No One Left to Talk To: A Heartfelt Story of Nina’s Yearning, Rekindled Memories, and an Unexpected Call from the Past

Author Emily TaylorReading 8 minViews 2

No one to talk to. A Diary Entry

Mum, what are you on about? How can you say you have no one to talk to? I ring you twice a day, my daughter said, tiredly.

Oh no, darling Elizabeth, you know I didnt mean you, I sighed, feeling the weight of it all. Its just Ive no friends left now. No one from my own time.

Mum, dont talk nonsense. Youve still got your schoolmate, Janet. And honestly, youre more modern than most people I know, and you look so much younger. Mum, really, whats this about? she pressed, sounding disappointed.

You know Janets got asthma. She cant really talk on the phone; she starts coughing. And she lives on the other side of town. There used to be three of us, remember I told you? Well, Margarets been gone a long time now. Yesterday, Sandra from next door popped in for a chat. Lovely woman, she is. She brought over some scones shed baked for her lot. Told me all about her children and grandchildren. Shes got grandkids too, though she’s a good fifteen years younger than me. But her childhood memories, her school days entirely different.

I carried on explaining this to Elizabeth, but I knew she didnt really understand. Shes still young. Her time is now, outside her window. Shes not haunted yet by the pull of memories. Shes a good girl, so caringnone of this is her fault.

Mum, I got us tickets for the concert on Tuesday! Remember, you said you wanted to go. Please, stop being blue, wear your burgundy dressyou look stunning in it!

All right, love, Ill be fine. I dont know whats come over me. Goodnight, well talk tomorrow. Do try to get some proper sleep, I said, changing the subject.

Night, Mum. Love you, she replied, and the line went dead.

I sat by the window, looking out at the twinkling city lights

Year eleven. It was spring then, too. So many plans. It feels like yesterday. My friend Janet fancied Peter Mallory from our class. But Peter liked me. Hed ring the house phone in the evenings and invite me for walks. I only saw him as a friendI didnt want to give him false hope.

Later, Peter went off to the army. Came back, got married. Lived in the old house near Janets. Back then, all phones were landlines. I suddenly remembered his number and dialled, nerves fluttering. It rang for ages, then someone picked up. Shuffling noises, and then a quiet male voice:

Hello, Im listening. Whos this?

Is it too late? Why did I ring him? Maybe he wouldnt remember or perhaps its not him at all.

Good evening, I croaked, anxiously.

More crackling. Then, surprisedNina? Is that actually you? Of course it is. Id never forget your voice. How did you find me? I just happened to answer

Peter, so you did remember! All at once, I was awash with happiness. No one had called me just Nina for yearsonly Mum, Granny, or maybe Mrs. Bennett. Janet called me by my name, sometimes. But just Ninathat sounded so fresh, so youthful, as if all those years in between never happened.

Nina, how are you really? Its so wonderful to hear from you! he replied, and I felt relief in my bones. Id worried hed either not recognise me, or that Id rung at an inconvenient time.

Do you remember the Upper Sixth? When you and Tom Yates took us girls out on the boating lake? Tom blistered his hands rowing and tried to hide it. Afterwards, we ate ice creams on the river walk. The brass band was playing Peters voice was gentle and lost in thought.

Of course I remember, I laughed, happy. And that night we all went camping in the woods with the class? We couldnt open a single tin of beans, and we were starving!

Oh yes! Peter chuckled. Tom finally got them open, then afterwards we sang by the firedo you remember? Thats when I vowed to learn the guitar.

Did you ever? My voice was youthful, lifted by a tide of memories. As Peter carried on, recalling more and more, our shared past felt real and present.

Hows life now? he asked, then continued before I could, Actually, I can tell, just from your voice, youre happy. Kids? Grandkids? And you still write poetry, dont you? I remember your linesMelt into the night and rise with the dawn! So full of hope.

You were always a ray of sunshine. It was impossible not to feel warm beside you. Your family are lucky to have youwhat a mum, what a grannya real treasure.

Oh, Peter, you flatter me! My times over, though

He interrupted, Stop that. Youre full of such life, youre making this phone hot! Only kidding. But really, I dont believe youve lost your love for life. Not you. Your times not over, you hear? Nina, just live and enjoy it. The sun shines for you. The wind sends the clouds scudding for you. And the birdsthey sing for you!

Peter, youre still a hopeless romantic. But enough about mewhat about you? But then his phone started crackling, made a popping sound, and the line went dead.

