Victor pulled the car to a stop near a tall iron fence—where there once stood a simple wooden picket. For a moment, he doubted himself—had he gotten the wrong house? No, second on the left before the bend. He remembered clearly because he often revisited the memory in his mind. From the car window, he couldn’t even see the roof.
His eyes flicked to the mirrors, watching for movement. A car with its engine running on a deserted street would draw too much attention. *What am I doing here? Why?* The longer he sat, staring at that fence, the weaker his resolve became.
Then a girl stepped out of the gate with a golden retriever. For a split second, Victor thought it was Alice—same chestnut curls, same slight frame. He never caught a proper glimpse of her face. *Impossible. Fifteen years have passed. She should be nearing forty, and this girl couldn’t be older than twenty. Modern miracles, I suppose—or her daughter? But she never had one. Should I stop her? What would I even say? A middle-aged man chasing a girl down the street?*
He slumped back in his seat, clicked the radio on, and waited. Twenty minutes later, the girl reappeared around the corner with the dog. As she drew closer, Victor realized she looked nothing like Alice. When she was a hundred yards away, he stepped out of the car.
The retriever pulled at its lead, straining toward him.
“Easy, Max,” the girl chided, reining him in.
“Sorry,” Victor said. “I was looking for Alice. Unless I’ve got the wrong house…” He suddenly realized he didn’t even know Alice’s surname.
“Alice is my mum,” the girl said, eyeing him carefully. “Who are you?”
“I just got back into town. Didn’t know she had a daughter.” Victor glanced at the dog and stayed put, changing his mind about stepping closer.
“How long since you were last here?” She narrowed her gaze.
“Fifteen years.”
“Then you definitely can’t be my father.” She laughed at her own joke. “I’m adopted. My parents will be back soon—want to wait?” She gestured toward a side gate.
Victor shrugged.
“Aren’t you afraid? A strange man showing up…” he started.
She sobered. “No. Why would I assume the house is empty? Max wouldn’t let anyone hurt me. Plus, there are cameras inside. So, are you coming?” She pushed the gate open.
Victor activated the car alarm and followed. She held the door for him.
The garden was well-kept but not manicured—the hedges needed trimming, the grass was slightly overgrown. A wide path of grey slate led up to the two-story house.
The place had changed over the years, but it was unmistakably the same house. Fifteen years ago, it had seemed enormous—back when he lived in a cramped dorm room, before that a tiny flat with his parents and younger sister. That space had awed him. Now, he lived in a house just as grand, if not bigger.
The furnishings inside were tasteful—expensive but not flashy. A large television screen hung on the wall, and a thick carpet muffled footsteps.
“If you want a drink, the bar’s over there,” the girl said, heading for the stairs.
“I’m driving,” Victor reminded her. “What’s your name?”
“Emily. I’ll just be a minute—need to change.” She disappeared upstairs.
Victor glanced around. Not a single photograph on the shelves. He sank into an armchair by the fireplace—another new addition—lost in thought.
***
“Come on, mate, just a few hours. Joanna’s bringing a friend. What am I supposed to do, sit there alone?” Robbie persisted.
“Exam’s tomorrow. I need to study,” Victor muttered, hunched over his textbook.
“A few hours won’t change anything. Show up fresh—better than cramming. Come on, Vic, please. Joanna’s mates are always fit.” Robbie nudged him.
“Fine. But not long.” Victor snapped the book shut.
“That’s more like it. You won’t regret it. Just don’t eye up Joanna—she’s mine,” Robbie warned.
They arrived at the cul-de-sac where Joanna lived slightly late. Music pulsed inside; a half-empty wine bottle, glasses, and a cheese board sat on the coffee table.
“What took you so long?” Joanna pouted, arms crossed. She was striking—dark-haired, sharp-featured, effortlessly magnetic.
“Had to drag Vic away from his books,” Robbie explained, slipping an arm around her waist.
“Then let’s not waste time.” Joanna’s irritation vanished as she tugged Robbie toward the table. “Pour. Alice, where are you?” she called toward the stairs.
