**Diary Entry**
It so happened that he was raised by his grandmother, even though his mother was still alive. Thats how it was for Oliverhis grandmother took care of him, even though his mum was very much around. To be fair, his mother was brilliantbeautiful and kind-hearted. But she was a singer at the Royal Opera House, so she was rarely home. Her frequent tours even led to her divorce from Olivers father. So, it was just Gran who truly looked after him.
For as long as he could remember, whenever Oliver walked back to their block of flats, hed tilt his head up and see her silhouette in the fourth-floor window, waiting impatiently for him. And whenever she sent him off somewhere, shed wave from that same window, and hed always wave back.
But when Oliver turned twenty-five, Gran passed away. Now, coming home to an empty window where her shadow used to be left him unbearably hollow. Even when his mum was home, he felt alone. They hadnt had a proper conversation in yearsno shared interests, nothing. They didnt even discuss household matters, as if they were strangers.
A few months after Grans death, Oliver suddenly decided to leave London. His IT skills were in demand everywhere, and online, he found a firm in Manchester offering a good salary and covering rent. His mum was thrilledher grown son forging his own path, far from her.
He took only Grans favourite teacup as a keepsake and a few clothes. With a travel bag over his shoulder, he glanced one last time at the kitchen windownothing there. His mum didnt even come to wave goodbye. A cab took him to the station, and soon he was lying on the upper bunk of a sleeper train.
The next morning, the train arrived right on schedule. Oliver found his new office, checked in, then went to scout flats from the list hed saved. Navigating the unfamiliar city with his phones map, he suddenly stopped. One block of flats caught his eyeit looked just like his old home. All those post-war buildings were similar, but this one felt different. Maybe because the window frames were painted the same peculiar shade of turquoise.
Without thinking, he strayed from his route and walked toward it. He just wanted to stand there and remember Gran. Approaching, he automatically looked up at the window where the kitchen should beand froze. His head spun. On the fourth floor, behind the glass, stood Grans silhouette. His heart nearly stopped.
Oliver wasnt delusionalhe knew it couldnt be real. He shut his eyes, turned away, and took a few slow steps back. His mind told him it was someone elses grandmother, but his heart whispered, *Wait its her.* He stopped, turned, and looked up again.
She was still there. He couldnt help it. Bag still on his shoulder, he rushed inside, up to the fourth floor. Just like in his old building, the lock on the stairwell door was broken. He flew up the steps, rang the bell. A bleary-eyed woman in a dressing gown opened the door, squinting at him.
What do you want?
II need my gran, he stammered.
Your gran? she repeated, baffled. Then she suddenly grinned and called into the flat, Mum! Someones here for you!
While her mother came, the womanVerastudied him curiously. Olivers head was spinning, his pulse erratic.
Who was asking for me? A drowsy woman in her fifties appeared, also in a dressing gown.
Mum, guess what? Vera smirked. He just called you Gran.
Wait, Oliver whispered. I wasnt calling for you. I saw in your window in the kitchen. My gran was standing there.
Are you on something? Vera scoffed. Theres no gran here! Just me and Mum. Got it?
Right. Sorry. I mustve mixed things up. His vision swam. He stepped back, dropped his bag, and leaned against the wall. Ill just stand here a minute and go.
Vera started closing the door, but her mother stopped her.
Young man, she said, concerned, how are you feeling?
Fine, he lied. Dont worry.
Your face is beetroot-red. Come inside. She guided him in, barking orders at Vera. Grab his bag! Bring the blood pressure monitor!
Oliver sat on the hallway bench while the womana doctor, it turned outchecked his vitals.
Youre at 180 over 100thats not normal.
Maybe its nerves, he mumbled.
Nerves from what?
I saw my gran in your window. She was just standing there, looking at me.
Your gran? Vera laughed. I *told* you, its just us. But she humoured him, heading to the kitchen. A second later, she shrieked. Mum! What *is* this?
She rushed back, holding a teacupone Oliver recognised instantly.
Thats Grans cup. It should be in my bag.
They emptied his bag. The cup wasnt there.
To this day, neither Vera nor her mother can explain it. Especially since, two months later, she became Olivers mother-in-law. Some things really are just inexplicable.