I sat, phone in hand, tempted to ring back, but it was late and perhaps it would be a bother. Another time, I decided.

How good it felt to speak with Peter, to remember so much A sudden ring startled me. My granddaughter.

Hi Sophie, no, Im not asleep. What did your mum say? No, Im in great spirits! Were going to the concert together. Youll pop by tomorrow? Wonderful, see you then, sweetheart.

That night, I went to bed happier than I had in ages, brimming with plans. As I drifted off, I found myself composing new lines of poetry in my head.

In the morning, I decided to visit Janet. Its only a few stops away on the tramhardly makes me an old fossil.

Janet was delighted. At last, you made it! Is that an apricot cake youve brought? My favourite! Come on, sit downspill the beans! she managed between coughs, fluttering a hand dismissively. Im all right. The new inhalers helping. Lets have some tea. Youre looking younger lately, Ninawhats your secret?

I havent the foggiest, perhaps Im on my fifth youth! I grinned, cutting the cake. Yesterday, I accidentally dialled Peter Mallory. You remember, your crush from year eleven? He started reminiscingso many little things Id forgotten! Hello? Janet, are you all right?

Janet had turned pale, staring at me. She finally whispered, Nina didnt you know? Peter passed away over a year ago. He moved to a different area, left that house ages ago.

Youre joking. How? But he knew all the details of our youth, our schooldays Before that call I felt down, and afterwards I felt alive, hopeful again. How could it be?

I heard him, JanetI did. He told me: ‘The sun shines for you. And the wind sends the clouds for you. And the birdsthey sing for you!’

Janet just shook her head. She clearly doubted what I was saying. Suddenly, she said, Nina, I dont know how, but maybe it really was him. Those are Peters words, his way. He truly cared for youI think he called to lift you up from wherever he is. And I must say, it worked. Ive not seen you so joyful in years.

Perhaps, just perhaps, there comes a time when someone puts your battered old heart back together. And you finally realiseyou are, after all, just plain happy.

That night, as I finished my diary, I wrote: Sometimes, happiness comes in the voices of old friends, in laughter shared, and in memories that remind youits never too late for a new beginning.

