**The Wishing Well**
They rented a flat right in the heart of London.
“Do you like it?” he asked, barely able to contain his excitement as he pushed the door open.
The flat was enormous, absolutely stunning.
“Blimey,” she gasped, “this is incredibleand look at that view!”
“But it must cost a fortune?”
“Funny thing is, not really. An old man let it to me. Said he lives out in the countryside now, in an old cottage.”
“Oh, never mind that. I love it here,” she said, flashing him a playful smile, her warm brown eyes sparkling.
He left early the next morning, while she lingered over coffee before meeting her girlfriends.
Once he was gone, the unfamiliar flat felt oddly oppressive. A couple of times, she swore someone was standing behind her, but she shook off the feeling.
After snapping a few selfies in front of the antique paintings, she got dressed and headed out.
Her friends gushed over the photos, chattering nonstop.
“Look at that chandelierabsolute dream!”
“And these paintings! Wait, whos that? Theres someone behind you.”
She glanced at the photo. Sure enough, a faint outline of an old woman loomed behind her.
“What on earth?” her friends murmured.
“Dont be silly, its just a trick of the light,” she said with a forced laugh, though unease settled in her stomach, reminding her of the mornings creeping dread.
The week flew by. They strolled through the city centre, along the Thames, buying ice cream before walking home. She was growing used to the place.
Rain kept them indoors over the weekend. They ordered pizza and watched old films.
Her husband dozed off on the sofa, and she curled up beside him.
A thunderclap jolted her awake. Lightning flashed, illuminating the roomand the old woman standing before her.
Her husband slept on, but she was paralysed, unable to speak.
“Well, little miss, how are you settling in?” the old woman murmured. Without waiting for an answer, she added, “Have you made a wish yet?”
“N-no,” she stammered, pressing into the sofa.
*What wish?* she thought. *Weve got each other, a decent income, even a studio we rent out. Only the baby hasnt worked outIVF hasnt helped yet.*
Another thunderclap made her flinch. Lightning flashed again, but the old woman was gone.
She didnt remember falling back asleep.
Morning brought sunshine and blue skies. Only the raindrops clinging to the windows hinted at last nights storm.
“I slept brilliantly on the sofa. You?” he asked, frothing milk in the coffee machine.
“Me too,” she smiled.
She felt wonderfullast nights scare seemed like just a bad dream.
“By the way, how do you like the flat? Ive really taken to it.”
“Dont even say itI feel at home here. Dont want to move a thing.”
A couple of years back, after another failed IVF cycle, their therapist had suggested rentingfor a fresh start. This was their third place.
New Years Eve approached. On the 31st, her husband mentioned the old man would drop by that evening for the next six months rent.
“How odd,” she said. “On New Years Eve?”
“Ah, hes just an eccentric old bloke. Let him come.”
The old man arrived with a cakeher favourite, no less. They put the kettle on.
Over tea, snow began falling heavily outside. Unexpectedly, she offered, “Stay and ring in the New Year with us. You cant go out in this weather. Itll be cheerierjust the two of us… well, nearly three,” she corrected with a happy grin.
Big Ben chimed. Fireworks burst outside, their colours dancing in the mirror.
Then, in its depths, she saw the old woman again. She smiled faintly, waved, and vanished into the shimmering light.
The girl barely had time to smile back before she was gone.
She never saw the old woman again.
P.S.
Years later, passing through Covent Garden, I bumped into an old acquaintance.
“Remember that couple who rented the flat nearby?” I asked. “How are they?”
“Funny you should ask. Theyre still there. But heres the twistthe old landlord lives with them now. Ancient chap, but he dotes on their little boy like a grandson. His wife passed, never had kids of his own.”
Strange how things turn out.
