**A Second Chance**
Faye’s heart was heavy, as it always was after visiting the cemetery. The bus rattled along with a handful of passengers, each lost in their thoughts.
It turned off the ring road and into the city. Past the low, peeling houses on the outskirts—soon to vanish, replaced by sleek new estates with wide streets and towering flats.
On impulse, Faye stepped off at the next stop. What if, the next time she visited, the neighborhood of her childhood was gone? She wandered down the street with its squat, paint-flaked terraces, anxiety prickling her skin. Would she even recognize her old home, where the happiest years of her life had passed?
Most windows were shattered, front doors gaping like silent screams. The residents had long been moved to modern flats. Empty now—just the occasional car or bus rolling past. And there it was. Her house. She smiled, as if greeting an old friend.
Without people, the building seemed hollow, lifeless. The bench by the entrance still stood, darkened with age. Two houses down, the arm of a crane loomed. Soon, this place would be gone too.
Faye closed her eyes and imagined her mother at the second-floor window, scanning the yard for her among the girls playing hopscotch. The clatter of dishes drifted from open windows, the scent of fried onions in the air. A telly murmured in one flat, while Auntie Nancy’s shrill voice carried from another—berating her husband for coming home drunk.
*“Faye! Dinner!”* Her mother’s bright voice echoed from the past.
She startled, eyes snapping open. No mother. No one. Just empty windows staring back, indifferent.
But the memories kept coming, unstoppable.
***
*“Faye! Dinner!”* Mum called from the window.
She dashed up the chipped steps to the second floor, bursting into the flat. *“Wash your hands and come eat!”* Dad sat between the table and the fridge, skimming the paper, waiting for everyone to sit.
The memory was so sharp she could almost smell the tangy broth. Tears spilled, tickling her cheeks. She wiped them away with her fingers.
Then she was walking to school, bookbag slung over her shoulder. Barely a few steps from home when she heard the thud of Josh’s trainers behind her.
*“Fay, wait up!”* he called, catching her. *“Lemme copy your algebra?”*
*“Why not last night?”*
*“Your mum looks at me like I’m gonna nick something.”*
*“Don’t be silly.”* She glanced at his profile. How he’d changed over summer—taller, his dark hair sun-bleached, skin tanned. The thin column of his neck, a vein flickering. She couldn’t actually see it, but she remembered it.
When had he become this? Familiar and strange all at once. Josh, her childhood friend, neighbor from the first floor. He must’ve spotted her through the window.
He caught her staring. Before she could look away, his tea-colored eyes burned her. Cheeks flushing, heart stumbling.
Both their dads worked at the factory—the reason they lived in these old flats. Josh’s mum was an accountant there; Faye’s, a nurse. The factory loomed nearby, chimneys belching smoke.
*“Where’re you applying?”* she asked suddenly.
*“Polytechnic. Engineer first, then director. I’ll change things here.”*
*“Seriously?”* She laughed. *“Who dreams of running a factory?”*
*“Just wait.”*
*“Why? It’s barely holding on. Easier to build new.”*
*“You don’t get it. They’ll never shut it. It’s the heart of this town.”* He frowned. *“What about you?”*
*“University. Not here—London. Translator. Travel. Or maybe psychology. Still deciding.”*
Late September, the class celebrated a birthday at a mate’s cottage by the Thames. Golden leaves crunched underfoot, low sun dappling through the trees.
The girls helped set up the garden table while the lads played football. Later, they scattered into the woods. There, Josh kissed her for the first time.
That year—they were reckless with love, clinging to each other like drowning things. One night, Mum was on shift, Dad stuck at the factory. Josh came over to scribe maths problems.
It happened then—awkward, fumbling. They stared after, unsure what to do. Faye made him promise never again. He left, miserable. Next morning, they walked to school in silence.
Days later, they finally spoke.
*“We’ll marry after school,”* Josh said.
*“I’m leaving,”* she whispered.
*“Don’t.”*
Their first fight.
At the New Year’s dance, Faye saw him in the dim classroom, kissing Lucy. She ran home crying. Winter break made avoidance easy—until he showed up at her door.
*“Why’re you avoiding me?”*
*“You’ve got Lucy now.”*
*“She jumped me. Was I s’posed to shove her?”*
Faye knew Lucy—she chased every handsome boy, and Josh had become just that. Jealousy gnawed at her. But eventually, Lucy vanished from his side.
Eleventh grade—mad with love, drawn together yet holding back, trying to be just friends.
After graduation, the class took a boat down the Thames, stopping at a sandy stretch by the pines. They picnicked, swigging cheap wine (even the teacher had a sip). Faye and Josh slipped away into the trees, kissing until their lips were sore.
*“Don’t go. Study here,”* he murmured.
*“Come with me,”* she countered.
*“Mum won’t let me. Dad’s heart’s bad. The factory’s good experience. Five years’ll fly. You’ll come back, and—”*
*“Faye! Josh! Where are you? We’re leaving!”* the teacher shouted.
They emerged flushed, lips swollen.
They revised together—until Josh’s dad came home early, caught them kissing. Said nothing, just shut the door. He stayed home on sick leave until exams ended. Josh stopped visiting. After graduation, they shipped him off to his gran’s. He didn’t even see Faye off to London.
At first, they called constantly. Then their parents scolded them for the phone bills. Mobiles weren’t what they are now.
Calls grew rare. Then Josh married Lucy. Faye nearly failed her first term, numb with grief. A year later, she dated someone, married him final year. Realized her mistake, divorced fast.
She became a translator, traveled often, a Londoner now. When Dad died, she moved Mum in. Sold the old flat, used Dad’s savings and a loan to buy a place in the suburbs.
Mum died two years ago. Faye buried her here, beside Dad. She visited once a year, tended the graves. Hadn’t seen Josh—he’d left the old flats long ago.
***
*“Looking for someone?”* A raspy voice.
Faye turned to a hunched old woman with a cane, her eyes pale as autumn sky.
*“Been watching you. Standing, staring.”*
*“Auntie Nancy?”* Faye recognized the old neighbor.
*“Aye. Who’re you?”*
*“Faye. Faye Rose. Lived upstairs. Remember?”*
*“Faye? You went to London, took your mum.”*
*“Yes. Came back for the graves.”*
*“So, Anne’s gone too.”* The old woman crossed herself. *“Long?”*
*“Two years.”*
*“Changed, you have. Me? Can’t seem to die. God won’t take me.”* She sighed. *“Still come here. Got a nice flat, can’t complain. But it’s not home.”*
She eyed the looming crane. *“Josh Conner’s the factory director now. His idea—knock the old places down. Better, he says. For who?”*
A black SUV pulled up nearby. A tall man in a sharp suit stepped out, gesturing as he spoke to an older colleague.
*“There he is. Can’t just walk up to him now. Important, he is.”* The old woman hobbled toward them.
Faye didn’t wait. She hurried off, heart a frantic bird. Thought it was all in the past—till she saw him. The love, the hurt, still there.
Too weary to wander, she caught the bus to the hotel, collapsed on the bed, and wept herself to sleep.
Dusk had fallen when she woke. She freshened up, decided to eat in the restaurant—hadn’t eaten all day. Couldn’t bear the empty room.
She slipped into a dress, checked the mirror—then a knock.
Josh stood there, flowers in hand. Tall, handsome, grown. She’d imagined this moment a thousand times, yet now—speechless.
She took the flowers, her fingers brushing his, and knew she was home at last.
