The snow had almost melted in the city, leaving grit embedded in the icy pavements. Yet the cemetery still bore its blanket of snow, though damp and sunken from the rain. Ann wandered for a long time down the snowy paths between the graves before she found her parents’ resting place. They lay side by side, though her father had died in a car crash when Ann was in Year Nine.
The plot had been fenced for two graves. Her mother had passed three years ago. Ann had chosen a photograph for the headstone that made her parents look like contemporaries—just as she remembered them when her father was alive.
Retired now, Ann had left her London flat to her son and his family, returning to her hometown just two days ago. She’d tidied the house, and this morning, she had gone to the cemetery.
*Forgive me, Mum, for leaving you then, for running off to London. I couldn’t stay. Thank you for understanding, for not stopping me.* She brushed the damp snow from her mother’s gravestone.
Standing a moment longer, she bid her parents farewell and retraced her steps between the iron railings. She reached the main path and walked toward the cemetery gates, eyes fixed on the ground.
*Ann?!* The voice behind her made her pause and turn.
*Me?* She studied the unfamiliar older man, searching his face.
*You don’t recognize me? It’s me—Alex Gordon.* He smiled, and then she remembered.
*No. You’ve changed.* She softened despite herself.
*I knew you straight away, though I haven’t seen you—* He hesitated, counting in his head. *Thirty years.* He took a step closer.
*Thirty-two,* she corrected.
*You haven’t changed a bit. Visiting your parents?* He nodded toward the graves.
*Yes. And you?*
*Olive.* He looked away.
*Olive’s gone? When?* Ann frowned.
She bore no grudge against Olive. The old resentment had faded long ago—only regret and pity lingered.
*Six months ago. It was bad. Cancer. So now I’m alone.* His voice wavered slightly.
Ann glanced at him, wondering if he’d stifled a sob. No—just a heavy sigh. His face remained composed.
*We never had children. That’s how it goes. And you—alone, or with your husband?*
*Alone. Retired. Left the London flat to my son. Came back two days ago.* She deliberately avoided mentioning her husband.
They reached the gates.
*Oh—I’ve kept you. You were on your way…* She hesitated.
*I was leaving Olive’s grave. I’ll visit Mum another time. Otherwise, who knows—you might disappear again.* He gave a small, bitter laugh.
*Well, that’s that.* She sighed, watching the bus pull away from the stop.
*I’ve got the car. I’ll drive you.* He gestured toward the row of parked vehicles.
She didn’t want to go with him, didn’t want to talk. But waiting for the next bus by the cemetery was no better. She slid into the cold car. Alex turned the key, and the heater hummed to life. They drove past the cemetery fence, past an empty snow-covered field that would one day hold new graves, past rows of terraced houses. Ann had always wondered—how could people live so close to a city’s dead?
*All these years, and I still don’t understand what happened between us. When you left, I was out of my mind. But mostly—why?*
Ann turned sharply toward him.
*Olive told me she was pregnant. Found out later it was a lie—she couldn’t have children. But by then, I’d married her. And after… what could I do? You should’ve seen her when she learned you’d run off with her fiancé. Went to London to get revenge. So why did you leave, Ann?*
*You still don’t get it? I didn’t care who I left with, or where I went—only that I got away.*
*What?* He swerved as he turned to face her.
And then, sparing neither herself nor him, Ann began to speak.
***
They say every friendship has a giver and a taker. For Ann and Olive, it had been exactly that. Ann had joined the school mid-year. Top of the class, she drew scorn from her new classmates.
Olive—tall, golden-haired, effortlessly popular—took Ann under her wing. At break, they walked the corridors together. After school, they went home the same way. Ann helped Olive with homework, whispered answers during tests.
Because of Olive, Ann was accepted. But behind her back, Olive laughed at Alex Gordon—awkward, earnest, hopelessly smitten.
*Why do that? He’s a decent lad. You’ll see—one day he’ll be handsome.* Ann defended him.
*When that day comes, we’ll talk.* Olive tossed her hair.
They talked about the future, of course.
*I’m not rotting in this backwater. I’m going to London. Come with me?*
Ann refused immediately. *No. I can study here. What about my mum?*
*Suit yourself.* Olive shrugged. *If you want to end up like her, be my guest. I’m marrying money—a millionaire, if I can.*
*Oh, I’m sure London’s millionaires are lining up for you.* But Ann never doubted Olive would succeed.
With her fair hair, dark eyes, and golden skin—a rare combination—Olive was breathtaking. Her figure, flawless. And men, after all, are drawn by sight.
University wasn’t for Olive, of course. She went to beauty school instead. Her father had insisted—no London without an education.
*Ann, come visit me. The girls here are vipers. Not friends—competitors.*
*Better you come home.*
*Never.*
Ann’s mother had raised her strictly. No makeup—not even for school dances. Ann would sneak to Olive’s house before events, hastily smudging on mascara, then scrubbing it off before returning home.
*Be self-sufficient. Men are fickle. With an education, you’ll never want.*
She was right, of course. But at seventeen, careers were dull. Ann envied Olive her freedom, her London life.
Then, one day, Ann bumped into Alex—fresh out of the army, broader, older. His ears still stuck out, but it didn’t matter.
He walked her home. Asked her to the cinema. They started seeing each other. Alex got a job as a chauffeur—not for just anyone, but the mayor himself. A cushy role, well-dressed, driving a luxury car. A year later, he proposed. Ann convinced him to wait until she’d finished her degree.
The mayor secured Alex a flat. Ann stayed late often, sometimes overnight.
Then, one evening, leaving the cinema, they ran into Olive—glossy, London-polished, almost unrecognizable.
*Annie!* Olive lunged for a hug.
*You look like you stepped out of a magazine.* Ann breathed in the scent of expensive perfume.
She glanced at Alex—and saw it. The dazzled look in his eyes. Olive pretended not to notice, chattering about her upcoming wedding, her dress shipped from Milan…
They all went back to Alex’s flat, stopping for wine and fruit.
*You’ve done well for yourself, handsome and with your own place.* Olive wandered the flat. *No wedding plans?*
*In three months. After my final exams.* Ann didn’t think before speaking.
Alex looked away. *So what? Olive’s engaged. She never liked him*, Ann told herself. But her chest ached.
They drank, talked about nothing and everything. Olive held court with London stories.
*Soon you’ll be a married Londoner. Your dream come true.*
*Oh yes. If only he were as handsome as Alex—then he’d be perfect.* Olive shot Alex a look.
Two days later, Ann finished her exams early and went to Alex’s flat. He’d given her a key. Her mother was visiting family in the countryside. Ann bought wine and steak on the way, decided not to call—a romantic surprise.
She opened the door—and saw the heels. Just like Olive’s. Then laughter from the bedroom. She knew that laugh. Her mind refused to believe it.
Pushing the door open, she saw them—Alex sprawled on the sofa, Olive’s head on his chest, her fingertips trailing his skin.
The pain was instant, searing. Ann fled, stumbling down the stairs, blinded by tears. She nearly fell—until strong hands caught her.
*Where’s the fire? Or did you see a ghost?* A man’s voice, half-joking, half-concerned.
Ann buried her face in his chest and wept. He led her outside, sat her on a bench, handed her a handkerchief.
*Who did this to you?*
And she told him.
*He never even liked her. She’s engaged—bragging about herShe walked away without looking back, the weight of the past finally slipping from her shoulders like melting snow.
