Didn’t Want To, But Did: Vasilysa’s Nerve, Village Life, and a Crime That Changed Everything

Author Walton MerrittReading 8 minViews 1

Didnt Want To, But Did

Smoking was never one of Olivias habits, and honestly, she never quite got the knack for it. Still, something about the act seemed to calm her nervesor so she convinced herself. I saw her one evening as I came round to lock up the front gate, standing in the small garden outside her grandmother’s old cottage, watching the lane beneath the fading golden light. Her thoughts looked heavy and troubledlife had become an endless row of worries lately.

Since her grandmother passed away, Olivia had been living alone in that rambling cottage on the edge of Willowbrook, a village just seven miles from her parents farm. Shed decided it was time for independence; after all, she was twenty-three, and had a steady job at the local post office.

Olivia flicked her half-smoked cigarette away, the disappointment clear in her movement.

I dont know how Vera chain-smokes so effortlessly, she muttered to herself. Shes the one who suggested it helps soothe frazzled nerves, but Im not sure I buy it.

Just then, a little red Ford Focus rumbled past on the lanenewly arrived PC Andrew, the local bobby, transferred in from the neighbouring town. Olivia knew all about him from her colleagues at the post office. She watched after him before heading inside, the dusk deepening. She had something urgentand dangerousto do that night.

The day before, the post office had been quiet. A handful of villagers popped in, but business wasnt brisk.

Tomorrowll be madness, said Anna Ford, whod worked in the post office since she was a lass, but today its the lull before pension day.

Shed often say, Thirty years Ive been at this counter, everyone knows me. I cant imagine working anywhere else.

Young Vera smiled, My mum always says the post office couldnt survive without you, Anna. You keep it all afloat.

Ah, Im not irreplaceable, Anna replied, therell be someone to step in when I retire

Just then, the door opened. Marina came breezing ina sturdy woman of forty-twofanning her brow. Never known heat like it. Im here for a favour. My neighbour, old Gladys, wants a subscription sorted for her magazine. She loves her weeklies, bless her. Were off to Spain tomorrowmajor early startso shes worried shell be left without reading material if her renewal lags behind. Mobilitys not what it was, so she reads to pass the hours.

Spainbrave taking the whole family that far, Anna said. Youll get a good dose of sun over there.

Im not worried. Ill post photos on Facebook the first daythe new swimsuit wont go unworn! Marina promised, then left.

That must cost a pretty penny, Vera said, eyes wide, taking everyone abroad

Theres money in farmingMichaels done well for himself, Anna replied with assurance.

Olivia sat quietly at her computer by the wall, listening to it all, thinking deeply.

Not long after, PC Andrew came into the office: Afternoon! Im expecting a delivery slip for mecould you check? he asked Vera, but his gaze landed on Olivia. He stared at her for a moment.

Didnt realise the village had such lovely ladies working herethough you look a little sad.

Anna caught his glance. Ah, Olivia. Lost her fiancé recently.

Andrews face softened. Vera confirmed there was no delivery for him.

Three weeks prior, Olivias fiancéDennishad been found dead on the outskirts of the nearby town, in a derelict lot. Apparently Dennis had been involved in some quiet, underground gambling. Olivia hadnt known. The police found no suspects, but late one night, two strangers from town visited Olivia. She recognised them from the times Dennis occasionally mingled with their crowd.

Your fiancé owed us a tidy sum, one said.

But hes dead, Olivia said, trembling.

Debts dont die, snarled the man called Lee, naming an eye-watering figurethree thousand pounds.

But I havent got that kind of money, Olivia protested.

Not our problem. Theres wealthy folks round here. You work at the post officeyou know everybodys business.

I dont know whos rich

Dont lie. Well be back in two weeks. Try anything funnylike calling the policeand youll regret it. Here, take these lock picks, Lee growled. Any door, any lock. Sort the money, or else.

When they left, Olivia bolted the door behind them, heart pounding. The cottage felt claustrophobic, the night outside pressing in. After a day spent fretting, she made up her mindto sneak into Marinas now-empty house at night. She knew the family had no dogs, just a firmly shut gate. She scaled the fence, felt shame tingle at her arms.

