When Emily turned thirty, she suddenly realised her life felt like an endless buffering screen.
By day she hovered over a desk in a tiny IT startup in Manchester, polishing copy for the company website, fixing other peoples commas and inventing snappy button labels. By night she trudged back to her onebed flat on the seventh floor, where the only view from the window was the grey brick of the neighbours house and a thin slice of sky. She lived with Tom, a programmer from the same office, but their relationship had been stuck for a year somewhere between seeing each other and something more definite.
They met two or three times a week. Sometimes Tom crashed on her couch, sometimes she popped over to his tidy, almost impersonal flat with its white walls and a TV that took up half the wall. Their conversations increasingly boiled down to work projects, the latest bingeworthy series and which supermarket offered the best deals on groceries. Whenever the future came up, Tom would joke or say, Nows not the time to rush.
Emily would nod, though inside something tightened each time. She couldnt quite articulate what she wanted. On the one hand the thought of marriage and kids terrified her the idea of having to choose and give something up. On the other, the lingering uncertainty was draining.
In early April her mum called. We need to sort out Grannys things, she said. The flats being let, and the furniture and crockery have to go. Granny Lily had passed away last autumn, and no one had bothered with her cupboards or attic ever since.
Youre the most organised of us, mum added. Ill be at work till late, Aunt Nora will come to help, but she cant lift heavy boxes. Could you pop over and see what can be tossed?
Emily agreed without much enthusiasm. She loved her grandmother, but in recent years Lily had been living in her own bubble, mixing up names and forgetting whod visited the day before. Memories of Lily were less about conversations than about the smell of jam and the rustle of old newspapers.
On Saturday morning Emily drove to the council estate where Lilys flat was perched. A ninestorey block of panels, the hallway smelling of dust and something ancient. The door opened with its familiar squeak. Inside everything was just as it had been in autumn: a carpet with wornout patterns, a grey sofa draped in a blanket, sideboards with glass doors.
Aunt Nora was already there. Short, plump, in a darkblue dressing gown, she stood in the middle of the room wielding a cloth and issuing orders on where to stack books and plates.
Dont throw away the photo albums, she said straight away. Mum kept those.
Emily gave a halfhearted nod and reached for the lower shelf of a sideboard, where old folders and boxes lay buried. Dust tickled her nose, and the glass on the sideboard trembled a little as she pulled out yellowed envelopes.
Among the notebooks and postcards she found a modest wooden frame with a photograph. The glass was a shade cloudy, but the faces were clear enough. Lily, looking about thirtysomething, posed in a park, hair pulled back, wearing a lightpatterned summer dress. Beside her stood a man in a military uniform, no cap, short dark hair, looking toward the camera while Lily stared at him. There was something in her gaze that Emily had never noticed in other pictures.
She turned the frame over. In faded ink it read: Lily and Colin. 1947. Below that were illegible scribbles, as if someone had started to add a note and then stopped.
Hey Nora, whos this? Emily asked, holding up the frame.
Nora glanced at it, then froze for a heartbeat as if the air had been pulled from the room.
Oh, just old junk, she said quickly, turning away. Put it with the rest.
But theres Lily and some Colin. Ive never heard of him.
People took photographs with anyone, dear, Nora waved a hand. Well sort it later. Look at the albums down there, dont mix them up with the magazines.
Her tone was rushed. Curiosity nudged Emilys chest. She stared again at the mans face nothing familiar, not even the cut of his jaw. Yet Lilys look at him kept drawing her eyes back.
The rest of the day they spent sorting through the odds and ends. By evening Emily had a box of photographs and letters, promising shed organise everything at home. Nora just shrugged.
Do as you like. Those papers dont matter to me any more.
Back in her flat, Emily set the box on the table and simply stared at it for a while. Tom messaged that he couldnt come over a sudden deadline. She replied no worries and muted the chat.
The flat filled with the rustle of paper as she flipped through the pictures. There was Lily as a teenager in school uniform, a tiny picture of her mother in a knitted hat, a summer garden table with strangers around it. The photo of the uniformed man lay slightly offcentre, propped against the wall.
Emily caught herself repeatedly glancing at it. Finally she placed the frame on the table and read out loud, Lily and Colin. 1947. The family had always said that Lily married Victor in the late forties. The war was only ever mentioned in vague terms. Victor had died when Emilys mother was five. No one had ever spoken of any other man in Lilys life.
She snapped a couple of photos of the frame with her phone to show mum later, then set the frame aside. Sleep eluded her that night; questions whirled around her head like restless moths.
The next day she dropped by mums flat, two stops from the tube, a twobedroom with a balcony overrun with flower pots.
So, sorted? mum asked, laying tea and biscuits on the table. Nora give you grief?
She was a bit prickly, but manageable, Emily replied, pulling the photo from her bag. Mum, do you know who this is?
