*So it was all your doing, Gran?* asked Julie, staring at the portrait.
After the fight with her husband, Julie hadn’t slept all night. She’d always sensed something was off in their marriage, but when he came home last evening and confessed he loved someone else, the blow still knocked the wind out of her. He walked out, leaving her sobbing into her hands, drowning in self-pity.
One moment, she wanted him back—but taking him back meant forgiving the betrayal. And Julie wasn’t sure she could ever trust Ian again.
The next, she craved revenge, wanted him to suffer just as she did. But love doesn’t vanish overnight, not even when your heart’s been shattered. So she shelved that thought for later and focused on picking up the pieces of her life.
Just before dawn, a memory surfaced—those childhood summers her parents sent her to stay with Gran in that little market town outside London. She’d been so happy there. If only she could go back, slip into the past, become a little girl again…
But Gran had died three years ago. Julie didn’t think her parents had sold the flat. Maybe distant relatives lived there now? She’d ask her mum. With that fragile hope, she finally drifted off.
In her dream, she stood in the park near Gran’s house. The old woman sat on a bench in her cream trench coat and wide-brimmed straw hat, watching as Julie, just a child, played with a puppy alongside a boy. *”I knew you’d come. I waited,”* Gran suddenly said—not to the little girl, but to Julie as she was now, grown and broken.
The weight of that gaze jolted her awake. The dream felt so real, the air still thick with Gran’s presence long after her eyes opened.
The more Julie turned it over, the more certain she became—it was a sign. If Gran had been waiting, she had to go.
*”Mum, what happened to Gran’s flat after she passed? Did you sell it? Is anyone living there?”* she asked that evening.
*”Of course not. Why would we? Gran had no other family. She left a letter saying the flat was yours.”*
*”So I could live there?”* A spark of hope flickered.
*”What’s got into you? You want to move to the countryside? And do what? This is nonsense!”* Her mother’s voice climbed.
*”I can’t stay here, Mum. We’re suffocating each other. I need space—to breathe, to think…”*
The flat she’d shared with Ian had been a gift from his parents. Staying was unbearable, so she’d moved back in with her mum. Two years of independence, and now she was trapped under a barrage of advice—*”He’ll come crawling back, Julie. Forgive him. A man like that doesn’t grow on trees!”*
*”That flat’s falling apart, love. The south coast would do you better if you need a change.”*
Normally, she’d agree. But the dream wouldn’t let go.
*”Do you still have the keys?”*
Her mum rummaged through a drawer and tossed her a ring with two old keys. *”Your dad handled it all. Frankly, we should’ve sold the place years ago.”*
*”I’ll visit, see how it feels. Then we’ll decide, yeah?”* Julie curled her fingers tight around the metal.
——
The next morning, red-eyed and sniffling, Julie handed her manager a leave request. The woman sighed, scrawled her signature, and muttered, *”Men. Absolute swine.”*
By dusk, Julie had packed a bag. By dawn, she was on a train, the rhythmic clatter of tracks whispering of new beginnings. Five hours later, a cab dropped her outside a grimy brick terrace. Her pulse thudded as she climbed to the second floor and froze before the peeling brown door.
Doubts swarmed. You can’t outrun yourself. The past is gone. Gran is gone. But exhaustion rooted her there. Pushing in the key, she turned it—once, twice. The lock gave.
The flat smelled of dust and stillness, the furniture achingly familiar yet foreign without Gran’s touch. She flung open windows, scrubbed floors, washed curtains until her arms burned. Collapsing onto the sofa, she had no energy left for tears—or for Ian.
As she finally dragged herself toward the shower, the doorbell screeched like nails on slate.
A plump woman in her fifties beamed on the doorstep, frizzy peroxide curls bobbing. *”You the new tenant? I heard noise—”*
*”No, I’m Antonia’s granddaughter. Just visiting—”*
*”Julie?! I’m Linda! Remember? My Teddy used to play with you! Oh, your gran was such a dear…”*
Ten minutes of one-sided chatter later, Linda finally paused for breath. *”Shame you won’t sell. Teddy’s getting married—be grand having him next door! But if you change your mind, we’d pay cash…”*
Only then did she leave.
Julie’s head throbbed. She showered, gulped tea, then bought new curtains—the old ones were stained beyond saving.
——
Next morning, rusty plumbing groaned. The tap dripped no matter how hard she twisted it. Swallowing pride, she knocked next door.
Linda’s husband, Geoff—lanky where she was round—ambled over with tools. *”Washer’s knackered,”* he declared, replacing it with brisk efficiency.
Julie offered tea. As they sat, the infernal doorbell shrieked again.
Linda barged in, mid-monologue about forgotten keys and suspicious husbands—until she spotted the second cup.
*”You cheating old git!”* she bellowed, rampaging through rooms. Geoff, wisely, had vanished.
Julie checked the balcony—no sign. Had he jumped?
*”Where is he?!”* Linda planted herself, arms crossed.
*”Maybe he… crawled back through the pipes?”* Julie deadpanned.
Silence. Then Linda fled.
A muffled rustle came from behind the curtains. Geoff slipped out, muttering, *”Tell her I popped out for fags,”* and escaped.
Julie collapsed laughing. That settled it—no more favors from Geoff. Next door, Linda’s tirade echoed through the walls.
She fled outside. The town was all leafy lanes and birdsong, the air sweet with blossoms. Wandering aimlessly, she stopped at a shop, then stepped into the road without looking.
Tires screeched. A man leaned out of a car window. *”Trying to get yourself killed?”*
Dazed, Julie stared at the torn bag in her hands. The stranger gathered her spilled groceries, bundled her into the passenger seat, and drove her home.
*”Wait—you live here?”* He frowned at the building. Then, at her door: *”Julie? Bloody hell, Mum mentioned you’d come, but…”*
She blinked. The scrawny boy from her memories now towered over her. They talked for hours, childhood flooding back until the wretched doorbell yanked them into the present.
*”I’m smashing that thing,”* Julie growled.
Linda stood there, eyes narrowed. *”Saw Teddy’s car… heard voices…”* She took one look at her son and exploded. *”First my husband, now Teddy? You little—”*
Teddy, well-versed in his mother’s theatrics, steered her away. This time, the walls stayed silent.
Julie exhaled. Without lifting a finger, she’d spited Ian—twice. Linda would spread the gossip far and wide.
Sinking onto the sofa, she studied Gran’s photo—the black mourning ribbon now discarded. Gran’s smile seemed to sharpen, one eye crinkling as if to wink.
*”So it was all your doing, Gran?”*
——
Teddy replaced the doorbell the next day. Over evenings of films and walks, he admitted there was no fiancée—just his mum’s relentless matchmaking. *”I code all day. No time for dating,”* he shrugged.
When her leave ended, Julie returned home. Her mum pounced: *”Ian’s been round! He’s desperate—just a mistake, love! A man like that doesn’t—”*
She’d have forgiven him… before Teddy. Now, she filed for divorce.
Back in the countryside, Linda arrived with cake and apologies. *”You’re a godsend! Soon we’ll be family—just next door!”*
Her triumph was short-lived. By the time the divorce finalized, Julie and Teddy had sold the flat and bought one miles away—far from meddling mothers.
In their new home, Julie placed Gran’s photo on the shelf. *”Thanks, Gran.”*
And from the frame, Gran’s smile curled, one eye almost winking.
