**A Rescue from Loneliness**
I woke up late this morning. My first thought was that I’d overslept—that my daughter and grandson would be up, and I hadn’t even started breakfast. Then I remembered they left yesterday. I’d seen them off at the train station myself. Sighing, I shuffled to the bathroom. Usually, I’d plan my day—what to tackle first, what could wait. Today, my mind was stuck on them.
I missed them. The last time they visited was for my husband’s funeral two-and-a-half years ago. Matthew had shot up since then, nearly as tall as me now. If they waited another three years to visit again, I might not recognise him.
Why couldn’t they just move back here? How often had I begged Emma to return? She’d divorced—what was keeping her in Manchester? Then again, I understood. She’d grown used to independence, being her own boss. Maybe she never should’ve left Leeds in the first place.
I’d never liked her ex. Too quiet. Wouldn’t say a word unless prompted. No telling what he was thinking, probably hiding something. A closed book. All that time wasted, and in the end—divorce. Another sigh.
Now they’re trying to sell the flat. Better if that stubborn ex just paid Emma her share outright. She could buy a small place here, and I’d move into it, leaving my flat to her and Matthew. But no—his parents had talked him into digging in his heels. *If only Arthur were still here. He’d have sorted this in no time.*
After washing up, I stared at my reflection. Emma was right—I’d let myself go. Stopped dyeing my hair; the grey was coming through, and I looked worn out. When Arthur was alive, I made an effort. Now? Who was there to impress? Just the neighbours, and they hardly visited. The phone rang, snapping me out of it.
Rushing to answer, I hoped it was Emma—they should’ve arrived by now.
*”Emma, did you get home alright? … Good. I’ll try not to mope. But think about moving back, won’t you? No, I’m not pressuring you. Just saying—time’s slipping, I’m not getting younger, and it’d be easier for you both if— … Don’t shout.”*
She was getting cross, and I wasn’t in the mood for a row. Already felt low enough. I ended the call on a brighter note.
Making the bed, I kept arguing with her in my head. *Typical. She’ll do what she wants, like always. Made enough mistakes already. If Arthur were here…* Another sigh. *Fine. Let her decide. She’s a grown woman.*
After tea and my blood pressure pills, I decided enough moping—off to the hairdresser’s. Maybe it’d lift my spirits. Thought I’d adjusted to widowhood, but with them gone, I was barely holding back tears.
The hairdresser—a young girl—took her time. I nearly dozed off. But the result? A chic, short cut with ashy tones to hide the roots. Took ten years off. I couldn’t stop staring. Should’ve done this ages ago. Made a vow to keep it up.
At home, I lingered by the mirror again. Cheered up, I opened the laptop. Before New Year’s, Matthew and I had picked out a new one for him. Emma scolded me for spending so much, but his joy was worth it—he’d hugged me, then handed me his old laptop. Showed me how to set up a profile, even made my picture an old one from twenty years back. I ought to take a new one. Later.
Scrolling through my feed, I spotted a message. Someone named William—thrilled he’d found me, asking me to reply.
I zoomed in on his photo. No recognition. Probably a scammer, lured by the youthful profile pic. Almost didn’t answer, but curiosity won. *How do you know me?*
An hour later, we were deep in conversation. Turned out he was William Osborne, an old classmate. Sent a circled photo of our Year 11 class as proof.
Embarrassingly, I barely remembered the quiet boy from back then. Hadn’t opened the old albums in decades.
Soon, we were messaging daily. Then Sarah chimed in—another classmate, my old desk partner. Her profile pic was just as flattering.
Back in school, she’d begged me to help with a maths test. I did, then ran out of time for mine. She got an A; I scraped a C. Never helped her again. She’d sulked, turned petty. Friendship ruined.
Sarah had always been spiteful. But grudges are pointless, so I replied. Suddenly, my circle was growing. No time to brood. How had I lived without the internet?
A month flew by. Then William suggested meeting.
*”Same city, yet decades apart. Let’s fix that. Girls, pick a date and place.”*
I hesitated. Imagined the shock of seeing each other aged. Glad I’d freshened up. Proposed a café—neutral, quiet.
Almost wore a dress, but winter won. Opted for trousers and a cosy jumper. Light makeup. Liked what I saw.
Approaching the café, nerves hit. Blood pressure didn’t need this. Why had I agreed? Too late now. Inside, a man waved from the back. A blonde woman—Sarah, unmistakable—sat with her back to me.
Sarah had bleached her hair in Year 11 to match her surname, kept it up. Plump but well-kept, which I noted aloud.
Then I looked at William. Hard to believe this distinguished, silver-templed man was the mousy boy from class.
*”You haven’t changed. Knew you at once,”* he said, pulling out a chair. Tactful—let Sarah gawp, not him.
True to form, Sarah sniped back. Silent rivalry when another woman outshines you—classic Sarah. I relaxed.
*”Ladies, you’re both stunning,”* William said, glancing between us. *”Wine to celebrate?”*
The waiter came. Over drinks, we learned all three were single. Shocked to hear how many classmates had passed.
By the end, Sarah was plastered. Staggering out, she clung to William.
*”Call her a taxi,”* I said. *”She can’t take the bus like this.”*
*”Why me? What about you?”*
*”You expect me to drag her home?”*
*”We’ll drop her off, then I’ll walk you—”*
A taxi arrived. Sarah flopped inside, yanking William’s sleeve, slurring declarations of love. He wrestled free, shut the door, gave her address.
*”You know where she lives?”* I asked.
*”Yes,”* he paused. *”She was my wife.”*
*”I had no idea.”*
Explained Sarah’s coldness earlier. Those longing looks weren’t flirting—she wanted him back.
We walked. My flat wasn’t far.
*”Foolishly married two years after school. Divorced in one. She’s had two husbands since, but between them, she tries to reel me back.”* He stopped. *”I had a crush on you, you know.”*
*”We’re here. Thanks for walking me,”* I said.
*”Invite me up,”* he blurted.
*”And Sarah?”* I smirked. *”We’ve had coffee. Go home—better yet, get a taxi.”* I slipped inside.
Undressed in the dark, I peered out. Empty street. What’d I expected? Some lovestruck schoolboy act? At his age, he probably had arthritis, a dodgy heart, who knows what else. *Pathetic.* Decided I’d ignore his messages. No good could come of it—least of all Sarah’s venom.
Avoided the laptop for days. Curiosity won. William had apologised—blamed the wine, admitted his schoolboy crush. Said he’d back off if I wasn’t interested.
Sulking, then. Fine. What did I need him for? Stupid mess. Should’ve trusted my gut. Maybe Emma and Matthew would visit soon—no time for ex-classmates, let alone their baggage.
Sarah, though, had sent a dozen spiteful rants. Accused me of nursing that maths grudge, scheming to “steal” William. *Dream on—he’s mine,* etc. Bit my tongue hard to stay civil.
Two weeks passed. No word from either. Growing uneasy, I messaged William. No reply. A week later, tried Sarah.
*”Happy now? He’s in hospital—almost gave him a heart attack,”* she spat.
*”How’s that my fault? I never led him on. Which hospital? I’ll explain properly.”*
Reluctantly, she told me. William lit up when I visited. I laidI told him straight—fond of our chats, but no romance, not at our age; Sarah’s the one who truly cares, and sometimes love means holding on to what you’ve got rather than chasing ghosts of the past.