Olivia doubted she could really do it, but Lee was right: the lock opened, just as hed claimed. Her heart thudded; she was breaking the law, just like the criminals who had shoved her into this mess.

She rummaged for ages, bathed in the pale glow from the streetlamp outside.

My God, what am I doing? she thought. I just want to live. Dennis, what did you get me into? Leaving me here to carry your burdens, forced into crime

She knew she ought to go to the police, to Andrew, but fear of Lees threats held her back. In the end she found only fifteen hundred pounds, along with Marinas gold ring and bracelet. On the desk sat a laptopshe slipped it in her bag.

She sneaked home just as quietly, glancing into the dark windows along the lane, only the odd dog barking. No one about. Her hands quivered. Once home, she stashed the bag deep in her grandmothers old chest, beneath blankets rarely touched.

She didnt sleep at all that nighther mind raced. She went to work the next morning with a throbbing head. At lunch, she dashed to the local café.

Andrew arrived with a cheerful Afternoon! which made Olivia jump. Dont worryjust happened to be heading to lunch myself.

She nodded, nerves on edge. Did he know everything? Was he waiting for her?

You, yesI was waiting for you, he smiled.

His warm eyes soothed her worry: he was joking. After that, they began lunching together, and sometimes hed walk her home; eventually, he started staying over.

Gossip travelled fast in the village:

Olivias landed herself the village copperlucky thing, Tamara grumbled. My daughter fancied Andrew, and along comes Olivia

Dont begrudge her. Andrews clearly smitten, someone else replied.

Things blossomed between them, genuine and affectionate, though some locals tutted.

Not long since she buried her fiancé, and already shes courting another.

But others defended her. Cant mourn forevershe deserves happiness.

Olivia felt uneasythe fateful day drew near, when those men from town would return. She dreaded them discovering Andrew with her. She yearned to confess, but nerves wracked her. Two days before the deadline, she broke down.

Andrew, I need to tell you something, she began, voice shaky.

Andrew laughed. What, you love me? I feel the same way!

No, not about that

Andrew listened, growing grave. He couldnt believe the gentle, lovely woman he cared for was pulled into all this. Still, he understood the fear.

Goodness, Olivia. Youll have to answer for it. Wheres everything you took? You should have come to me straight away

She handed him the bag, and he quietly promised it would be alright.

Two nights later, there was a pounding at her door. Lee and his mate barged in, demanding their money.

I couldnt get it. PleaseIll find a way. I just need more time.

Lee gripped her shoulder painfully. Times up. If you dont pay, then he ripped her collar, voice hard. But suddenly his friend collapsed behind him, then Lee himself. Andrew was there, handcuffs out; another constable pinned down Lees partner.

Its over, Andrew whispered. Justice has a way. He told Olivia to come to the station in the morning.

During questioning, Olivia explained everything. Marina soon returned from holiday, and her belongings were restored. Andrew asked the detectives to keep Olivias involvement private; in the end, the blame fell on Lee and his friendthey were soon convicted. Turns out theyd been behind Denniss murder. Theyll be away for years.

Andrew proposed and Olivia accepted. Their wedding was modest but joyful. Andrews love washed away the guilt and healed Olivias wounds. Now, theyve got a little daughter, Alice, whom they dote on.

Writing this tonight, I realise: desperation may push us to dark places, but honestly, help is never far awayif only you have the courage to ask, and someone who loves you enough to stand by your side.

