It so happened that he was raised by his grandma, even though his mother was still alive.
Thats how it wasCharlie was raised by his grandma, though his mum was very much around. She was brilliant, mind youbeautiful and kind-hearted. But she worked as a singer at the Royal Albert Hall, so she was rarely home. The constant travelling even led to her splitting with Charlies dad. So, in the end, it was just Gran looking after him.
For as long as he could remember, whenever Charlie walked back to their block of flats, hed look up to the fourth floor and see his dear Grans silhouette in the window, waiting impatiently for him. And whenever she sent him off somewhere, shed wave from the window, and hed always wave back.
But when Charlie turned twenty-five, Gran passed. Now, coming home to an empty window, he felt a sadness so deep it hollowed him out. Even when his mum was home, he still felt alone. They hadnt spoken properly in yearsno shared interests, no real conversations, not even about everyday things. They might as well have been strangers.
A few months after Grans death, Charlie suddenly decided to leave for another city. His IT skills were in high demand, and hed found a company online offering a good salary and even covering rent. His mum was thrilledher boy was grown now, ready to carve his own path, far from home.
He packed littlejust Grans favourite mug as a keepsake and a few clothes to start with. With his backpack slung over his shoulder, he glanced one last time at the kitchen window. No one was there. His mum didnt even step close to wave him off. A cab took him swiftly to the train station, and soon, he was lying on the top bunk of a sleeper carriage.
The next morning, the train pulled in right on time. Charlie found his new office, checked in, then set off to look at flats hed scouted online. Navigating the unfamiliar streets with his phones GPS, he suddenly noticed a block of flats. Oddly, it looked just like his old one. All those post-war buildings were similar, but something about this one felt eerily familiarmaybe the window frames, painted the same peculiar shade of turquoise.
Without thinking, he strayed from his route and walked slowly toward the building. He just wanted to stand there a moment, to remember Gran. As he neared, he instinctively looked upand froze. His head spun at what he saw. On the fourth floor, through the kitchen window, was Grans silhouette. He knew it was her instantly, his heart leaping into his throat.
Charlie was no foolhe knew it couldnt be real. He shut his eyes tight, turned away, and started walking. His mind told him it was just some other old woman, but his heart whispered, *Stop! Its her!* Against reason, he turned back and looked up again.
She was still there.
He couldnt take it. With his backpack bouncing, he sprinted into the building, up to the fourth floor. Just like in his old place, the lock on the stairwell door was broken. He flew up the steps and rang the flats buzzer. The door opened to a bleary-eyed woman in a dressing gown, blinking at him in confusion.
“Can I help you?” she asked, clearly annoyed.
“Me?” Charlie stammered. “II need to see my gran.”
“Your *gran*?” She laughed, then called over her shoulder, “Mum! Someones here for you!”
Before he could react, another woman, also in a dressing gown, appearedmid-fifties, same tired look.
“Whats going on?” she asked.
“Look at this bloke,” the younger one smirked. “He called *you* his gran.”
“Wait,” Charlie whispered. “I wasnt calling for *her*. II saw someone else. In your window. My gran. She was standing there, looking right at me.”
“Are you off your head?” The younger woman scoffed. “Theres no gran here! Just me and Mum. Got it?”
“Yeah, II mustve mixed things up. Sorry.” His vision blurred. He stepped back, dropped his bag, and braced himself against the wall. “Ill just stand here a second, then go.”
The door started to close, but the older woman stopped it.
“Son,” she said, concerned, “are you all right?”
“Fine,” he lied weakly.
“Fine? Your face is beetroot-red.” She grabbed his wrist, pulling him inside. “Vicky, grab his bag! And fetch my blood pressure cuff!”
The daughter, wide-eyed, scrambled to obey.
Charlie was sat on the hallway bench as the woman checked his pulse.
“One-eighty over a hundred,” she muttered. “Youre not fine.”
“Im justoverwhelmed. I saw my gran in your window. She passed two months ago.”
“Gran?” The younger oneVickyrolled her eyes. “I *told* you, its just us two.” But to humour him, she marched to the kitchen. A second later, she shrieked. “Mum! What *is* this?”
She reappeared, holding a mug. “Weve never had this! Whered it come from?”
Charlies breath caught.
“Thats my grans mug. It was supposed to be in my bag.”
They tore through his backpack. The mug wasnt there.
To this day, neither of them can explain it. Least of all Vickys mumwho, as it happens, became Charlies mother-in-law six months later. Funny how life works.
Sometimes, the heart sees what the mind refuses to believe. And maybe, just maybe, love leaves marks we cant wipe away.
