**Second Chance**
The weight of grief settled over Fiona’s heart, as it always did after visiting the cemetery. The bus hummed quietly, carrying a handful of passengers lost in their own thoughts.
The vehicle turned off the ring road into the city, where rows of squat houses stretched along the outskirts. Soon, even these would vanish, replaced by wide streets and towering apartment blocks.
On impulse, Fiona stepped off at the next stop. If she waited until her next visit, would the neighbourhood of her childhood be gone? She walked past crumbling two-storey houses, her heart uneasy—would she even recognise the home where the happiest days of her life had unfolded?
Most windows were shattered, doors left ajar like gaping mouths in a silent scream. The residents had long since been moved to modern flats. The street lay empty, save for passing trucks and buses. Then, suddenly, there it was—her house. Relief washed over her as if greeting an old friend.
Without its people, the house seemed hollow. Only a time-blackened bench remained by the entrance. Two doors down, the skeletal arm of a crane loomed, waiting to tear it all down.
Fiona closed her eyes. For a moment, she saw Mum peering from the second-floor window, scanning the yard for her among the girls playing hopscotch. The scent of frying onions drifted through open windows, mingling with the clatter of dishes. A television droned in one flat, and from Aunt Natasha’s came the shrill scolding of her drunken husband.
*”Fiona, lunch!”* Mum’s voice rang out from the past. Fiona jolted, eyes flying open. No Mum, no voices—just empty windows staring back.
But the memories wouldn’t stop.
—
*”Fiona, lunch!”* Mum called from the window.
She raced up the chipped steps, bursting into the flat. *”Wash your hands!”* Mum ordered before she’d even reached the hall. Dad sat between the table and the fridge, newspaper in hand, waiting for them all to sit.
The memory was so vivid she could almost smell the tangy cabbage soup. Tears spilled over, tickling her cheeks. She wiped them away with her fingertips.
Then, another flash—her school satchel bouncing against her back. Before she’d gone five steps, the thud of running feet caught up.
*”Fi, wait!”* It was George, breathless, falling into step beside her. *”Lemme copy your algebra?”*
*”Why not last night?”*
*”Your Mum looks at me like I’m about to nick the silver.”*
*”Don’t be daft.”* Fiona glanced at his profile. Summer had changed him—tall now, his dark hair streaked by the sun, his skin tanned. A delicate vein pulsed in his neck, a detail she’d noticed once and never forgotten.
When had he become *this*? The George she’d known since childhood, the boy from the first floor who’d spotted her through the window and hurried after her.
He felt her gaze, turned. Fiona flushed, caught. The warmth of his hazel eyes burned; shame stained her cheeks. Her heart hammered unevenly.
Both their fathers worked at the factory that had secured these old flats. George’s mother was a clerk there, Fiona’s a nurse at the local hospital. The factory itself stood nearby, chimneys puffing thick smoke.
*”What’ll you do after school?”* Fiona asked suddenly.
*”Polytechnic. Then back here as an engineer. One day, I’ll run the place.”*
*”Really?”* She laughed. *”Who dreams of being a factory manager?”*
*”You’ll see. This place won’t close. It’s the heart of the town. Shut it down, and thousands lose everything.”*
*”And you?”*
*”University. Not here—London. Translation, maybe. Or psychology. Got a year to decide.”*
Late September, the class gathered at a classmate’s riverside cottage for his birthday. Golden leaves crunched underfoot; low sunlight dappled through the trees. The girls helped set the table while the boys played football. Later, wandering the woods, George kissed her for the first time.
That year—madness. Love consumed them. One night, when her parents were working late, he came over to copy her maths homework. Everything happened too fast, clumsy and bewildered. She made him promise never again. He left, dejected.
Days later, they spoke properly.
*”We’ll marry after school,”* he said.
*”I’m leaving,”* she whispered.
*”Then don’t go.”*
Their first fight.
At the New Year’s dance, Fiona saw George kiss Lena in a shadowed classroom. She ran home in tears, avoiding him until he turned up at her door.
*”You’re avoiding me.”*
*”I saw you with Lena.”*
*”She threw herself at me!”*
Fiona knew Lena—she never missed a chance with a handsome boy, and George *had* grown handsome. Jealousy gnawed at her. But weeks passed with no sign of Lena, and she relaxed.
Their final school year was agony—drawn to each other, yet restraining themselves, pretending to be just friends.
After graduation, the class took a boat along the Thames. At a quiet stretch, they picnicked. A few bottles of wine made the rounds, even the teacher sipping along. Then Fiona and George slipped into the woods.
*”Don’t go,”* he murmured.
*”Come with me.”*
*”Mum won’t let me. Dad’s health… And the factory’s good experience. Five years’ll fly. You’ll come back, and—”*
*”Harrison! Cole! We’re leaving!”* their teacher called.
They emerged flushed, lips swollen.
They studied for exams together until George’s father caught them kissing. After that, George stopped coming over. Post-graduation, he was sent to his gran’s in the countryside, missing Fiona’s departure for London.
They called often at first, until their parents scolded them for the phone bills. Mobile networks weren’t what they are now. Calls grew rare, then stopped altogether—George married Lena.
Fiona barely remembered how she survived. She nearly failed her first semester. A year later, she dated someone, married him by graduation, but divorced swiftly, realising her mistake.
She built a life in London—translator, frequent traveller. When her father died, she brought Mum to the city, selling their old flat to buy a modest place.
Two years ago, Mum passed. Fiona buried her beside Dad, visiting once a year. She hadn’t seen George—he’d moved out long ago.
—
*”Looking for someone?”*
Fiona turned. A stooped old woman with a walking stick peered at her, eyes pale as autumn sky.
*”Aunt Nats? It’s me—Fiona.”*
The old woman squinted. *”Fiona Harrison. You took your Mum to London.”*
*”Mum’s gone now. Two years.”*
*”Ah. And here I am, still kicking.”* She sighed. *”I come often. New flat’s nice, but… not home. Neighbours don’t know each other now. George Cole’s plant manager—he pushed for these new builds. Says it’s better.”*
A black SUV pulled up. A tall man in a suit stepped out, gesturing to an older colleague.
*”Speak of the devil,”* Aunt Nats muttered, shuffling toward them.
Fiona hurried away, heart fluttering. She thought she’d moved on—yet the sight of him unraveled her.
Later, in her hotel room, she wept, then slept. Evening found her dressing for dinner—until a knock came.
George stood there, flowers in hand. Taller now, assured.
*”Knew you’d be here. Now, shall we eat?”*
Over wine, they talked.
*”I married Lena. One drunken night after Dad died. She lied about a baby. Divorced quick. You?”*
*”Married, divorced. No kids.”*
*”We got everything we wanted—except happiness. Why?”* His hazel eyes held hers. *”Not too late to start again.”*
They spent the night tangled in words and touch. At dawn, his phone rang incessantly.
*”Go on,”* she said.
Dressing, he hesitated. *”When’s your train? I’ll see you off—but I won’t let you go again.”*
*”London’s full of Fionas,”* she teased.
*”I’ll find you.”*
Left alone, she wavered. Last time, he’d vanished from her life. Now? One night didn’t erase the past. Work, friends—London was her life. Could they bridge two cities?
She packed, headed to the station—then, fifteen minutes before departure, turned back.
*”If I leave, I’ll regret it forever.”*
At the factory, a glamorous secretary blocked her path. *”Mr. ColeShe pushed past the secretary, flung open the office door, and stood there, breathless—finally choosing the future over the past.
