. Get a mortgage. Calm down, or I’ll need to call an ambulance. I’d die without you.” He pulled her close.
Soon after, they saw Albert escorting a stout, rosy-cheeked woman into his flat.
“Evening, neighbors,” he tipped his hat.
“Evening, Albert,” VictorAnd as the years passed, watching Albert and his new companion bake pies and tend to the garden together, Julia finally understood that some things—like kindness and second chances—were more valuable than any apartment.