Dandelion Jam Winter’s snowy blanket finally melted away—no hard frosts this year, just a gentle, white season. Yet as the last traces faded, the longing for lush green leaves, vivid blossoms, and the chance to shed bulky coats grew stronger. Spring arrived in the small English town, and Tessa, who adored the season’s awakening, watched from her third-floor window: — With the first warm days, the whole town seems to stir after a long hibernation. Even the rumble of lorries sounds livelier, and the market buzzes with fresh energy. People stride about in colourful jackets and coats, birds are our morning alarm clocks now—spring is wonderful, and summer will be even better… Tessa had lived in her five-story block for years, now sharing it with her granddaughter, Violet, a year-four student. Violet’s parents—both doctors—had moved to Africa on a work contract, leaving their daughter in Grandma’s care. — Mum, we’re entrusting Violet to you. We know you’ll mind her well, pulling her all the way to Africa doesn’t make sense, said Tessa’s daughter. — Of course I’ll look after her—I’ll enjoy her company in retirement. Off you go, Violet and I will be just fine here, replied Tessa. — Hooray, Grandma! We’ll have so much fun together, walking in the park and spending time—Mum and Dad are always busy. They never have time for me, cheered Violet. After sending Violet off to school with breakfast, Tessa busied herself with chores, the hours slipping by unnoticed. — I’ll pop to the shop before Violet comes flying home from school—promised her something sweet for her good marks, Tessa thought, grabbing her bag and heading out. Outside on the chilly bench—cushioned for warmth—sat two neighbours. Mrs Simmons, whose real age was anyone’s guess (she kept that secret), lived on the ground floor, and Mrs Valery, seventy-five, well-read, boisterous, the cheerful opposite of Simmons, who found fault with everything. As soon as the snow melted and the sun returned, this bench was never empty, especially with Simmons and Valery as regulars—chatting all day long, knowing everyone’s business. Tessa sometimes joined in, swapping news and TV stories, Simmons always keen to discuss her blood pressure. — Morning, ladies, smiled Tessa. On duty, are we? — Morning, Tess. Of course, duty calls! Off to the shop, I see? Simmons asked, spying her bag. — That’s right, I promised Violet a treat for her top marks. Off I go, said Tessa, not lingering. The day passed in its usual way—school run, lunch, homework, chores, TV. — Grandma, I’m off to dance club! called Violet, rucksack and mobile in hand. She’d danced for six years, performing at every event, and Tessa was ever proud. — All right, darling, go and have fun, Tessa said, seeing her off. That evening, Tessa sat alone on the bench, waiting for Violet. — Lonely out here? asked Mr Edgar from the second floor, joining her. — Who could be lonely in weather like this? Spring’s here, birds singing, the world’s turning green—those buttercups look just like tiny suns, smiled Edgar, and Tessa agreed. Just then Violet dashed up with a surprise shout: — Woof woof! — You little rascal, gave me a fright! laughed Tessa. — Don’t start talking about old age, smiled Edgar, gently clapping her shoulder. — Come on in, rascal. I grated carrot with sugar for you, after all that dancing, and made your favourite cottage pie, Tessa said affectionately. Edgar got up too. — All this talk of cottage pie’s made me hungry! I’ll nip in for a bite. Maybe we’ll catch up later on the bench, or perhaps a stroll? said Edgar. — I can’t promise—much to do, but we’ll see… Still, Tessa came out later to the bench—and found Edgar waiting. The regulars were gone. — Simmons and Valery just left to eat, Edgar announced cheerily. From then on, Tessa and Edgar often met—sometimes strolling to the park across the road, reading the newspaper together, swopping stories and recipes. Edgar had his own trials—widowed young, he’d raised his daughter alone, working two jobs so Vera wanted for nothing, but he was rarely home. Vera grew up, married, moved cities, had a son—came to visit a few times and nothing more, her visits were never joyful. After fifteen years, she divorced and raised her son alone. — Tess, my daughter’s coming in two days, rang this morning. Odd… We haven’t spoken in years, said Edgar—they’d long been on first-name terms, talking freely. — Maybe she’s missing you—at a certain age, people need family close, suggested Tessa. — I doubt it… Vera arrived, brusque and serious. Edgar braced for a tough conversation. — Dad, I’m here on business. Let’s sell your flat, you move in with us, live with your grandson—it’ll be better, Vera said, her tone firm, plans made. But Edgar shrank from it—he didn’t want to uproot to a strange city under brooding supervision. He refused, citing habits and independence. Vera wasn’t deterred. Discovering his friendship with Tessa, she paid a visit. After tea and treats (including golden jam), Vera got down to business. — I see you and my father are close. Could you persuade him in an important matter? — What might that be? — Help me convince him to sell—why does he need so much space alone? Can’t he think of others? she snapped. Tessa was surprised by Vera’s coldness and refused. Furious, Vera lost composure: — Well, I see… Maybe you want the flat for yourself! Found a lonely old man, lining up an inheritance for your granddaughter… Romance on benches, chatting about dandelions! Two sweet old dandelions—you’ve probably filed for marriage already! But let me warn you—nothing will come of it, she threatened, switching to “you” as she shrieked, slamming the door. Embarrassed, Tessa worried the neighbours had overheard. Vera soon left, and Tessa started avoiding Edgar—ducking home whenever she saw him. And Yet, Tea With Dandelion Jam But life has its own plans. One day, heading home from the shop, Tessa found Edgar by the entrance, weaving a garland of yellow dandelions. — Tessa, don’t run—please, stay a moment. I’m sorry for my daughter; I know what she said—she’s gone now and claims she has no father left. But… Anyway, here—take this half-made dandelion crown. And I’ve made dandelion jam! Very healthy and delicious—you simply must try it. They’re great in salad too, Edgar said with a warm smile. After chatting about the wonders of dandelions, they made a salad together. Tessa tasted the jam with tea that evening—and loved it. Later, they walked to the park. — I’ve got the latest issue of our favourite magazine—shall we read on our bench under the old lime tree? Tessa sat next to Edgar, and laughter flowed. Conversation sparkled on, the rest of the world forgotten. Together, everything felt right. Thank you for reading, subscribing, and supporting me. Wishing you all the best in life!

