“How long are you going to put up with this?” Gran’s voice whispered again as Blythe stepped into the lift of the sixteenstorey council tower on the outskirts of Manchester.
From the first day the marriage was a disaster. Harry had plucked her from school as if she were a prize. He never let her finish her exams, never encouraged her to learn a trade. The only thing she managed to earn was a provisional driving licence and even that was thanks to Harrys father, a garage foreman, who arranged for a friend to act as instructor.
Blythe left the flat only when the fridge was empty. A stroll meant hanging laundry on the narrow balcony, not a proper walk. Harry tracked her every move. Even taking out the rubbish required a phone in the pocket of her cardigan in case he called to check.
Weekends started on Friday night with dread. Harry would appear, demanding dinner and a bottle of his favourite whisky, the glass forever sweating in the cold. After the meal he would, with a sneer, mutter, Whats the point of you, you foolish, useless thing? When will I have an heir? Hed linger in the bedroom, weeping, then shuffle back to the kitchen for another nip. When the last shot hit the glass, hed bark, Wheres the beer?
Blythe knew the question would come. She never bought it during the day, stealing twentyodd minutes for a breath of fresh air.
“Why are you so quiet?” Grans ghostly voice pushed her thoughts aside. The lift shuddered, hanging between floors. Do you like the way your husband treats you?
No, Blythe whispered, he wipes his feet on me.
Not forever, Gran coaxed. Soon it will be worse. Do you want him to break his hold on you?
God, no! Blythes throat went dry. Please, not at all.
Then run, love, run! Gran urged.
How? Where to? To my mother? She lives in a onebed flat with a new husband. To my father? Hes remarried. Im a cutoff slice, Gran. I have no one. Blythes eyes watered, her nose tingled.
Being alone is a blessing. Total freedom, a chance to start over. Imagine if you had a child
But where would I go? Blythes gaze turned huge, as round as a saucer.
A chance will come. Dont miss it. Keep looking out of the window. Youll see.
What will I see?
Grans voice softened. Youll figure it out if youre not foolish. The lift is moving. Dont be scared. Go for the beer, your dear husband. And one more thing, the specter whispered, search the little wooden box I left you after I passed. It isnt empty; it has a double bottom. Find it, but dont leave witnesses. Take only whats inside; leave the box so Harry never suspects youve fled.
Whats inside?
Answers to your questions.
The lift lurched to the ground floor. Blythe stepped out into a warm evening, the snow melting into rivulets. The world seemed to be rebornwhy not she?
***
Harry collapsed onto the kitchen table, the whisky spilling into a puddle as he snored like a wild beast. His loud snores gave Blythe the chance to examine the box while he was oblivious. She shook it over the bed; a cascade of threads, needles, crochet hooks, buttons, and bits of scrap fell outordinary clutter that rarely saw the light. The box itself was an unadorned piece of carved oak, its lid solid.
When Harry saw the box, he rolled his eyes. Ill throw it out. Your grans a proper eccentric! Found something for her daft grandchild, did she?
Blythe turned the box over, feeling for a hidden compartment. The wood was solid, but a faint click sounded when she pressed a seam. Something was there, she was sure of it, but the secret remained sealed.
She kept pressing the protrusions, waiting for the hidden space to reveal itself. Grans voice was silent, waiting for her to discover it herself. Blythe settled on the doublebed, ran her fingers over the lids carving. Suddenly a small panel snapped open, striking her in the stomach.
Inside lay an envelope, a set of keys, and several sachets with odd instructions: Switch on the mind, Freeze the fear, Ignite vigilance, Dont be a fool, Kill the weakness, Feed the meat. Gran had always been a teller of riddles; neighbours on the landing called her a witch, though she baked pies and knitted socks like any other.
She opened the envelope. Documents fell onto her lapdeeds to a cottage in the Yorkshire Dales, the very house Gran had spoken of when Blythe was a child. The paper read that the house, built by her grandfather without a single nail, now belonged to Blythe. Another deed listed a vintage Vauxhall Viva, the old car that sat in her fathers garage like a relic.
The letter inside the envelope was tiny, cramped, handwritten in Grans shaky script:
Dear Blythe, the hour has come to open the box. All my possessions, except my flat, I bequeath to you. Since youre reading this, its time. Take the papers, the boxs contents, and the car. Leave this place. Peace and happiness await you at Granddads cottage. The first weeks money is hidden under the glove compartment. After that youll have to earn your keep. Maybe youll finally learn something. Love, Gran.
