Lucy stood behind the kitchen door, straining to hear her parents’ conversation. The talk was about her—or rather, about her and Simon.
Wedding discussions had been going on for ages. The young couple had been together for three years, deeply in love. The wedding itself was a given; the real question was where they would live afterward. Both families were average, not exactly rolling in money, living in standard two-bedroom flats.
The young people didn’t want to live with parents, and the parents agreed that married life should start independently. Lucy still had a year of university left; Simon already worked, but if they rented a place, half his salary would go to rent. Parents would help, of course, but Lucy thought, why put everyone under strain when they could simply wait a year until she started working? Simon, however, didn’t want to wait—he was ready to rent a flat just to be with her.
Lucy had a grandmother who lived in her own flat. She was eighty-two, but you couldn’t call her an old woman. She took care of herself, was sharp as a tack, and managed without help. She had chronic issues: stiff joints, walked with a stick, a dodgy heart, poor eyesight.
It was about her—about Grandma’s flat—that the parents were now talking.
“The only solution I see is to bring Mum to live with us and give her flat to Lucy and Simon,” Mum insisted.
“You said your mother has a difficult temperament. Will you get on with her? And besides, who knows if she’ll agree to move in with us,” Dad voiced his doubts.
“My mother adores Lucy. She’ll agree,” Mum stated confidently.
“Your mother, your decision,” Dad said thoughtfully.
“What’s to decide? At her age, with her health… She’d be better off with us. And if we can’t cope, we could put her in a care home. Why not? A friend of mine did that with her mother, and she’s delighted. The conditions are decent—private room, meals on schedule, doctors nearby, lovely garden walks,” Mum enthused.
“Well… I don’t know,” Dad said slowly. “What would people say? That we got rid of her? Maybe we should just wait with the wedding. It doesn’t feel right…”
Lucy didn’t like this conversation at all. The chair legs scraped the tile floor, and she tiptoed back to her room. Her mother’s suggestion of a care home stuck in her head. She loved Grandma, visited her often, stayed overnight. And now it seemed Lucy was driving her out of her own flat? Dad was right—that was wrong.
Lucy felt like a traitor. She decided to talk to Simon again.
“I agree with you. Why even think about it? Let Grandma stay in her flat, and we’ll rent. We’ll manage. But we won’t postpone the wedding.” Simon hugged Lucy and kissed her. “I’ll ask my dad for some extra work on a building site. In a year you’ll start working. No problem at all.”
The question remained open.
The next day Lucy went to Grandma’s. The flat was a mess—boxes everywhere, heaps of clothes on the floor.
“Gran, are you sorting things out or looking for something?” Lucy asked, surveying the room.
“Getting rid of the clutter. Come in. You’re just in time to help. I’ve decided to move into a care home. I already called; they told me what documents I need…”
“Did Mum talk you into it?” Lucy demanded.
“No, it was my own idea. Your mother wants me to live with her, but I don’t want to. I sleep badly, wander around at night, snore. So I chose the care home. I’m not getting younger, and there they’ll feed me and give me injections if needed. It’s my conscious decision.”
“No, Gran, I’m against it. Simon will rent a flat—you don’t need to move anywhere,” Lucy protested again.
“I’m not doing it because of you. It’s my own choice. I’m sorting through my things, deciding what to take and what to throw. I’ve hoarded so much rubbish I can’t breathe. Better get those boxes from the top shelf so we can see what’s in them. I can’t reach them myself.”
Lucy dragged a chair to the wardrobe, climbed up, and pulled down the boxes. Grandma opened one and took out a jewellery box.
“Look—I’ve been looking for this for ages. It’s for you.” She handed the box to her granddaughter. Inside were modest trinkets: gold and silver rings, beads, brooches. Lucy sifted through them, immediately trying on a pair of silver earrings.
“And whose is this?” She fished out a thin wedding ring.
“Mine,” said Grandma, her gaze lingering on it.
“Yours is on your finger,” Lucy noted.
“This is also mine.” Grandma took the ring from Lucy.
“Gran, you always taught me that lying is wrong. What secrets are you keeping from me?” Lucy felt hurt.
“I’m not lying, but there are things best left unsaid.”
“Why? Is there a secret connected to this ring? Tell me,” the girl insisted.
“Nothing to tell,” Grandma pursed her lips. “What’s in the other boxes?”
Lucy opened a shoebox. It contained yellowed letters, documents, old photographs.
“Gran, who’s this?” Lucy studied a poor-quality photo of a young man in army uniform.
Grandma took the picture. Her fingers trembled.
“Gran, are you okay?” Lucy asked worriedly.
“That’s your grandfather,” Grandma said suddenly.
“What? He doesn’t look like Grandpa at all.”
“This is your real grandfather,” Grandma repeated firmly. “I knew this would come out someday. Secrets don’t live forever. I’ll tell you, but only if you promise to keep quiet—don’t tell anyone, not even your Simon, especially not your mother.”
“You’ve got me intrigued. I love secrets. I promise I won’t breathe a word to a living soul.” Lucy pinched her fingers together and drew them across her lips like a zipper. But catching Grandma’s reproachful look, she stopped and became serious.
“Not a single soul,” Grandma repeated.
After a short pause, she began her story.
“When I was young, I was beautiful, like you.”
