“So it was you who set all this up, Gran?” asked Emily, staring at the portrait.
After quarreling with her husband, Emily hadn’t slept all night. She’d sensed something off in their relationship, but when he came home in the evening and confessed he loved someone else, she wasn’t ready for that blow. He left, and she sobbed for hours, wallowing in self-pity.
One moment she wanted him back—but taking him back meant forgiving his betrayal. Emily wasn’t sure she could ever trust David again.
The next moment, she wanted revenge, to make him suffer. But love doesn’t just vanish, even when you’ve been betrayed. So she shelved that idea for later and focused instead on figuring out how to move on.
Just before dawn, for some reason, she remembered how her parents used to send her to her grandmother’s small town in the Cotswolds every summer, and how happy she’d been there. If only she could go back, return to the past, be a little girl again…
But Gran had passed three years ago. Emily didn’t recall her parents selling the flat. Maybe Gran had other relatives living there now? She’d have to ask her mum. With that comforting thought, she finally fell asleep.
That night, she dreamt of the park near Gran’s house. Gran sat on a bench in her old cream trench coat and a straw hat, watching as little Emily played with a puppy alongside some boy. “I knew you’d come. I’ve been waiting,” Gran suddenly said, looking straight at her—not the little girl playing, but her, the grown-up Emily.
The intensity of Gran’s gaze woke her. The dream felt so real that Emily couldn’t shake the sense of Gran’s presence for hours.
The more she thought about it, the clearer it became: this was a sign. If Gran had said she was waiting, then Emily had to go.
“Mum, what happened to Gran’s flat after she died? Did you sell it? Is anyone else living there?” she asked that evening.
“No, love. What gave you that idea? Gran didn’t have any other family. She left a letter saying the flat was yours.”
“So I could live there?” Emily brightened.
“What’s got into you? You want to move to the Cotswolds? And do what? What’s this sudden whim?” her mum huffed.
“Mum, I can’t go on like this. We’re just in each other’s way. I need a change of scenery, time to think, to sort myself out…”
The flat she’d shared with David had been a gift from his parents. Staying there was impossible, so she’d moved in with her mum. After two years of independence, the constant advice and lectures were stifling. Worse, her mum insisted David would “come to his senses,” that she should forgive him because she’d never find another man like him…
“But that flat’s old, needs work. You really think it’ll be better than here? Go to Brighton if you need a break—now that’s a proper getaway.”
Any other time, Emily would’ve agreed. But the dream wouldn’t let her rest.
“Do you have the keys?”
“Keys? Somewhere…” Her mum rummaged through a drawer. “Here. Think these are them.” She handed Emily two keys. “Your dad handled his mother’s place while he was alive. Never involved myself. Honestly, we should’ve sold it ages ago.”
“I’ll go check it out first, then decide, yeah?” Emily clutched the keys.
“You’re really serious? What about work?”
“I’ll take leave. Don’t try to talk me out of it—I need this.”
The next day, Emily sniffled her way into her manager’s office, handing in a leave request. Sympathizing, her boss called all men “worthless” and approved it.
That evening, Emily packed a bag, and the next morning, she boarded a train, feeling like a new chapter was beginning. Five hours later, a taxi dropped her off at a weathered brick building. On the second floor, she hesitated before the brown-painted wooden door.
Doubt crept in. You can’t return to the past—Gran was gone, and you can’t run from yourself. But she was too tired to turn back now. Hoping her mum hadn’t mixed up the keys, she slipped one into the lock. To her surprise, it turned smoothly.
The flat greeted her with familiar childhood relics, stale air, and silence. Without Gran, it felt foreign. She flung open the windows, toured the rooms, then changed and began scrubbing—hauling down dusty curtains, washing windows, mopping floors.
Exhausted, she collapsed onto the sofa, too spent to even shower. At least she had no energy left to wallow or pine for David.
Later, as she finally mustered the strength to wash up, the doorbell’s screech grated on her frayed nerves.
A plump, curly-haired woman in her fifties stood there, beaming. “Hello! New tenant? Wondered who was making all that noise.”
“No. I’m Antonia’s granddaughter. Just visiting—”
“Emily! I’m Lorraine—just Lorraine. Remember me? You used to play with my Eddie when you stayed with your gran. Such a shame about Antonia, lovely woman…”
For ten minutes, Lorraine chattered on while Emily stood mute.
“It’s been years since you visited. My Eddie’s getting married soon—we’d have bought this flat from you. Perfect, having your son next door. Shaaaame you’re here. Not that I’m not happy! Just… well, if you ever sell, let us know first!” Finally, she paused.
“Blimey, I’ve rattled on! Need anything, we’re right next door.” Relieved, Emily shut the door behind her.
The neighbor’s prattle left her with a headache. After a shower and tea, she went out for new curtains—the old ones were beyond saving.
The next morning, she woke late, muscles aching from cleaning. But sunlight streamed cheerfully through the new curtains.
The bathroom tap dripped, leaving rust stains. No matter how she twisted it, it wouldn’t stop. Frustrated, Emily remembered Lorraine’s offer and knocked next door for help.
Lorraine’s husband, Gerald—a lanky contrast to his round wife—grabbed tools and fixed the tap. “New washers’ll sort it. Last you decades.”
Emily offered tea as thanks. As she poured, the doorbell screeched again. She vowed to replace it that day.
Lorraine bustled in, explaining she’d popped home on lunch break—Gerald was off with back pain—but forgot her keys. She jabbered about Emily’s homemaking skills, the “posh” (bargain) curtains, how Antonia’s passing was tragic, how Eddie needed a wife like Emily…
Fifteen minutes later, Emily’s head throbbed. She herded Lorraine toward the kitchen, where Gerald should’ve been.
“Why two cups? You’ve got company?” Lorraine’s eyes narrowed. “That old fox! Gerald, get out here! I’ll sort your back pain, alright!”
Emily joined the wild hunt—under beds, in cupboards, even the balcony (though jumping from that height was mad).
“Where is he?” Lorraine planted herself, arms crossed.
“I asked him to fix the tap. Maybe he… left through the pipes?” Emily blurted.
Lorraine gaped, speechless for once, then bolted home.
“Gerald, coast’s clear,” Emily called.
He slid out from behind the curtains. “Tell her I went for fags.” He slipped out.
Emily shut the door and laughed. What a pair. No more favors from Gerald. Through the wall, Lorraine’s tirade raged until Emily escaped outside.
The town was lush and sunny, birds singing. She strolled for hours, savoring the holiday calm, then stopped at a shop.
Distracted on the way back, she crossed without checking the light. Brakes screeched.
“Trying to get yourself killed?” a man shouted from his car.
Stunned, Emily dropped her bag—the handles ripped clean off. The driver gathered her groceries, bundled her into the passenger seat, and drove her home.
“You live here?” He frowned at the building. Then, at her door: “Emily? Bloody hell, Mum mentioned you were back, but she never makes sense!”
She barely recognized Eddie—the scrawny boy was now broad-shouldered. They laughed over childhood memories until the doorbell’s shriek interrupted.
Lorraine stood there. “Saw Eddie’s car… heard voices…” Spotting him, she rounded on Emily. “First my husband, now my son? You’ve not been here five minutes!”
Eddie, well-versed in maternal drama, steered Lorraine home without argument. Emily exhaled. No yelling this time.
Strangely, her mood lifted. Without lifting a finger, she’d gotten back at David—twice. Not that anything happened, but Lorraine’s gossip would ensure the whole town heard otherwise.
Settling on the sofa, Emily studied Gran’Emily smiled at Gran’s portrait, certain now that love—and a little mischief—had guided her home all along.