Dandelion Jam After a snowy but gentle winter with no harsh frosts, the cold has grown tiresome and the longing for green leaves, colourful blossoms, and the chance to cast off heavy coats fills the air. Spring arrives in a small English town, and Tessa, who has lived in her cosy five-storey flat for years, awaits nature’s awakening. Looking down from her third-floor window, Tessa muses, “With these warm spring days, the town feels alive after its long winter slumber. Even the cars grumble differently and the local market has new energy. Bright jackets and coats everywhere, and the birds wake us before our alarms. Ah, spring is wonderful, and summer will be even better…” Nowadays, Tessa shares her flat with her granddaughter Violet, a fourth-year student at the primary school. Violet’s parents—both doctors—moved to Africa for work a year ago, leaving their daughter in Tessa’s care. “Mum, we trust you to look after our Violet. We know she’ll be happy with you,” Tessa’s daughter said when they left. “Of course I’ll take care of her—she’ll keep me company in retirement. Off you go, we’ll be fine,” Tessa replied. “Hurrah, Granny! Now we’ll really live – we’ll go to the park all the time. Mum and Dad are always busy. They never have time,” Violet cheered. After breakfast and seeing Violet off to school, Tessa loses track of the morning in a flurry of chores. “I’ll pop to the shop before Violet gets home from school—I promised her something sweet for her good grades,” she thinks, grabbing her shopping bag. Outside, the neighbourhood bench is already occupied by two locals—Mrs. Simmons, an ageless woman of at least seventy (or perhaps more, as she keeps her birth year secret), living alone in a ground-floor flat, and Mrs. Valentina, seventy-five, vivacious, well-read, and a joyful contrast to the ever-complaining Mrs. Simmons. As soon as the sun returns and the snow melts, this bench is rarely empty—Mrs. Simmons and Mrs. Valentina are regulars, armed with cushions to ward off the lingering chill, busy keeping tabs on the world around them. Tessa sometimes joins them to chat about news, magazine stories, or television shows, with Mrs. Simmons inevitably remarking on her blood pressure. “Morning ladies,” Tessa greets them cheerfully. “On duty already?” “Morning, Tess. Duty calls, otherwise we’d get detention,” Mrs. Simmons replies, eyeing Tessa’s bag. “Off to the shops?” “Just for a treat before Violet gets back from school,” Tessa says, moving on. The day passes with familiar rhythm—school pick-up, lunch, homework, and chores. Violet heads to her dance class, a passion she’s followed for six years, and Tessa beams with pride for her talented granddaughter. Tessa waits on the bench for Violet’s return, joined by Mr. George Ilchester from the second floor. “Lonely out here?” he asks. “How could I be lonely on a day like this? Spring is gorgeous,” Tessa replies. They chat about the sunshine, birdsong, and golden coltsfoot flowers, bright as tiny suns. Suddenly, Violet surprises them, leaping onto Tessa’s neck with a playful bark. “You little rascal! You nearly scared me to death!” Tessa laughs. “Plenty of time before that!” George Ilchester jokes. Tessa tempts Violet inside with grated carrots and sugar, her favourite meatballs waiting. Mr. Ilchester, enticed by the talk of food, heads home too, promising a later stroll. That evening, Tessa returns to the bench. Mr. Ilchester waits, the regular ladies gone to dinner. From that night, their friendship grows—they walk to the park, read newspapers, swap recipes and stories, and share memories. George Ilchester has known hardship; widowed young, he raised his daughter Vera alone, juggling two jobs. As Vera grew and moved away, visits became rare, her affection cold. Divorce left her raising a son alone. “Tess, my daughter’s coming to visit in two days. Just called out of the blue…” George confides. “Strange, we haven’t spoken in years.” “Maybe she misses you. In time, family means more,” Tessa suggests. Vera’s visit is brief and businesslike. She pressures George to sell his flat and move in with her, claiming he doesn’t need so much space. George refuses, uncomfortable with leaving his home for a brisk, joyless household. Vera goes to Tessa, asking her to persuade George to sell. Upon receiving a gentle refusal, Vera grows furious, accusing Tessa of wanting the flat for herself—a spiteful tirade about Tessa and George together, sharing walks and dandelion lore, and she storms out. Tessa feels embarrassed, worried the neighbours heard Vera’s accusations, and avoids George after Vera’s departure. But life has its way of mending fences. Returning from the shop, Tessa finds George by the door, weaving a dandelion crown. “Tessa, don’t run—I need to say sorry for Vera,” he says quietly. “She said awful things, but I’ll always be here for my grandson. Have this dandelion wreath—and you must try my dandelion jam, it’s delicious and healthy. Brilliant in salads too,” he smiles. They make a salad together and enjoy tea with dandelion jam, which Tessa finds utterly delightful. That evening, they return to the park with their favourite magazine, reading on the bench beneath the old English lime tree, losing themselves in conversation, content together. Thank you for reading, subscribing, and supporting me. Wishing you happiness always!