Mum squinted at the frame, her expression shifting for a heartbeat before settling back to its usual composure.
Thats your granny. Dont you recognise her?
And the man?
What man? Mum pretended to scan the background. Oh right, him. I dont recall. Probably a friend everyone was photographed back then.
It says Lily and Colin. Ive never heard of him.
Mum set the frame down, took a sip of tea.
Everyone had a youth, love affairs, friends. Its not my business now.
But you must have heard something. Hes in a uniform, 1947. Maybe a wartime comrade?
Its none of your concern, mums tone hardened. Hes gone, Im gone. No point digging up the past.
Emily felt a stubborn spark rise.
Im just curious. I realised I know almost nothing about Grannys life. She never really talked about it.
Then perhaps she didnt want to, mum snapped. Some things are better left alone.
Emily stood and went to the kitchen for more tea. The conversation was clearly over.
Later that evening she zoomed in on the back of the photograph on her phone. Under the name she could just make out the faint word June. Nothing more.
The following days at work went on as usual, but her mind kept drifting back to the uniformed stranger. During coffee breaks she found herself staring at his face on the screen, trying to guess his character.
Tom kept suggesting meetups, but something always popped up a training session, a catchup with friends, an urgent code review. Emily kept postponing, each time feeling a little more drained.
One evening, as she was rummaging through another album, she spotted a picture of Lily with friends in front of a sign that read Railway Workers Club. Below it, a handwritten note: Kalinin, 1949. It seemed Lily had spent some postwar years there.
She fired up her laptop and typed Kalinin postwar history into a search engine, landing on a local history forum. Threads mentioned casualty lists and missing persons. Emily thought maybe Colins surname was on one of those lists, but she didnt know his last name.
The weekend she rang Aunt Nora.
Hey Nora, did Lily live in Kalinin after the war? Emily asked.
Yes, they were evacuated there for a while. Why?
Do you remember any Colin from the photo?
There was a pause on the line.
You keep bringing up Colin, Nora sighed. Listen, love, let it go. The war was messy, people came and went.
But you must know something.
I do, but it hurts. Its not a scandal, just painful memories. Mum wouldnt like us poking around her past.
Im not judging anyone, Emily said quietly. I just want to understand who she was, not just the frail old lady I remember.
Another pause, then Nora whispered, Fine. Come over Sunday. Just you, no mum. Well talk.
The whole week ahead felt like walking on pins. At work she mechanically corrected copy, and at night she sifted through letters hoping for a mention of Colin. Most envelopes held postcards from friends or rare letters from Victor.
On Thursday Tom suggested a cheap summer beach break.
How about a lastminute package? he said over the phone. Two weeks, somewhere sunny. You were planning to take some time off anyway.
Sounds nice, Emily replied. And then?
What? he asked, confused.
Just a holiday. Then what?
He was silent.
Then autumn will come projects, work, life, he finally said. Thats it.
A familiar irritation rose in Emily.
Alright, well talk later, she said, ending the call with a vague excuse.
Sunday arrived, and Emily drove to Noras cottage, a brick house near a park. The kitchen smelled of fried onions and laundry. Deerprint rugs dangled on the walls alongside framed photos of grandchildren.
Come in, Nora said, adjusting her spectacles. Tea?
Thanks, Emily said, taking a seat.
So, you want the scoop on Colin, Nora began without preamble. Listen, be careful what you tell mum. Shes lived through this in her own way.
Emily swallowed, feeling her throat dry.
Mum was born here, in London, Nora continued. Before that Lily and Victor lived in Kalinin. Lily ended up there during the evacuation. Thats where she met Colin. He was a lieutenant, wounded, stayed in the hospital for a while, then was posted to a guard detail.
She took a sip of tea, pausing.
They loved each other, Nora whispered. I was little then, but I remember him bringing chocolate the kind you could hardly find in wartime. Lily laughed with him. I never saw that side of her again.
Why didnt he become my granddad? Emily asked, a weight lifting from her chest.
Because they took him away, Nora said, looking out the window. In 47 there were checks, filtrations. Someones brother had been captured, and that was a mark. He was called in, disappeared, never returned. Lily wrote petitions, was told to move elsewhere, then the letters stopped.
Was he arrested?
Probably. Lots of people were taken, especially those whod returned from the front with relatives in captivity. We never got a firm answer. His letters just stopped.
Did Lily wait for him?
At first, yes. A year, then two. Then she was warned not to keep looking, that it could bring trouble. She already had a child, Victor, who was a reliable factory man, a party member, decent but not the love shed had for Colin. She married him because it was safe.
Nora sighed.
Your mum was born a year after Lily and Victors wedding. The family tried not to speak of Colin. Lily hid his photos in a back drawer, one of which she left in that frame.
Did mum know?