No One Left to Talk To: A Story “Mum, what are you saying? How can you say there’s no one to talk to? I ring you twice a day,” her daughter asked, tiredly. “Oh no, sweetheart, that’s not what I meant,” Nina sighed sadly. “It’s just… I haven’t any friends or acquaintances my own age left—no one from my time.” “Mum, don’t be silly. You’ve still got your school friend Irene. Honestly, you’re so modern and look much younger than you are. Really, Mum, what’s got into you?” her daughter replied, upset. “You know Irene’s got asthma—she gets fits of coughing on the phone. And she lives all the way the other side of town. There were three of us, remember? I told you – Marinka’s been gone for years. Yesterday, Tanya from next door popped round. She’s a good woman, often visits. She even brought over some buns she’d baked for her own family. Told me about her children and grandkids. She’s got grandchildren too, although she’s about fifteen years younger than me. But her memories of childhood and school are completely different from mine. I do so wish I had someone my own age to talk to,” Nina said to her daughter, fully aware that her daughter wouldn’t understand. She was still young. Her time hadn’t passed, it was still out there beyond the window. She didn’t feel this pull to reminisce. Svetlana was a good, caring girl—it wasn’t her fault. “Mum, I’ve got tickets for Tuesday night—remember how you wanted to go? Stop being down, come on and wear that burgundy dress—you look amazing in it!” “All right, darling, it’s fine, I don’t know what’s come over me—goodnight, we’ll talk tomorrow. Get an early night for once, you never sleep enough,” Nina changed the subject. “Yes, Mum, goodnight,” Svetlana said and hung up. Nina gazed silently at the twinkling lights in the evening darkness…. Year 11—it was spring then too. So many plans. How recent it all seemed. Her friend Irene liked Serge Malory from their form. And Serge had liked her, Nina. He would call her evenings on the home phone, ask her out to walk. But Nina had only thought of him as a friend—why give him false hope? Later Serge joined the army. Came back and married. He lived in Irene’s old building. And his phone back then—it was a landline. The number… Nina dialled the old, half-remembered sequence. The ring didn’t come at once, then someone picked up, rustling could be heard, and then a quiet male voice answered: “Hello, I’m listening.” Maybe it was too late—why had she called him? Maybe Serge didn’t even remember her, or maybe it wasn’t him at all. “Good evening,” Nina’s voice croaked slightly with nerves. There was more static and suddenly she heard an astonished: “Nina? Is that really you? Of course it is. I’d never forget your voice. How on earth did you find me? I was just here by chance…” “Serge! You recognised me!” A flood of joyful memories overwhelmed her. No one had called her by her first name in years—only “Mum,” “Granny,” or “Mrs Antrobus.” Well, except maybe Irene. But just “Nina” sounded so wonderful, like spring, as if those years had never passed at all. “Nina, how are you these days? I’m so glad to hear you,” he said, and she felt an unexpected warmth. She’d been afraid he wouldn’t recognise her—or that she’d be bothering him. “Do you remember Year 11? When Vicky Vasutin and I took you and Irene out on that rowboat? He blistered his hands on the oars and tried to hide it. And then we all ate ice cream on the promenade while the music played,” Serge’s voice was dreamy and far away. “I remember, of course