A moment later, a girl in a floral sundress descended. She wasn’t as bold as Joanna, but something about her—a quiet warmth—pulled at Victor immediately.
“This is Alice,” Joanna said, cranking the music higher.
They drank, and Robbie and Joanna danced.
“Shall we?” Victor asked, popping a grape into his mouth.
“Sure. And drop the formalities,” Alice replied easily.
She moved fluidly in his arms. No makeup, just wide-set blue eyes framed by thick lashes—sometimes near-black like deep water, other times bright as cornflowers. He avoided looking at her lips.
The song changed, but they kept swaying.
“Where’d Robbie and Joanna go?” Alice paused, scanning the room.
They’d vanished. Suddenly alone, the air between them grew heavy.
“I should go. You’ve got your exam tomorrow,” Alice said.
“I’ll walk you,” Victor offered.
They barely spoke before reaching her front gate.
“Wait,” Victor caught Alice’s wrist as she pushed the unlocked gate open. “Will I see you tomorrow?”
“Maybe.” She slipped free and hurried inside.
He wanted to call after her—ask for her number—but the door clicked shut.
Back at the dorm, Victor replayed the night in his head—her eyes, the weight of her waist beneath his hands.
Robbie stumbled in at dawn, reeking of booze.
Robbie scraped a pass; Victor aced the exam. *Lucky draw, that’s all. Alice brought me luck.*
“She was sweet. Would’ve had a go myself,” Robbie mused on their walk back.
Victor stopped dead. “What did you say?” He grabbed Robbie’s arm, twisting him around.
Robbie shrank under the glare—smaller, weaker. His eyes darted nervously.
“Joke, mate. Just a joke. Joanna’s more than enough.”
Victor let go. They walked the rest of the way in silence.
That afternoon, Victor drove to Alice’s street. The gate was unlocked again.
She answered the door in a short robe, soft and disheveled.
“Come in. Exam go alright?” she asked, stepping aside.
“Yeah.” His voice cracked.
The house was simpler than Joanna’s, smaller too.
“Just you here?” Victor tried not to stare at the robe’s neckline.
“Parents won’t be back ‘til evening. Hungry?”
“No.” He hadn’t eaten since yesterday.
“Tea, then?”
He thought he saw amusement in her eyes.
“Fancy the cinema instead?” he blurted.
Alice stepped close, hands on his shoulders, and kissed him.
He left fifteen minutes before her parents returned, dazed. They met a few more times before his father’s illness dragged him home.
He scribbled a goodbye note when Alice didn’t answer calls. Then—silence.
Weeks passed. No replies. Robbie claimed ignorance when Victor called.
“Ask Joanna—they were close,” Victor pressed.
Robbie scoffed. “We split. Not ringing her.”
His father worsened. Paralyzed. Victor couldn’t abandon his mother and little sister. He transferred to a local university, took a job.
When he fetched his things, the dorm was empty—Robbie, Joanna, Alice—gone.
Alice’s phone disconnected. Her mocking smile in memory convinced him it had meant nothing to her. He erased her from his mind.
He married Sarah—steady, kind. A son, then a daughter. No time for ghosts.
His father died. His business thrived. A sleek car, a sprawling house. Life was good.
Years later, a deal drew him back to the old town. A long shot, but maybe—just maybe—he’d see Alice.
***
Now, sitting before a cold fireplace, the same question circled his mind: *Why am I here?*
Alice was married—had been for years. Probably to someone else back then too. *Leave. Before she returns with her husband.*
Then the gates whirred open. An SUV pulled in.
Victor felt like a trapped animal. The door swung wide.
“Mum! Dad! We’ve got company,” Emily called.
She darted past him, greeting her parents. The man—Robbie—froze. Alice remained calm, but surprise flickered in her eyes.
“Bloody hell,” Robbie said, clapping Victor’s shoulder. “What brings youVictor met Alice’s steady gaze one last time, then turned and walked away, the weight of years slipping from his shoulders like a coat he no longer needed to wear.