She found some letters as a teen, Lily scolded her for digging them up, called them old nonsense. But the girl wasnt stupid; she sensed her mother had another life, another love that ended beyond her control.
Emily felt a lump form in her throat, pity swelling for Lily, for her mum, for the uniformed stranger who vanished into bureaucracy.
Why does mum react so sharply? Emily asked. Its been decades.
Because she grew up thinking her father wasnt the man mum loved most, Nora said, voice softening. She once told me, Im just a hitch. If I werent here, mum might still be waiting for Colin. Kids think that sort of thing, even if its nonsense. She clung to the proper family, the stable one, and any reminder of Colin feels like a knife.
Emily recalled how mum always preached duty, how family comes first and dont chase fantasies, live quietly. Those phrases now sounded oddly different.
Did Lily regret? Emily asked quietly.
Who can say? She never said it outright. Sometimes shed pull a letter from that drawer when she thought I wasnt looking, her face alive, sad. I think she loved, feared, and regretted all at once. People back then feared a lot.
They fell silent. Outside a car passed, the kitchen clock ticking.
Dont be angry with mum, Nora finally said. Shes right in her own way. Not everything needs to be aired, but pretending nothing happened isnt right either. Youve learned something look at things a bit wider.
Emily walked home without taking the tube, letting the evening air clear her head. Noras stories, the images of a grandmother clutching letters, a teenage mum finding hidden correspondence, a soldier in a faded uniform each lived their own truth and fear. Lily had chosen safety for her children, mum had chosen correctness to avoid repeating that pain, and Emily now faced her own choice.
That night Tom called, cheerful as ever.
So, any treasure in the archives? he asked.
Found a bit of history, Emily replied. Not the fun kind.
She gave him a short version of Noras tale, skipping the gritty details. Tom listened in silence.
Weird all this, he said finally. I wouldnt waste my head on the past. Nothing changes now.
Its not about changing, Emily said. I just understand why mum is the way she is and why I am the way I am.
What do you mean?
She paused.
I keep putting decisions off, thinking if I wait everything will sort itself. In the end Im living halfalive.
Dont rush everything, Tom laughed. Lifes long enough for a bit of indecision.
Emily heard his laugh and felt a clear gap between them not physical, but an internal distance. She wanted him to ask different questions, to care about what she felt, but he seemed content to keep her from overthinking.
Lets meet tomorrow, she said. We need to talk.
That sounds ominous, he joked.
Just a chat, she repeated.
That night she tossed and turned, the story of Lily looping in her mind. Lily, who loved and feared, and the man shed loved briefly. Emily realised she didnt want to live as if she had no choices, but she also didnt want to pretend the past didnt matter.
The next morning she drove to Toms favourite café near the tube. It was noisy, people laughing at the next table, a soft tune playing from the speakers. Tom arrived in his usual sweater, set his phone on the table and ordered a coffee.
So, spill, he said, taking a sip. Whats the serious talk?
Emily looked at his familiar face. She suddenly knew she couldnt picture herself with him ten years from now. Not because he was bad, but because their relationship lacked the inner agreement she now craved.
Ive been thinking, she began, about us. It feels like were always halfway. You dont want to talk about the future, I keep running away from it. That cant go on.
Tom frowned.
Do you want to get married? he asked bluntly.
I want to know were heading the same way. That we have a shared plan, shared wishes. Right now it feels like were just keeping each other company.
He stared into his cup.
Im not ready for serious steps, he admitted finally. My career is just taking off. I dont want a mortgage, Im happy as I am.
Honestly, Im not happy either, Emily replied calmly. I dont want to wake up in five years and realise Ive just drifted along.
He sighed.
So youre suggesting we break up?
The words landed almost casually, but Emily felt a tight knot form inside. She knew she was taking a step that would reshape her life, albeit not as dramatic as wartime letters.
Yes, she said. I think its the honest thing.
He nodded, as if hed been expecting it.
Too bad, he said. But youre right. I cant promise what I dont feel.
They lingered a bit, joking about who would move which furniture. When they stepped outside, Tom gave her an awkward hug, said take care, and disappeared into the underground.
Emily stood on the pavement, watching him go. Her chest was empty and oddly lighter. No euphoria, no despair just a quiet tiredness and a fresh space inside.
That evening she went to mums flat. Mum met her at the door in a robe, a towel wrapped around her head.
Whats with you? mum asked, eyes scanning Emilys face.
Ive split with Tom, Emily said simply.
Mum flailed her hands.
Why are you, young people, so impatient? What if it could have worked out? she trailed off, searching for the right word. Everything should be served on a platter. But what if it didnt?
We see the future differently, Emily replied. I dont want to live in limbo.
MShe smiled, tucked the photograph of Lily and Colin into the drawer, and finally felt the weight of the past lift enough to walk forward.
