The snow had nearly all melted in the town, leaving grit pressed into the icy pavements. But in the cemetery, a layer of snow still clung stubbornly to the ground, though the rains had weighed it down. Annie wandered for ages between the frost-tipped railings before she found her parents’ graves—side by side, even though her father had died in a car crash when she was only in Year 9.
The railings had been put up for both plots. Mum had passed three years ago. Annie had chosen a photo for the headstone where they looked the same age—just as she remembered them when Dad was still alive.
Annie had recently retired, left her flat in London to her son’s family, and come back to her hometown two days ago. She’d cleaned, aired the place out, and this morning, she set off for the cemetery.
“Forgive me, Mum,” she murmured, brushing wet snow from the headstone. “For leaving you like that—running off to London. I couldn’t stay, not then. Thank you for understanding, for never trying to stop me.”
She lingered a moment longer, said her goodbyes, then retraced her steps through the maze of graves. She reached the main path, head bowed as she walked towards the gates.
“Annie?” A voice cut through the quiet, and she stopped, turning.
“Are you talking to me?” She studied the unfamiliar, middle-aged man.
“You don’t recognise me? It’s me—Alex Gordon.” He smiled, and in an instant, she remembered.
“No, I didn’t. You’ve changed,” she said, returning the smile.
“I knew you straight away, even though it’s been—” He hesitated, counting the years silently. “—thirty years.” He stepped closer.
“Thirty-two,” she corrected.
“You haven’t changed a bit. Visiting your parents?” He nodded towards the graves.
“Yes. You?”
“Olivia.” He looked away.
“Olivia’s gone? How long?” Annie’s surprise was genuine.
The old grudge had long since faded. Now, there was only pity.
“Six months back. It was bad—cancer. Left me alone,” Alex said, voice wavering.
Annie glanced at him. She could’ve sworn she heard a sob—but no, just a heavy sigh. His face was still, composed.
“Never had kids,” he continued. “Just how it was. You—here alone or with your husband?”
“Alone. Retired, left the London flat to my son, came back.” She deliberately avoided mentioning a husband.
They reached the gates, the cold wind sharp against their faces.
“Oh, I’ve kept you—you were on your way somewhere,” Annie said suddenly.
“I was leaving Olivia’s grave. I’ll visit Mum another time. Or else you might vanish again,” he said with a rueful smirk.
“Missed it,” Annie sighed, watching the bus pull away from the stop.
“I’ve got the car, I’ll take you.” Alex gestured to the row of parked cars.
She didn’t much fancy a ride or small talk, but waiting for the next bus in the cemetery chill was worse. She slid into the cold seats. Alex turned the key, cranked the heating. They drove past the cemetery fence, past an empty snow-dusted field—future burial plots—past rows of old brick houses. Annie had never understood how anyone could live so close to a graveyard.
“Thirty years, and I still never figured out what happened between us,” Alex said suddenly. “When you left, I lost my head over it. But the real question—why?”
Annie shot him a look.
“Olivia said she was pregnant. Found out later she lied—couldn’t have kids. But I believed her, married her. And then… what was the point undoing it? You should’ve seen how she raged when she heard you’d run off with her fiancé. Went to London for revenge. So why’d you really leave?”
“You still don’t get it? I didn’t care who I left with—just had to get away.”
“What?” Alex turned to her sharply, the car swerving on the wet road.
And then, sparing neither herself nor him, Annie told him everything.
***
They say every friendship has a giver and a taker. Hers with Olivia was no different. Annie had started mid-year at a new school. A straight-A student, she’d made instant enemies.
Olivia—the prettiest girl in class—took her under her wing. They walked the halls together, shared homework, whispered secrets. Annie helped Olivia cheat on tests, smoothed her way with teachers.
Thanks to Olivia, Annie fitted in. And trailing after Olivia was lanky, awkward Alex Gordon. She’d sneer at him openly.
“Why bother? He’s decent, you know. Wait—he’ll grow into himself,” Annie defended.
“I’ll believe it when I see it,” Olivia would scoff.
They talked, of course, about the future.
“I’m not rotting in this dead-end town. London’s where I’ll be. Come with me,” Olivia urged.
Tempting—but Annie refused.
“No. I can study here. What about Mum?”
“Suit yourself,” Olivia shrugged. “If you want to turn out like your precious, dutiful mother—”
“And your millionaire’s waiting, is he?” Annie shot back, though she never doubted Olivia would land one.
Olivia was stunning—blonde, tanned, sharp-eyed. The kind of beauty actresses envied. And men, as they say, are visual creatures.
She failed, predictably, to get into uni, ended up at a hairdressing college. Her dad’s rule: no London unless she studied.
“Annie, visit me. It’s boring—no real friends, just backstabbers,” Olivia complained over calls.
“Then come home,” Annie would say.
“Never.”
Annie’s mother raised her strictly. No makeup, no nonsense, eyes always ahead.
“Be self-sufficient. Men come and go—education doesn’t.”
True. But at seventeen, lessons on independence felt dull. Annie envied Olivia’s freedom, her London escape.
Then one day, she bumped into Alex—fresh from the army, broader, steadier. Still with those ears, but they suited him now.
He walked her home, asked her to the cinema. They became a pair. Alex landed a cushy chauffeur gig—driving the town mayor himself. After a year, he proposed, but Annie asked him to wait till she finished uni.
The mayor wangled him a flat. Annie stayed late often—sometimes the night.
One evening, leaving the cinema, they ran into Olivia. At first, Annie barely recognised her—done up like a magazine spread.
“Annie!” Olivia flung her arms around her.
“You look incredible,” Annie breathed, inhaling the scent of expensive perfume.
Then she caught Alex’s expression—not just interest, but awe. Olivia batted her lashes, prattling about some Italian wedding gown, her rich London fiancé…
They all went to Alex’s flat, bought wine on the way.
“Look at you—handsome, with your own place,” Olivia praised, touring the rooms. “And you’re engaged?”
“In three months, after my exams,” Annie said, not noticing how Alex avoided her gaze.
They drank, chatted, laughed. Olivia spun stories of London life.
“So your dream’s coming true—marrying into money.”
“Oh, if only he was as handsome as Alex,” Olivia sighed, flicking a glance at Alex.
Two days later, Annie aced her exam and headed to Alex’s flat. She had her own key. Mum was away visiting family, so she bought wine, steak—planned a surprise dinner.
Then she saw the heels in the hallway. Just like Olivia’s.
Laughter from the bedroom. His. Hers.
Annie edged the door open. Alex on the sofa, sheet half-draped, eyes closed in pleasure. Olivia’s head on his chest, trailing her hair over his skin, laughing.
Her stomach twisted. She fled, tripped down the stairs, nearly fell—until strong hands caught her.
“Running from a fire?” A man’s voice, warm but teasing.
She burst into tears. He sat her on a bench, handed her a handkerchief, wiped smudged mascara.
“Who did this to you?”
The story spilled out.
“She never even liked him! Bragging about marrying rich, her designer dress—why?”
“This friend—Olivia, by any chance?”
Annie froze.
He sighed. “She told me her mother was ill, vanished. I tracked her. Now I find her with your fiancé?”
They went to a café. Daniel—that was his name—made her drink brandy. He’d moved to London from the sticks, inherited his uncle’s firm.
“Thought Olivia was different. Just another gold-digger.”
“The wedding?”
“Cancelled.” He smiled. “We’re two of a kind—both betrayed.”
He drove her home.
Next day,Alex came knocking, desperate for answers, but Annie shut the door quietly, leaving the past buried where it belonged.