“You’re still lovely,” Lucy said immediately.
“Don’t interrupt. Exactly: I was nothing special. We lived in a village. There were three of us—my mother, my older sister who was already married and lived in the next village, me in the middle, and my younger brother.
I was seventeen, my brother eleven. After the war, many shells remained buried. When the Germans retreated, they mined fields and roads. My brother and the other boys scavenged the fields for cartridges, machine guns, any war trophies. One day he stepped on a mine and was blown up.
Soldiers came to clear the field. One of them was very handsome. He came to our house with my mother. The moment I saw him, I fell in love. Then they left. I thought I’d never see him again. But a month later he came back. For me. My mother didn’t want to let me go with him, but I persuaded her.
He took me to the city, to the army base where he served. We married right away. We lived in his tiny room in the barracks. The bedsprings creaked horribly. We were so happy then. I never loved anyone else the way I loved him…” Grandma’s gaze grew distant, as if she were back in that barracks, in her past. Lucy waited, not interrupting or hurrying her.
“Simon got a week’s leave, and we went to the seaside. He had an aunt who lived there, right on the coast. I could watch the endless sea for hours, listen to the waves. But our happiness was far too short.
We returned to the base, and two days later Simon left again for a mine-clearing assignment. He had a friend, Stephen. It was Stephen who brought me the terrible news—Simon had been blown up. There was nothing left to bury.
I lay in a fever for a week. I wanted to return to my mother’s village, but then I realized I was pregnant. I couldn’t stay at the base either. Where could I go? So Stephen offered to marry me. He really liked me. He said that way I could stay in the barracks, it would be easier for me, and the child needed a father. But I couldn’t—I loved Simon. I told Stephen honestly that I might never love him. But he didn’t back down, said the marriage would be just a formality.
So I married Stephen. Everyone thought we were husband and wife, but he slept in his own room. Then I gave birth to your mother. He registered her as his own, loved her, raised her as his daughter. Later we started living as husband and wife, but we never had children together. I was faithful to Stephen, but I could never love him. I think Simon wouldn’t hold a grudge.” Grandma fell silent.
“I still remember the smell of the sea. We never went back there. Stephen said he would take me when he retired, but he died a year later.” Grandma sighed.
The story lodged itself in Lucy’s heart.
“Simon, let’s take Grandma to the coast—to Cornwall,” she said to her fiancé.
“Lucy, money is tight as it is. We’ve saved for the wedding. Cornwall? And the trains are expensive.”
“We won’t go to a city, just to the sea.”
“She won’t manage the journey. And what would we do with her? I want to be with you, just the two of us,” Simon resisted.
“I’ll go with her alone if you don’t want to. If she moves into a care home, she’ll never see the sea again.”
They argued. Lucy decided to book plane tickets. The train would be long and tiring, plus tickets were hard to get. Grandma had never flown, but she wasn’t scared—said at her age it was silly to fear anything. She endured the flight stoically.
They checked into a guesthouse, and Grandma immediately wanted to go to the shore.
“Gran, shouldn’t we rest after the journey?” Lucy worried.
“I’m not tired. We’re only here a week—I’ll rest at home.”
Grandma stood on the beach in a long cotton dress and a straw hat, staring at the sea. Her gaze went distant again. She seemed to straighten up, to grow younger. Lucy didn’t disturb her; she stepped aside. What Grandma saw—or if she saw anything, perhaps she was just remembering—Lucy didn’t know.
“Gran, shall we go?” she finally touched her arm.
Grandma returned from the past and smiled at her granddaughter.
The next day after breakfast they went to the sea again. Lucy sunbathed and swam, while Grandma sat under the umbrella, watching the waves. On the third morning, Lucy woke up and couldn’t find Grandma in the room. She asked the receptionist.
“The elderly lady went to the beach,” the woman said.
Lucy found her on the shore.
“Gran, why didn’t you wait for me?” she asked, hurt.
“I dreamed of Simon last night. I hadn’t dreamed of him in years, but now… I have a feeling he’s here too. I wanted to be alone with him. Thank you for bringing me here,” Grandma’s eyes glistened with tears.
“Hello,” came a voice beside them, and Lucy saw Simon.
“You?”
“Yes. I decided to come. I’m sorry, I was wrong. I can’t live without you.”
They walked back to the guesthouse together, the three of them.
“Grandma doesn’t need to go into any care home,” Simon said one evening. “I’m willing to wait a year.”
“She’s unlikely to change her mind.” Lucy had missed Simon in those few days. She herself no longer wanted to postpone the wedding.
“I’ll convince her,” Simon promised.
And he did. Though Grandma set a condition: that Lucy and Simon would live with her. But Simon managed to talk her out of that too.
“We’re young and noisy—we’d disturb you. But I promise we’ll visit often, maybe every day, until you get sick of us.”
The wedding was held at the end of August. Lucy and Simon visited Grandma frequently. They rented a flat not far from hers. Every time they came, Grandma had cooked something delicious and waited, breathless, for Simon to try it. He showered her with compliments, and Grandma blushed joyfully like a girl.
Somehow they’d formed a special bond. Perhaps because of the name, or maybe they simply took a liking to each other.
Lucy kept Grandma’s secret, never telling anyone, not even Simon.
The following year they planned to go to the sea again—all three of them.