Dandelion Jam Winter’s snowy blanket finally melted away—no hard frosts this year, just a gentle, white season. Yet as the last traces faded, the longing for lush green leaves, vivid blossoms, and the chance to shed bulky coats grew stronger. Spring arrived in the small English town, and Tessa, who adored the season’s awakening, watched from her third-floor window: — With the first warm days, the whole town seems to stir after a long hibernation. Even the rumble of lorries sounds livelier, and the market buzzes with fresh energy. People stride about in colourful jackets and coats, birds are our morning alarm clocks now—spring is wonderful, and summer will be even better… Tessa had lived in her five-story block for years, now sharing it with her granddaughter, Violet, a year-four student. Violet’s parents—both doctors—had moved to Africa on a work contract, leaving their daughter in Grandma’s care. — Mum, we’re entrusting Violet to you. We know you’ll mind her well, pulling her all the way to Africa doesn’t make sense, said Tessa’s daughter. — Of course I’ll look after her—I’ll enjoy her company in retirement. Off you go, Violet and I will be just fine here, replied Tessa. — Hooray, Grandma! We’ll have so much fun together, walking in the park and spending time—Mum and Dad are always busy. They never have time for me, cheered Violet. After sending Violet off to school with breakfast, Tessa busied herself with chores, the hours slipping by unnoticed. — I’ll pop to the shop before Violet comes flying home from school—promised her something sweet for her good marks, Tessa thought, grabbing her bag and heading out. Outside on the chilly bench—cushioned for warmth—sat two neighbours. Mrs Simmons, whose real age was anyone’s guess (she kept that secret), lived on the ground floor, and Mrs Valery, seventy-five, well-read, boisterous, the cheerful opposite of Simmons, who found fault with everything. As soon as the snow melted and the sun returned, this bench was never empty, especially with Simmons and Valery as regulars—chatting all day long, knowing everyone’s business. Tessa sometimes joined in, swapping news and TV stories, Simmons always keen to discuss her blood pressure. — Morning, ladies, smiled Tessa. On duty, are we? — Morning, Tess. Of course, duty calls! Off to the shop, I see? Simmons asked, spying her bag. — That’s right, I promised Violet a treat for her top marks. Off I go, said Tessa, not lingering. The day passed in its usual way—school run, lunch, homework, chores, TV. — Grandma, I’m off to dance club! called Violet, rucksack and mobile in hand. She’d danced for six years, performing at every event, and Tessa was ever proud. — All right, darling, go and have fun, Tessa said, seeing her off. That evening, Tessa sat alone on the bench, waiting for Violet. — Lonely out here? asked Mr Edgar from the second floor, joining her. — Who could be lonely in weather like this? Spring’s here, birds singing, the world’s turning green—those buttercups look just like tiny suns, smiled Edgar, and Tessa agreed. Just then Violet dashed up with a surprise shout: — Woof woof! — You little rascal, gave me a fright! laughed Tessa. — Don’t start talking about old age, smiled Edgar, gently clapping her shoulder. — Come on in, rascal. I grated carrot with sugar for you, after all that dancing, and made your favourite cottage pie, Tessa said affectionately. Edgar got up too. — All this talk of cottage pie’s made me hungry! I’ll nip in for a bite. Maybe we’ll catch up later on the bench, or perhaps a stroll? said Edgar. — I can’t promise—much to do, but we’ll see… Still, Tessa came out later to the bench—and found Edgar waiting. The regulars were gone. — Simmons and Valery just left to eat, Edgar announced cheerily. From then on, Tessa and Edgar often met—sometimes strolling to the park across the road, reading the newspaper together, swopping stories and recipes. Edgar had his own trials—widowed young, he’d raised his daughter alone, working two jobs so Vera wanted for nothing, but he was rarely home. Vera grew up, married, moved cities, had a son—came to visit a few times and nothing more, her visits were never joyful. After fifteen years, she divorced and raised her son alone. — Tess, my daughter’s coming in two days, rang this morning. Odd… We haven’t spoken in years, said Edgar—they’d long been on first-name terms, talking freely. — Maybe she’s missing you—at a certain age, people need family close, suggested Tessa. — I doubt it… Vera arrived, brusque and serious. Edgar braced for a tough conversation. — Dad, I’m here on business. Let’s sell your flat, you move in with us, live with your grandson—it’ll be better, Vera said, her tone firm, plans made. But Edgar shrank from it—he didn’t want to uproot to a strange city under brooding supervision. He refused, citing habits and independence. Vera wasn’t deterred. Discovering his friendship with Tessa, she paid a visit. After tea and treats (including golden jam), Vera got down to business. — I see you and my father are close. Could you persuade him in an important matter? — What might that be? — Help me convince him to sell—why does he need so much space alone? Can’t he think of others? she snapped. Tessa was surprised by Vera’s coldness and refused. Furious, Vera lost composure: — Well, I see… Maybe you want the flat for yourself! Found a lonely old man, lining up an inheritance for your granddaughter… Romance on benches, chatting about dandelions! Two sweet old dandelions—you’ve probably filed for marriage already! But let me warn you—nothing will come of it, she threatened, switching to “you” as she shrieked, slamming the door. Embarrassed, Tessa worried the neighbours had overheard. Vera soon left, and Tessa started avoiding Edgar—ducking home whenever she saw him. And Yet, Tea With Dandelion Jam But life has its own plans. One day, heading home from the shop, Tessa found Edgar by the entrance, weaving a garland of yellow dandelions. — Tessa, don’t run—please, stay a moment. I’m sorry for my daughter; I know what she said—she’s gone now and claims she has no father left. But… Anyway, here—take this half-made dandelion crown. And I’ve made dandelion jam! Very healthy and delicious—you simply must try it. They’re great in salad too, Edgar said with a warm smile. After chatting about the wonders of dandelions, they made a salad together. Tessa tasted the jam with tea that evening—and loved it. Later, they walked to the park. — I’ve got the latest issue of our favourite magazine—shall we read on our bench under the old lime tree? Tessa sat next to Edgar, and laughter flowed. Conversation sparkled on, the rest of the world forgotten. Together, everything felt right. Thank you for reading, subscribing, and supporting me. Wishing you all the best in life!