Oh, youll love this oneits such a heartfelt story.
Simon Markwell hadnt been feeling well since morning. His head spun oddly, and every now and then, his vision blurred. Truth be told, hed hoped not to wake up at all, but his stubborn body refused to give in. And now here he was, without his dear Sophie He let out a heavy sigh.
The queue at the supermarket checkout was growing, and Simon grew impatient as a woman held things up. But sheelegant, polished, even beautifulstood perfectly calm. Her daughter had asked for oat milk, so shed popped in. A bittersweet smile touched her lips. *No use lying to yourselfyou didnt want to go home.* Lately, home had become unbearably lonely. Oh, theyd built a lovely lifea gorgeous flat in London, money in the bankbut somewhere along the way, theyd stopped talking. Back when she and Ben were happy, theyd been like that young couple behind her, whispering sweet nothings.
A scruffy bloke with a tattoo peeking from his collar clung to his girlfriend. Shed have been pretty if not for the heavy eyeliner, black nails, and shaved templesome kind of rebellious statement. But he adored her, feeding her bits of fresh baguette, stars in his eyes.
*Honestly, what a mess.* No staff in sight, just this endless queue. A businessman with a briefcase, yoghurt, and pastries huffed impatientlyclearly in a hurry.
Simon noticed it all from the corner of his eye, an old army habit. Reconnaissance. But his hands fumbled with his worn-out wallet, coins slipping through his fingers. The cashier snapped at him*old codger holding everyone up.*
Simon hurried out, forgetting the overpriced artisan bread. *Who could afford that?* He and Sophie had lived modestly. A small pension, just enough to scrape by. Their flat had seen better daysleaky taps, burst pipes. Too much for a man in his eighties. And Sophie well, she was gone.
Theyd met during the war. Sophie, barely more than a girl, had lied about her age to enlist. A nurse, fearless, dragging wounded soldiers from battlefields. Simon? A scout. Near the wars end, hed been captured, unconscious, no IDstandard protocol. By some miracle, he survived the camps. Sophie saved him, even faked papers for him. Clever girl, his Sophie.
No childrenSophies health had been ruined by the war. Theyd moved to England in the seventies when she fell ill. Scared, always scared. Of paperwork, of whispers. *Survivors, but not heroes.* A hard life.
And after Sophie died, his days dragged, grey and empty. Bread and milk were enoughwhat more did an old man need?
At the checkout, Simon finally stopped fumbling with his coins, muttered an apology, then slumped to the floor.
The elegant woman was first to reach him, cradling his head. Then the others rushed inthe rebel rolling his jacket as a pillow, his girlfriend calling an ambulance, the businessman fanning air with his hat.
*Funny thing, this country.* Small, often prickly, but full of pride. A place where strangers became family in moments of need.
By the time paramedics arrived, the group had bondedsmiles warmer, eyes kinder.
Alice*Dr. Alice*took charge. Simon had simply forgotten his pills. She noted his details, then called next day to check. He was fine, ready to go home. *But whod take him?*
Alice drove him herself. Why this frail old man gripped her heart, she couldnt say. Then she saw his flata bucket catching drips from the ceilingand her heart broke.
Next evening, she knocked. No answer, but laughter spilled from inside. She stepped in, stunned. Simon sat beaming in his armchair, while the young couple from the shop knelt before him, spellbound, like children hearing a fairy tale.
*”Alice, dear! Come in!”* Simon tried to offer his seat.
They started smallpaint, a new tap. But the old house had other plans. Walls crumbled, repairs snowballed. Simon protested, but he hadnt felt this alive in years.
The rebels worked tirelessly, hauling rubble. The businessman? Turned out he was a decent plasterer. Bought supplies himself.
Then one Tuesday, Alices Ben appeared. *”Bloody hell, whats this mess?”*
Shed told him about Simon, half expecting disinterest. But Ben*CEO, always in suits*rolled up his sleeves. Checked wiring, damp. Shouted orders from under the bed while his assistant scribbled notes.
Ben rallied his tech firm. Alice spread the word. So did the businessman. The rebels posted on Instagram.
First came the maintenance ladswalls painted, doors hung in a flash. The directors nephew brought new windows. Neighbors donated tiles. Strangers delivered kitchen cabinets. *Howd they even hear?*
Bit by bit, the flat transformed.
Alice glowed, taking her first holiday in years. Ben dashed over daily, covered in paint, stealing kisses. The rebels? Grew up fast. The girl scrubbed off her makeupturns out she was a sweet-faced Millie with freckles. The boy? Too tired for rebellion.
Both, unloved as kids, adored each otherand Simon, whod shown them what family could be.
Simon, meanwhile, eyed themthese cast-off kidsand his refurbished flat *What was he plotting?*
The businessman? A chess whiz. And, *oh*, he worked for the DWP. Simons pension got sorted properly.
The youngsters dove into archives, hunting Simons war records. Months of emails, rejectionsuntil they restored his medals, his *name*.
*”Alice, lovedont go overboard!”* Ben laughed, fitting the new tap. *”Next thing, youll drag me to rebuild houses in Botswana!”*
A tea towel sailed past, catching the light like a scarlet sail. Outside, a grocer argued with the baker. Kids shrieked. Cars honked.
But in that old soldiers flat, lives collided, physics bent, and paths reroutedall because, in this country, *no ones sorrow stays strangers business for long.*