I do,” Nina laughed happily, “and that time the whole form went camping in the woods—you remember how we couldn’t get the tins open, and we were all starving!” “Oh, yes,” Serge replied, joining in her laughter. “And Vicky finally opened them, and then we sang songs round the campfire with the guitar—you remember? That’s when I decided I’d learn guitar.” “And did you?” Nina’s voice sparkled with youth as forgotten memories returned. Serge seemed to revive their shared past, more and more details tumbling out. “And how about now?” Serge asked, then answered himself, “But why am I asking—your voice says it all, you must be happy. Children, grandchildren? Still writing poetry? I remember! ‘Fade into night and return with the dawn’—so full of life! You always were a ray of sunshine! Just being around you could warm the coldest soul. Your family’s lucky—having a mum and gran like you is a treasure.” “Oh, Serge, don’t flatter me! My time’s past… I—” He interrupted: “Don’t say that! Your energy just about melted my phone! I’m joking, of course. I can’t believe you’ve lost your zest for life—it doesn’t suit you. So, Nina, your time isn’t up yet. Live, and be happy. The sun shines for you. And the breeze chases clouds across the sky for you. And the birds sing for you!” “Serge, such a romantic—you always were. But what about you? I’ve only talked of myself…,” but suddenly the phone crackled, popped and went dead. Nina sat holding the receiver. She thought about calling back, but decided it was too late, too much. Another time, perhaps. They’d talked so well, remembered so much… A sharp ring startled her. Granddaughter. “Hi, Dasha, yes, still awake. What did your mum say? No, I’m in a wonderful mood. Your mum and I are going to a concert. Will you drop by tomorrow? Lovely, see you then.” In high spirits, Nina went to bed. In her head were so many plans! As she drifted off, she formed lines for a new poem. In the morning, she decided to visit Irene. Only a few tram stops—she certainly wasn’t an old crock yet. Irene was delighted: “Finally! You’ve been promising for ages. Is that an apricot cake? My favourite! So, tell me all—” Irene coughed, holding her chest, but waved it aside. “It’s fine, new inhaler—it’s helping. Let’s get the tea on. Nina, you look years younger. What’s your secret?” “I don’t know—a fifth youth! Imagine, I phoned Serge Malory by accident last night. Do you remember—your crush in Year 11? He began reminiscing, I’d forgotten most of it. Why are you quiet, Irene, another attack coming on?” Irene sat pale, silent, and stared at her friend, then whispered: “Nina—you didn’t know? Serge died—it’s been a year now. He’d moved ages ago, lived in another part of town.” “Really? How can that be? But who did I talk to? He remembered every detail of our youth. I was so low before—and after our chat, I felt alive again, full of life and hope… How can that be?” Nina couldn’t believe Serge was gone: “It was his voice, I know it. He said such wonderful things: ‘The sun shines for you. The breeze chases clouds for you. The birds sing for you!’” Irene shook her head, as if unsure about Nina’s story. Then she said, “Nina, I don’t know how, but it seems it really was him. Those were his words, his way. Serge loved you. I think he wanted to lift you up—from wherever he is now. Looks like he succeeded. I haven’t seen you so lively in years. One day, someone will gather together all the tattered pieces of your heart. And you’ll finally remember what it is to be—simply happy.”