**Second Chance**
Fay’s heart was heavy with grief, as it always was after visiting the cemetery. The bus was near-empty, just a handful of passengers lost in their own thoughts.
As it turned off the ring road into the city, rows of squat, peeling two-story houses stretched past the windows. Soon, they too would vanish, replaced by new estates with wide streets and towering blocks.
On impulse, Fay stepped off at the next stop. If she waited, would her childhood neighbourhood disappear before she saw it again? She walked the familiar street, past crumbling houses with boarded-up windows, gut twisting at the thought that she might not even recognise her old home—where the happiest years of her life had unfolded.
Most windows were smashed, front doors gaping like silent screams. The residents had long been moved to modern flats. The street was hollow, nothing but the occasional car or bus rumbling past. And then—there it was. Fay’s heart leapt at the sight of it, as if greeting an old friend.
Without life inside, the house seemed ghostly. Only the weathered bench by the entrance remained, its wood blackened by time. Two doors down, the skeletal arm of a crane loomed. Demolition was imminent.
Fay closed her eyes. For a moment, she could see her mother leaning from their second-floor window, scanning the courtyard for her among the girls playing hopscotch. The clatter of dishes, the sizzle of fried onions, the muffled blare of a telly from some flat—Auntie Nancy’s shrill voice scolding her drunk husband.
*”Fay! Dinner!”* Her mother’s voice rang out from the past.
Fay jolted her eyes open. No mother, no life—just empty windows staring back.
But the memories surged, unstoppable.
***
*”Fay! Dinner!”* Her mother’s call from above.
She’d bolt up the chipped steps, burst into the flat, and hear her mother’s voice before she’d even kicked off her shoes: *”Wash your hands and sit down!”* Her father would be perched between the table and the fridge, buried in the paper, waiting for them all to gather…
The recollection was so vivid she could almost smell the tang of the cabbage soup. Tears spilled over, tickling her cheeks. She wiped them away with her fingertips.
Here she was again, schoolbag in hand, barely ten steps from home when she heard the pounding of Jack’s footsteps behind her.
*”Fay, wait up!”* he’d shout, catching her breathlessly.
*”Let me copy your maths homework?”*
*”Why didn’t you come round last night?”* she’d ask.
*”Your mum looks at me like I’m about to nick the silver.”*
*”Don’t be daft.”* She’d glance at his profile—how he’d shot up over the summer, his dark hair sun-bleached, skin tanned. The thin column of his neck, a vein pulsing. She’d noticed it once and never forgotten.
When had he changed? This wasn’t just Jack, the boy from the first floor—this was someone new.
He’d sensed her stare and met it, his tea-coloured eyes burning her. She’d blushed fiercely, heart hammering.
Both their fathers worked at the factory, the reason they’d been given these flats. His mum was a clerk there; hers, a nurse. The factory loomed nearby, its thick chimneys spewing smoke.
*”Where are you applying?”* Fay blurted one day.
*”Polytechnic. After uni, I’ll work as an engineer there. Then director. Change everything.”*
*”Really?”* She’d laughed. *”Who dreams of running a factory?”*
*”You’ll see,”* Jack said, unshaken.
*”Engineering, fine—but why cling to that place? It’s practically crumbling.”*
*”It’s *history*. The town depends on it. Shut it down, and thousands are out of work.”*
*”And you?”*
*”King’s College, London. Languages. Maybe psychology. I’ve got time to decide.”*
The last Sunday of September, their class celebrated a mate’s birthday at a riverside cottage. Golden leaves crunched underfoot; low sunlight dappled through the trees.
The parents and girls set up a picnic while the lads played volleyball. Later, they’d all scattered into the woods—where Jack kissed Fay for the first time.
That year, they were mad for each other. Clumsy, desperate kisses, hands everywhere. Once, when her mum was on night shift and his dad working late, Jack came over to copy her homework.
It happened quickly, awkwardly. Afterward, they stared at each other, lost. Fay made him promise never to do it again. He nodded, miserable, and left.
They walked to school in silence for days.
*”We’ll marry after graduation,”* Jack said weeks later.
*”I’m leaving,”* Fay whispered.
*”Then stay.”*
Their first real fight.
At the New Year’s dance, Fay saw Jack kissing Lena in a dim classroom. She fled home in tears.
Winter break made avoiding him easy—until he turned up at her door.
*”You’re avoiding me. Why?”*
*”You’ve got Lena now.”*
*”She threw herself at me! Was I supposed to shove her off?”*
Fay knew Lena—she chased anything in trousers. And Jack *had* grown handsome. Jealousy clawed at her.
But as months passed, Lena vanished. Fay relaxed.
Their final year was agony—pulled together, forcing restraint, pretending they could just be friends.
After graduation, the class took a boat down the Thames, picnicking on a sandy stretch by the pines. Someone brought wine. The teacher even sipped some.
Fay and Jack slipped into the woods. Kissed until their lips were swollen.
*”Stay. You can study here.”*
*”Come with me,”* she countered.
*”Mum won’t let me. Dad’s heart’s dodgy. And the factory’s good for experience…”*
*”Fay! Jack! We’re leaving!”* their teacher called.
They’d emerged flushed, grinning.
Studying for exams together ended when Jack’s dad walked in on them. He’d said nothing—just closed the door. But Jack was grounded until exams ended, then shipped off to his gran’s farm. He missed Fay’s train to London.
At first, they called constantly. Then their parents complained about the bills. Back then, mobiles weren’t what they are now.
The calls dwindled.
Then Jack married Lena.
Fay barely scraped through her first term. A year later, she dated someone, married him by final year—and divorced soon after.
She became a translator, travelled often, made London her home. When her father died, she moved her mum in. Sold the old flat, used his savings and a loan to buy a place in Zone 4.
Two years ago, her mum passed. Fay buried her beside her dad. She visited once a year, tidying the graves.
She hadn’t seen Jack. He’d moved long ago.
***
*”Looking for someone?”*
A raspy voice. Fay turned to see a stooped old woman with a walking stick, her eyes pale as autumn sky.
*”You’ve been standing there awhile,”* the woman said.
*”Auntie Nancy?”* Fay recognised their old neighbour.
*”Who’re you, then?”*
*”Fay. Fay Reynolds. Lived on the second floor.”*
*”Fay? Gone all posh, haven’t you?”*
*”Came to visit my parents’ grave.”*
*”So, Margaret’s gone too.”* The old woman crossed herself. *”Still, I can’t seem to die. Just drag on. Whole life’s here, and now they’re tearing it down. New blocks full of strangers. Jack Conley’s the one behind it—director now. Says it’s progress. Ha!”*
A black Range Rover pulled up. A tall man in a sharp suit stepped out, gesturing as he spoke to an older colleague.
*”Speak of the devil,”* Nancy muttered. *”Too important for the likes of us now.”*
Fay didn’t wait. She hurried away, heart pounding. She’d thought it was all buried—but seeing him, she knew: nothing had faded. Not the love, not the hurt.
Back at the hotel, she collapsed on the bed and wept.
By evening, she’d pulled herself together. She dressed, checked the mirror—
A knock.
Jack stood there, flowers in hand. Taller, older, impossibly handsome.
*”Thought I saw you earlier,”* he said. *”Nancy confirmed it. Not many Fays about. Different surname—married?”*
She couldn’t speak.
*”Going somewhere?”* He eyed her black dress.
*”Dinner.”*
*”Put these in water*”Then let’s go—I know the perfect place,”* he said, stepping inside as the past and future collided in the quiet space between them, both knowing this time, they wouldn’t let go.
