Julie’s Revenge
On that peculiar autumn evening, a thin, melancholy rain tapped on the microbus window, though it never gathered the courage to truly pour. Julie sat, her forehead pressed against rain-freckled glass, as the minibus wound its way back to her childhood home. Although, truth be told, only the city with its spiralling chaos and her sunlit studio flat at the top of a tower block truly felt like home nowadays. That other place, the house, was simply where her parents remained, thatched with age and fading memory; the village where shed been born and finished school, before bolting off to university and growing accustomed to traffic and tube announcements instead of cockerels and silence.
Julie was rather pleased with herself by twenty-seven, shed built something: a medical diploma, a smart job at a high-end beauty salon, a stream of certificates and workshops ever updating her life. Shed have skipped this trip, too, if not for the queasy little question marks she noticed every time she called home. Her mother always answered alone, her father never seemed present, and vice versa.
Mum, is everything alright with you two? shed ask.
Oh, same old, all healthy and ticking along, was always the evasive reply.
It took two hours on the road from the airport, but Julie was long since immune to British train times and connections it barely felt like a journey at all.
The microbus shuddered to a halt at the towns coach station. Everything was dusty and oddly familiar: the same corner shop (albeit with a new sign), the bus station draped in flaking paint, even the trees outside looked both bigger and smaller, as if seen through the wrong end of a kaleidoscope. A reluctant sun pierced the clouds; it wasnt raining here.
Shed warned her mother she was arriving, but as for the time well, time made little sense when travel blurs into dream.
A yawning taxi driver ambled towards her through the flattening drizzle. Where to? he asked, lazily swinging her suitcase onto the pitted tarmac.
52 St Oswalds Drive, Julie replied, her own voice sounding both faraway and too loud.
Her parents sturdy house looked back at her with slate eyes and painted blue shutters. The familiar bird cherry tree stood guard in the garden, and beside the gate, three tall silver birches stretched hopefully towards the living sky, planted by her father when Julie finished primary school.
Julie! Her mother Mary flung open the heavy door, her face uncoiling in relief and tears. At last! My darling, Ive missed you so!
Julie dropped her suitcase in the hall and wriggled out of her boots and jacket while Mary wrapped her in a hug on the old settee. They sat together, saying everything and nothing in two minutes silence, sharing years in a glance.
At last, the dreaded question surfaced and Marys shadowed eyes confirmed her unease.
Mum, wheres Dad? Isnt he at home?
Mary scurried to the kitchen. Let me get you something to eat. Then… well talk.
Julie noticed a new tablecloth, plates with blue and yellow daisies, chairs rearranged just so. Everything different, yet weirdly identical, as if a dream had copied her home but with a few keynotes swapped. The fried fishcakes plumper and lighter than any in the city the garden salad, the little pancakes, bowl upon bowl of homegrown this and that.
Mum, is Dad away on business? Youre being cagey.
Yes well, hes away, but not exactly just for work. Marys voice tightened. Weve wanted to talk to you. Your father and I. But it doesnt come easily over the phone, not for me. Youre always busy, theres your job, your courses, you hardly stop a minute Im sorry, love, we shouldve told you sooner but we didnt want to put you through it. Your father and I weve separated.
Julies teacup clinked dully. She stood up, wandered to the bedroom, and opened the wardrobe: her fathers suits and pullovers were gone.
Where is he now? Has he moved to Grandmas?
Mary sighed. Yes, hes at your grandmothers house. Where else would he go? The family place would only become lonely otherwise.
I want to talk to him! Julie snapped.
Hes away until tomorrow. Please, stay, eat, rest. Well talk then.
Julie pressed, Is it because of some woman? Mum, after all those years?
Mary fidgeted with the napkins. Yes, your fathers not alone. Hes not so old, really.
And who is she?
Someone from the next village, you wouldnt know her. Shes living in Grandmas house with him now.
A burning in her throat, a tangled ball of old leaves, sourness, and rain. And you just tell me this as if someones pinched the Sunday chicken? Like he hadnt left you?
Julie, darling, dont be angry. Wed grown apart. We ended things without blame, without wringing out whats left. I want peace now.
But Julies heart twisted. If someone betrays you, you cant let it slide. I wont forgive Dad.
Marys face crumpled into the lines of resignation, choosing not to quarrel, hoping her daughter might soften once the night had worked its magic.
Julie lay idle for some time, then changed into her trackies, zipped up her hoodie, and wandered outside. The whiff of wet leaves and tilled earth flickered through her; she tried to recall the faces of old classmates (none of whom she bothered to keep up with on social media too busy for that). Years of bold living in the city had shifted her needle somewhere colder and more direct.
Going for a walk by the river, Mum, she said.
Its about to rain, Mary replied, peering at the sky.
I wont be long.
Her grandmothers cottage appeared round the bend, smaller than memory suggested but still robust, moss-studded, gothic with secrets. The gate creaked her in. In the porch, a woman in her late thirties or forty at a stretch hovered by the cooker, stirring something in a cabbage-scented dream.
So youre the new mistress of this house? Julie said, eyes sharp as cat claws.
You must be Julie? Im Iris, came the stammered reply. Your dad showed me your photo, please, come in.
No thanks. This is my grandparents house, Im here for me, not you.
Iris wilted. Why are you so cross? I didnt do anything wrong.
A boy, bright-eyed and twelve-ish, peered in.
Go on, Davy, go outside, Iris told him.
The boy snuck past Julie, shooting her a curious look, sea-blue eyes wide.
Julies shoulders hardened. You wont stay here, she threw over her shoulder, and clattered back into the evening.