Gran had known what awaited Blythe with Harry, which is why shed opposed the marriage. Even when Blythe ignored her warnings, Gran never turned away; after death she still guided her.
Blythe packed the documents and the sachets into a folder, the boxs contents tucked beside them. There was no time to ponderjust grab and run. The first instruction read: Open the gift? Take the Ignite vigilance sachet. Sprinkle the powder into a glass of milk and drink. Keep the paper, dont discard it. No other points followed, but Gran had warned not to throw the instructions away, so Blythe slipped them into the same folder and swallowed the powder with milk.
***
At dawn, Blythe rose with a clear head, senses sharp as a blade. She lifted the mattress and found the folder exactly where shed left it. The next note read: Drink a glass of milk on an empty stomach with the Dont be a fool powder.
She slipped into the kitchen, where Harry still snored. She quietly drank the concoction, opened the window for air, and returned to the bedroom. The folder now held another line: Dont trash the folder or youll meet an enemy. In an hour drink a cup of tea with Kill the weakness. In another hour a cup of coffee with Feed the meat. Stay alert.
Blythe obeyed each task. The strange mixtures warmed her, and a fire seemed to ignite within. Her onceslender frame filled with a sudden surge of strength. She stared at herself in the cracked mirror that dominated the tiny roommuscles defined, posture upright, eyes bright with resolve.
Harrys sudden shouts broke the silence. What have you been up to in the lounge?
Nonothing, Blythe stammered, trying to sound innocent.
Your face looks like someones been working on you. Did you get a lover? he snarled, stepping toward her.
The words struck fear deep, but a hidden resolve blossomed in Blythes chest. Harry lunged, fists swinging, but she blocked each blow with practiced ease, her arms like iron. She slipped a wrist around his nose, and blood spurted, staining his shirt. He crumpled to the floor, pale and breathless.
Blythe looked down at him, no pity in her eyes. She reached for the folder again. The next instruction read: Well done, Im proud of you. Look out the balcony, dress as you are, leave the rail open, place your bag by what you see, then drink a glass of juice with Freeze the fear. When you collect the car, stop at the café, order a milkshake, add the Switch on the mind sachet. Leave the other sachets untouched. Get away as fast as you can. Gran
She bolted to the kitchen, mixed the powder into a glass of orange juice, and downed it. Then she rushed to the balcony. Below, a young woman lay crumpled on the pavement, face down, hair matted, dressed in a thin grey coatjust like Blythes own. It was early March; the wind bit, and the girl wore nothing but thin socks and a worn pair of trainers. No coat, no jacket. A passerby had left a discarded bag near the drain, containing an oversized pair of boots, a battered winter coat, and a cheap backpack. Blythe snatched the bag, slipped the boots on, and bundled the coat over her thin shirt.
She gathered the documents, slipped the money hidden in the glove compartment of the Vauxhall into her pocket, and fled the flat barefoot, the cold nipping at her heels. She ran to the nearest tram stop, where a trolleybus screeched to a halt. No taxi yet, but the bus would take her toward the Dales.
***
At the garage, an old security guard recognized her. Youre the bosss daughter, arent you? Show me the papers.
Blythe handed over the deeds and the key. Ill take the Vauxhall. I dont need anything else.
Right, love. Keys are here. Want a drink? Theres a soda machine. He chuckled, handing her a can of lemonade.
She paid with the few pounds shed found in the glove compartment. The amount was modest, just enough for a cheap pair of winter shoes and a warm jacket shed bought from a charity shop. She slipped the money into her bag, feeling Grans words echo: First weeks money is there. Youll manage.
She got into the Vauxhall, the seat still smelling faintly of old leather. The engine sputtered to life. Grans voice whispered in her mind, Look up, see the road signs?
Got them, Blythe replied with a grin, eyes fixed on the horizon.
Turn left at the roundabout, head for Leeds, then take the A65 toward the Dales. Thats where Granddads cottage waits. Good luck, love.
She waved at the guard, who tipped his hat, and merged onto the bustling motorway. Cars of all makes roared past, but Blythes focus was unshakable. The landscape changed from concrete to rolling hills, the air grew fresher.
On the passenger seat, a fleeting image of Granredhaired, wrapped in a fluffy scarfsmiled at her. Blythe returned the smile, feeling the weight of the box, the sachets, and the promise of a new life settle like a warm hand on her shoulder.
