Tom hadn’t been home in years. During his first two years at university in another city, he still visited for holidays. His mum, of course, would stuff him full of his favourite dishes, cooking everything he loved. After a few days of overeating, he’d grow restless. All his old friends had moved away, and there was nothing to do.
The town was small, familiar down to every tree. You could walk the whole place in a few hours. After a week of sleeping in and wandering aimlessly, he’d be itching to leave.
His mum would beg him to stay just one more week, but Tom would invent excuses—nonexistent commitments—and leave with a light heart. The big, bustling city called to him. That’s where life happened, where things were exciting. He’d already made friends there. What was there to do in this dull, lifeless place?
By his third year, he’d started working at a fast-food café. The evening shifts suited him, right when the place was packed with students. He liked the busy life. The extra money didn’t hurt either—his student loan barely covered his rent. Proudly, he refused his mum’s help. She’d call, asking if he’d come home for Christmas. He’d promise, though the café was busiest then.
After the holidays, lectures resumed. Tom pushed the trip home back to summer. But when summer arrived, he switched to full-time work. Life in the city rushed by, time slipping away unnoticed. Then, suddenly, he had his degree. He celebrated for days with his course mates—who knew when they’d see each other again?
That’s when his mate Jake suggested working abroad.
“Come with me to Spain. You’re perfect for it. But you’ve got to decide now—we need to sort the paperwork. My mate pulled out last minute—his girlfriend’s pregnant, so he’s staying to marry her. It’s a one-year contract. You know enough Spanish to get by.”
See the world while we’re young. Once we settle down, get married, have kids, we’ll be lucky to go abroad once every few years. Dance while you can, mate,” Jake half-sang, off-key.
Tom agreed. A whirlwind of doctors’ appointments and paperwork followed. Just before leaving, he called his mum. Guiltily, he promised he’d visit when he got back in a year.
“How can you leave for a whole year? Just come home for a day—I’m forgetting what you look like,” she pleaded.
“Sorry, Mum. I fly out tomorrow, tickets in hand. Can’t let the company or Jake down. Love you, I’ll call…”
In Spain, they lived in staff housing, ate at the hotel. Those who wanted rented flats. Money wasn’t an issue—they saved. They did a bit of everything, slacked off, got fined if they stepped out of line. But Tom loved it.
He returned three years later. Bought a flat, got a job. Called his mum, but always in a hurry. Promised he’d visit—just needed to sort things out first. But one task rolled into another.
One weekend, he and a friend hit a club. They drank, danced, laughed. Tom woke up with a girl in his bed—whether she was pretty, he couldn’t tell in the mess of dark hair covering her face. He didn’t dare move it, not wanting to wake her. He couldn’t remember her name or how she’d ended up at his place.
Quietly, he slipped out of bed and headed to the kitchen. Drinking tap water, he then stood under the shower, thinking of the politest way to tell her to leave.
By the time he stepped out, freshened up, she was already in the kitchen. Thank God—she was gorgeous. Wearing just his shirt, her toned legs on display, she looked stunning. The scent of coffee filled the air, thin slices of cheese arranged neatly on a plate.
“Sorry, your fridge was empty,” she smiled.
After coffee, they ended up back in bed…
Her name was Lana. Tom doubted it was real, but didn’t ask. What did it matter? She was fun, no strings attached. She stayed a month.
He liked her—physically. What more did a young bloke need? She was easy, carefree. Cooking wasn’t her thing—they ordered takeaway or ate out.
That month, Tom never slept properly. Lana didn’t work, claimed she was “finding herself.” He left for work while she slept. Evenings, she dragged him back to clubs, drinking till late.
Exhaustion set in. His boss eyed him suspiciously. He knew Lana’s game—living off blokes dazzled by her looks. This life wasn’t sustainable. If he lost his job, he’d be finished. Money was slipping away. But he couldn’t just kick her out.
So, Tom did the only thing he could think of—he fled home for the weekend, hoping she’d take the hint. He bought his mum gifts, called Lana from the station saying he’d gone away, didn’t know when he’d be back.
“What about me?” she whined.
Tom pictured her pouting on the sofa, long legs stretched out. But the image didn’t stir him like before.
“Do whatever,” he said, hanging up.
The whole journey, he imagined arriving home, pressing the buzzer, hearing muffled footsteps. His mum would answer—gasp, throw her arms open…
Shame crept in—he rarely called, never visited. She had every right to be angry. His dad had died when Tom was fifteen. His mum was still young—maybe she’d moved on? What if she had a new man?
Climbing the stairs, he resisted sprinting up like he used to after school. How long ago that was. He paused at the door, listening. Quiet. Maybe—no, nonsense. She was healthy. Nothing could’ve happened.
He pressed the bell.
A muted chime sounded inside. No footsteps. The lock clicked, the door cracked open. A little girl, about seven, with fine blonde plaits and a teddy clutched to her chest, peered out.
“Who are you here for?” she asked, businesslike.
“Hi. Are the adults home?”
She frowned—clearly offended at being dismissed.
“Who do you want?”
“Shouldn’t you ask who’s there before opening the door?” Tom countered.
“I thought it was Gran,” she explained.
“Gran? You mean Grandma Anne?”
“She’s not a ‘gran,’ she’s Grandma,” the girl huffed, tugging the door shut.
“Wait—this is my house,” Tom blurted.
“No, it’s Grandma Anne’s. Me and Mum live here.”
A gasp sounded behind him. Something clattered down the steps. Tom turned—his mum stood frozen, apples rolling from a dropped bag.
“Mum!” He rushed to hug her, breathing in her familiar lily-of-the-valley perfume.
“Tom…” She whispered into his chest.
He hadn’t realised how small she was. Had he ever hugged her like this?
“Don’t cry, I’m here. Sorry it took so long…”
She pulled back, cupping his face. “Look at you. Come inside—you must be starving.”
He gathered the apples. On the stairs, the girl watched, curious.
Noticing his glance, his mum shooed her inside. “Go on, love, no need to stand in the draft.”
The girl reluctantly vanished.
“Who’s that, Mum?” Tom asked, hanging his coat.
She gave him a strange look. “Kitchen first. You need food.”
“Got any Sunday roast?” His mouth watered at the thought.
“Knew you’d ask. Made it yesterday.”
She bustled between cupboards, fridge, and microwave. Soon, a steaming plate sat before him.
“So good,” Tom mumbled through bites.
“You never visited. No ring—not married? Good.”
“Who’s the girl? Why’s she call you Grandma?”
“Because I am.”
“You’re not old enough. I don’t have kids, so you can’t be—” He stopped.
“Since when does age matter? It’s about the title.” She studied him. “Remember who you hooked up with last time you visited?”
“I didn’t—” Then it hit him.
His last visit was after second year. No friends left in town—just Emma, an old classmate. Back then, he’d paid her no mind—quiet, awkward. But out of boredom, he’d talked to her.
He learned her mum had died; she lived with her alcoholic dad. That night, after drinks, they’d… Well. Next day, he’d walked her home, promised to call. Never did. Left town two days later.
“When her dad found out she was pregnant, he kicked her out. She came to me—wanted an abortion. I said no, took her in,” his mum said.
“Why didn’t you tell me? I called loads! How do you know it’s even mine?”
“She wouldn’t let me. Said she’Tom looked at his mum, then at the empty doorway where the little girl had stood, and realized that sometimes, the life you’ve been running from is the one you were meant to live all along.