She hurried home, hunted by the stale scent of loss. Nice one, Dad. Some stranger living with her son in Grandmas house, she muttered. She wanted to toss all her anger in his face, tell him what a disappointment hed become.
Over her years in London, her softness had thinned out, honed by late-night tubes and sharp conversations. Only now, as events unfolded with the mad logic of a dream, did Julie feel how much shed missed the warmth of this home, that old stubborn sense of belonging. Her parents split felt like a winded blow, sharp and invisible. All she had left was a little red-blooded anger and the need to meet her fathers interloper head-on.
Upon returning, Mary cornered her immediately. Where have you been, love? Been out all this while?
I met her, Julie confessed, and shes got a son. So now Dads got a ready-made family.
Mary turned ghastly white, clutching at her throat as if words were strawberries caught in her windpipe.
What did you do that for? I didnt ask you, Julie.
Mum, doesnt it tear at you? After all these years? Its so unfair! Doesnt it make you burn? Dont you want revenge?
Mary croaked, Why? Ive let it go, truly. No point in fighting when two people fall out of love. We both adored you, Julie. But with each other we just didnt have that, not the love that makes staying worthwhile.
But Julies mind reeled. Did you at least try? A couples retreat, a therapist?
Love, we dont do therapists here, Mary said gently. Local life, small place were each others support. Its strange, of course, knowing another womans in the picture but I cant change it now.
Julie scoffed, You fought for him before, now you just drift. You let go.
Because I want to be loved too! Im not so old! Then Mary broke down, letting out all the tears trapped for ages, as if the rain outside were now inside the house.
Julie ran to her, wiped away tears, hugged her, whispering, Dont, Mum. Youre young, youre loved! I wont let you wither.
They dried their eyes together. Mary confided, Actually, theres someone new in my life, too. Remember Anna Marsh, your classmate?
Julie, for the first time all evening, smiled. Of course! Anna with the long plaits, then turned into a stubby ponytail
Her mum died three years back. Her dad Andrew Marsh helps me about the place. Were close.
I get it, Mum, Julie replied softly. But its so hard, I had this vision always of you two together forever. I feel as though my own lifes blurred the same way now.
Dont worry. Its not the end of love for you, just a strange curve in the road.
For days, messages chased each other through static: her father ringing and texting, but Julie silenced all the calls. Whenever she recalled Iris at the cottage, fury dampened her.
When her father Tom did come home, rolling up in his tired Ford, Julie noted how hed shrunk: balding, wrinkled, eyes red as though sleep had left him seasons ago.
You really wont talk to your own father? he pleaded, voice soft and exhausted.
Youve got a new family now, Julie shrugged, staring hard at the carpet.
Thats not my son hes Iriss. But youre my girl. I wish Id told you sooner.
Goodbye, Dad, she said, and turned her face to the window.
The last day before leaving, Julie set out for the river, the dream growing mistier still. She watched a pair of local boys on battered bikes whizzing through puddles; one (the boy from the cottage) took a swift tumble. Julie sprinted over, instincts kicking in: the boy had speared his thigh on a jagged nail, ankle twisted. In an automatic, floating dance, she packed her hoodie under his head and phoned her father, voice steady and direct.
Toms car grumbled up in minutes. Iris, flustered and wild-eyed, dashed to scoop up her son, asking not quite in English What did you do to him?!
With only the logic of dreams, all four shot off to the local hospital, where a nurse materialised from shadows, and the boy was whisked away.
You did well, her father said quietly, and Julies anger ebbed, displaced by fatigue.
The next day, Julie and Mary were stood at the coach station, under a sky the colour of forgotten tea. Grey as the motorway, with a crack of coming light, Julies head spun with longing and loss. Events had become tributaries, running the wrong way.
A battered hatchback coasted into view. Out leapt a man, carrying a laughing child, with a young woman in tow.
Mary beamed, Look, Julie! Anna Marsh!
Recognition warmed Julies face. Anna! Shame its so short, I wanted to catch up.
Julie, you recognise me? Andrew Marsh! I remember taking you two to your first day at school you clung to your dad, and Anna nearly knocked me over.
They laughed at that, memories flickering through, the sort that echo in dreams and in photo albums.
Julie scribbled her number and pressed it into Annas hand as the looming minibus pulled up. Out tumbled Tom, Iris, and young David the boy from the accident, now limping but unbowed.
Auntie Julie, look I can stand! the boy announced, proud as ever.
I never doubted it. You were so brave, Julie murmured, a strange warmth stirring in her lungs, displacing all the old malaise.
Iris stepped close, voice trembling, Julie, forgive me yesterday. David means everything. As you must know you mean the world to Tom.
Julie realized, all at once, that these complicated people were all interconnected, woven together in the odd, endless tapestry of home.
The microbus driver waved. Mary burst into silent, glistening tears, but everyone else surged forward, shouting, Come back soon! The voice that urged her onwards was Toms; feeling as if dream hands pressed her spine, Julie finally yielded, letting her father caught up in a sudden childish impulse scoop her up in a wild, whirling hug, kissing her cheeks and nose as if she were still seven.
I promise Ill come back, Julie murmured, holding onto her strange, slipping family mother, father, Anna as her suitcase disappeared into the coachs belly.
Through the windows wobbly glass, she could see their figures, waving and calling, faces blurred into memory by the suns sudden golden rays, as if to bless their little patch of earth and the battered old bus taking her away.
Ill come back, she whispered. It would be a dreadful injustice if I didnt.
The bus edged off; behind it, those strange, beloved people stood in the shining aftermath, bound together by tears, forgiveness, and a shaft of impossible sunlight.
