*”So, Granny, this was all your doing?”* asked Julie, staring at the portrait.
After the row with her husband, Julie hadn’t slept a wink all night. She’d always sensed something wasn’t right in their marriage, but when he’d walked in that evening and announced he’d fallen for someone else, she hadn’t been ready for it. He left, and she spent hours sobbing into her tea, wallowing in self-pity.
One moment, she wanted him back—but that meant forgiving a betrayal. Could she ever trust Nigel again? The next, she plotted revenge, imagining him miserable. But love doesn’t vanish overnight, even when your heart’s been trampled. So, she shelved that thought and wondered what on earth she was going to do now.
Just before dawn, she remembered the summers her parents sent her to her gran’s in a sleepy little town in the Cotswolds—how happy she’d been back then. If only she could go back, become that carefree little girl again…
But Gran had passed three years ago. Julie couldn’t recall her parents mentioning selling the flat. Maybe distant relatives lived there now? She’d ask her mum. With that comforting thought, she finally dozed off.
That night, she dreamt of the park near Gran’s house. Gran sat on a bench in her cream trench coat and a straw hat, watching little Julie and some boy playing with a puppy. *”I knew you’d come. I waited,”* Gran said suddenly, looking right at Julie—not the child in the dream, but her, the grown woman.
The intensity of that gaze jolted her awake. The dream clung to her, so real she could almost smell Gran’s lavender perfume lingering in the air.
The more she thought about it, the clearer it became—a sign. If Gran had been waiting, Julie had to go.
*”Mum, what happened to Gran’s flat after she died? Did you sell it? Is anyone living there?”* she asked that evening.
*”Goodness, no. Why would we? Gran had no other family. She left you the flat in her will.”*
*”So… I could live there?”* Julie perked up.
*”What on earth for? Move to the Cotswolds? And do what? Is this one of your whims?”* Her mum huffed.
*”Mum, I can’t stay here. We’re tripping over each other. I need to get away, clear my head…”*
The flat she’d shared with Nigel had been a gift from his parents. Staying there was out of the question, so she’d moved back in with her mum. Two years of independence had spoiled her—no unsolicited advice, no *”Nigel will come crawling back, mark my words, dear, you’ll never find another man like him…”*
*”But that flat’s ancient, love. Needs a proper renovation. Go to Spain if you need a change—sun, sea, sangria!”*
Normally, she would’ve. But the dream nagged at her.
*”Do you still have the keys?”*
*”Keys? Oh… somewhere.”* Her mum rummaged through a drawer. *”Here. Two of them. Your dad handled Gran’s affairs. I’d completely forgotten about the place. Should’ve sold it ages ago.”*
*”I’ll go have a look, then decide. Alright?”* Julie clutched the keys.
*”You’re serious? What about your job?”*
*”I’ll take leave. Don’t try to stop me.”*
The next day, Julie sniffled dramatically as she handed her resignation letter to her boss, who patted her shoulder and said, *”Men. Absolute tossers, the lot of them,”* before signing it off.
That evening, she chucked essentials into a suitcase, and by morning, she was on a train, certain her life was about to change. Five hours later, a taxi dropped her outside a red-brick building. She paused outside the faded blue door on the second floor, suddenly doubting her impulsive decision.
You can’t outrun your problems, and you can’t resurrect the past. But she was too knackered from the journey to turn back. Hoping the keys still worked, she turned one in the lock—twice.
The flat greeted her with childhood memories, musty air, and silence. Without Gran, it felt foreign. She flung open the windows, wandered from room to room, then rolled up her sleeves and dusted, scrubbed, and sneezed her way through the mess.
Exhausted, she flopped onto the sofa, too drained to even shower—too drained, thankfully, to dwell on Nigel.
When she finally dragged herself to the bathroom, a shrill doorbell nearly sent her through the ceiling.
On the doorstep stood a round, cheerful woman with bottle-blonde curls and a grin that suggested she’d never met a stranger.
*”Hello, dear! New tenant? I heard noises.”*
*”No, I’m Antonia’s granddaughter—”*
*”Julie?! Oh, I’m Linda! Remember? You played with my Freddie when you visited! Such a shame about Antonia, lovely woman…”*
For ten solid minutes, Linda chattered, oblivious to Julie’s stunned silence.
*”You never visited! But now my Freddie’s getting married—we’d have bought this flat! Handy, having your son next door. Oh well, lovely to see you, but such a shame… If you ever sell, we’ll take it!”*
Finally, Linda paused for air.
*”Right, I’ll let you settle. Pop over if you need anything!”*
Julie shut the door, massaging her temples. A shower, tea, and new curtains (the old ones were beyond saving) restored some sanity.
The next morning, she woke stiff but content. June sunshine streamed through the fresh curtains. Then she noticed the dripping tap, the rust stain in the sink—no matter how she wrestled with it, the leak persisted.
*”Brilliant. A plumber. Just what I came here to deal with,”* she muttered.
Remembering Linda’s offer, she knocked next door. A lanky man answered—Linda’s husband, Gary.
*”Easy fix,”* he said, replacing a perished washer. *”Good for decades now.”*
Julie offered tea—only polite. But just as she poured, the ghastly doorbell screeched again.
Linda stood there, flustered. *”Forgot my keys! Gary’s home with his bad back, but he’s not answering—must’ve gone to the doctor’s, though he never said—”*
Julie silently ushered her in, praying Gary’d appear and they’d both leave. No such luck.
Linda gushed over Julie’s *”homely touches,”* the curtains (*”Budget? No! Looks posh!”*), lamented Antonia’s passing, then mused, *”Pity Freddie’s not married—he needs a wife like you…”*
Julie’s head throbbed. She steered Linda toward the kitchen—where Gary should’ve been.
*”Two cups? Who’s here?”* Linda’s eyes narrowed. *”You old goat! Come out this instant!”* She tore through the flat, flinging open wardrobes.
Julie checked the balcony—no Gary. Had he leapt to his death? Unlikely.
*”Where is he?!”* Linda planted herself, hands on hips.
*”Maybe he crawled back through the pipes?”* Julie deadpanned.
Linda gaped, speechless for once, then bolted home.
*”Gary, coast’s clear,”* Julie called.
He emerged from behind the curtains. *”I’ll say I went for fags,”* he whispered, slipping out.
Julie collapsed laughing. *”Right, no more favors from Gary.”* Next door, Linda’s tirade lasted hours.
Fed up, Julie escaped outside. The town was postcard-perfect—birds chirping, flowers blooming, the sort of place where nothing bad could happen. She wandered, breathed in the peace, then stopped at the shops.
Distracted on her way back, she stepped onto the road without looking. Tires screeched. She fumbled her shopping bag.
*”Trying to get yourself killed, love?”* A man leaned out of his car.
Julie blinked at her scattered groceries. The bag’s handles dangled limply in her grip.
The stranger repacked her shopping, bundled her into the passenger seat, and drove her home.
*”You live here?”* He frowned at the building. Then, at her door, his eyes widened. *”Julie? Mum said you were back, but you know how she waffles—”*
It was Freddie—now towering over her, all grown up. They chatted for hours, reminiscing, until the doorbell’s demonic shriek interrupted.
Linda stood there, breathless. *”Saw Freddie’s car, heard voices—Julie, first Gary, now my Freddie?!”*
Freddie, wise to his mother’s dramatics, herded her home. No shouting followed—a miracleJulie looked at Gran’s portrait—still smiling, still winking—as if to say, *”Told you it’d all work out,”* and for the first time in ages, she truly believed it.
