“Anthony, step in here!” The bloke’d called on the intercom. Anthony knew he was for the high jump again. Deserved it too.
“Made it then? Sit down, Anthony. Fluffed the whole job again, you have. Consider yourself reprimanded. That quarterly bonus? Forget it. Warned you before, haven’t I? What’s got into you? Promised your old man I’d look out for you, and here you are letting me down. Honestly, Anthony Evans!” Gregory Watkins, the production manager, waved a dismissive hand. “Clear off out of my sight. You’re a grown man! Think, Anthony! Where’s this all heading? No family, no interests. How d’you plan on carrying on?”
On the train home, rammed like always. Packed solid. No chance of a seat. His mates from the factory, their wives would have tea on the table. Anthony? His flat was empty. Lived alone. Lately, just fancied a quick pint and hitting the sack.
Used to hang about with the lads after shift, a bit of a ladies’ man back then. Now they were all married. Turned proper dull, yakking on about the same old domestic drivel – the kids, the missus!
At his stop, he could hardly get off – an old dear with her shopping bags spread out in the vestibule, right in the bleedin’ way! In the Tube tunnels, everyone pushing and shoving. Always in a mad rush, but *where* to?
At twenty-five, Anthony rushed about too. The girls hung on him. He already had a flat, good brass from the factory. Even bought himself a motor – not brand new, mind, but his own!
Mum used to say: “Marry, sonny! Time flies, you’re wasting it on those painted flibbertigibbets! Take young Julie next door, lovely girl she is! Young, homely! Helps her mum all the time, training to be a nurse – and she’s got an eye for you, I notice!” And he’d snap back: “Don’t want that sort, your Julie. Not my type, is she?”
Well, he’d been a fool, hadn’t he? Bet that Julie was frying up bangers and mash for her husband now, chopping salad. Waiting, probably, kids asking, “Mum, when’s Dad home?” And no one waiting for *him*. Used to fancy that life, mind. Couldn’t quite put his finger on when everything shifted. When the time was right, when the larks grew tiresome, yet he just kept rolling down the same track.
Anthony got to his floor, fumbled for his keys, jiggled them in the lock – stuck fast. What the dickens? Tried again, wiggling it about in the keyhole, and…
Suddenly, the door opened *from inside*. It swung wide, and there… his mum stood in a floral dressing gown, looking flushed. “Son! Thought you were heading straight to *ours*? Never called! You look shattered, love. Your dad and I were just about to have tea. Come on, Anthony love, get your coat off, wash your hands! Eric? Show yourself! Eric, come meet your son, stop dawdling!”
Anthony just stood there, gobsmacked, rooted to the spot.
Then his dad, Eric Watkins, appeared. “Son! Thought you might have brought your young lady to meet us. Grandkids, we’ll be waiting forever, won’t we? My fault, lad. I was a daft sod, didn’t marry ’til after forty. Your mum wasn’t a spring chicken either. Don’t hang about, learn from your old dad’s mistakes! Got to do things in good time. Understand?”
“Understand, Dad,” Anthony croaked, throat dry. “Dad… thanks. You and mum, for everything. Just need to… left something!” And Anthony tore down the stairs like a shot, burst out the entry, and ran like the clappers.
He stopped a fair distance away, catching his breath, finally looking back slowly, warily. How *had* he managed to get off the train and head the wrong way? Daydreaming, while his feet, out of habit, carried him straight to his parents’ house – the place Anthony himself had grown up in and lived until he got his own place. On autopilot he went up, tried the door… but that wasn’t the thing… the thing was…
Anthony turned. The parents’ old five-storey block? Gone. A park stood there now. Been demolished years ago. And his parents? Passed on half a decade back. He’d sold the flat to pay off his mortgage, bought the car, put up proper headstones for Mum and Dad.
What *was* that? Where *had* he been? How had he so vividly found himself back in his parents’ house? Them, just like before? As if alive? Had it all been some dream? He was staggered.
Back at his flat, he stared in the mirror a long while. Then showered, pulled on a tracksuit and trainers, and went out. His parents’ old block was gone; tenants were rehomed nearby. Minutes walk from his place. Unlikely he’d see her; odds were Julie was long married, though she was younger.
But suddenly he *needed* to know. Find her. Confirm she had a husband, kids, a family – that he’d well and truly missed his chance. That he was out of luck.
And if Julie *didn’t* have anyone? Then what? He couldn’t answer that just yet.
From that evening on, Anthony walked through Julie’s estate after work. Every night. Futile, probably. Likely she wasn’t even there. Married and moved. He wouldn’t ask around – no fate, then no fate.
That Saturday, Anthony told himself it was the last trek to Julie’s street. Barmy idea, that vision messing with his head! He skirted the estate park. Mums with kids played, but no sign of Julie. She’d have changed, after all these years. Two women chatting by the colourful playground equipment. One with a child, the other gathering her things. “Right then, Mary, call you later!” “Bye Julie! Wave goodbye to Julie, darling!” Anthony peered – could it be? Yes! Her. Not tall, not skinny, legs not mile-long. Not a leggy blonde with a Cupid’s bow mouth and poker-straight hair like the ones he used to fancy. Now they all looked the same. She was ordinary. And *just* right.
He walked closer. “Julie?”
She spun around. Didn’t recognise him at first. Then her eyes lit up. “Anthony? What are you doing here?”
“Oh… live nearby,” he shrugged. “Just walking past. And you? Busy? Rushing off to the hubby?” Anthony decided to cut straight to it. Julie flashed the most brilliant smile, like a kid expecting a secret surprise. “No, not rushing anywhere. No hubby yet, why?” Her voice was bright, even challenging. Anthony knew she was glad. Proper chuffed. “Julie… fancy a walk then?” He looked at her and suddenly felt a spark, a flicker of something brilliant and joyful. Like the sun finally peeking through clouds. And he wasn’t wrong. Mum was right. Julie was smashing. Soon Anthony knew his bachelor days were numbered.
Anthony and Julie
Before the big day, Anthony wanted to visit his parents. Organise the church service, tend the graves. Julie insisted on going. Knew his mum and dad from next door, after all.
Together they cleaned the headstones, planted flowers. Then Julie and Anthony stood before the resting place of Eric and Grace Watkins. “So, Mum, Dad… this is my Julie,” Anthony murmured. Looking at their photos, he felt sure they approved. “Cheers Mum, cheers Dad… I’m getting married!” Anthony glanced shyly at Julie. She added, “Auntie Grace, Uncle Eric… thank you for Anthony.”
Work improved
Anton squeezed Yulia’s hand as they watched their newborn son sleeping peacefully, realising that every twist of fate, even the strangest, had woven itself perfectly into this moment.
