The gate creaked open without protest, its hinges silent from years of care.
“Good on old Bill,” he muttered. Of course it was Billwho else would keep things tidy?
He crossed the yard, set his rucksack by the porch, and wandered back to the door. His fingers brushed the tarnished brass lock. The key… Bill had one, but he didnt fancy fetching it. He was tired.
Then he remembered. Reaching above the doorframe, his fingers found the black cord, the key dangling at the end. He turned it in the lock, felt the click, and pushed inside.
The lace curtains fluttered in the breezeMargaret had stitched those. The scent of home wrapped around him, thick and familiar. His throat tightened. His heart rattled against his ribs like a caged bird.
Blast ithis pills were still in the rucksack. He snatched it up, slipped the tiny lifesaver under his tongue. The drumming in his chest slowed, the ringing in his ears faded. Just a throb in his temples now. Fine. It would pass.
He sat. The quiet settled over him like a blanket.
Home.
“Whos there?” A voice from the open door. “Eh?”
“Me, Tom.”
“Albert? That you?”
“Aye.”
“Whereve you been? Your Emily came by with some folk. Said you were in hospital, didnt know whatd happen next.”
“Theyll be waiting a while,” he chuckled. “What folk?”
“Dunno. City types, I reckon. Emily kept showing em round. Reckon theyre buyers. Anyway, come onMarges got supper on. Join us?”
“Nah, Tom. Thanks for minding the place.”
“Ah, dont be daft. Come on.”
“Ta, but… Im home.”
Tom huffed. “Well, Ill be quick then.”
As if hed vanish. This was his house.
He sat by the window till dawn broke, sunlight spilling through the panes. Stretching stiff limbs, he wandered outside, checking the shed, the woodpile, the garden. Everything in order.
By midday, an engine growled. A car rolled upwho were these people? Emily in a new motor?
Laughing, bustling, hauling bags and boxes. Emily? How? Sold the house behind his back?
“Excuse mewhatre you doing here?”
“Moving in,” piped a boy, barely four, head tilted. The others ignored him, unloading. The old man slammed the door.
“Bought it? From who? Ill call the police!”
They shoved past”Hinges need oil,” one sneered.
Alberts chest burned. Emily, how could you?
“Grandad, will you stay with us?”
“Stay? This is my home!” He snatched up photo albums, trembling.
“Mum, this grandadwill he live with us?” The boy pointed at a portrait.
“Dont be silly, Liam. Thats the old owner. Pack it up.”
“Old owner? Im the owner!”
He barricaded himself in the bedroom.
“Grandad, have a sweet.”
“Ta, lad. Why wont they listen?”
“Dunno. They dont listen to me either.”
They phoned someoneEmily? Good. Shed fix this.
Then he saw itEmilys childhood drawing for Remembrance Day. And now shed sold his home.
She arrived, brushing past. “Emily!”
The boy tugged her sleeve. “Mum, do you see him?”
“See who?”
“He says hes your dad. He asked why you sold the house.”
She froze. “Describe him.”
The boy did.
“Tell herremember when we flew to Cornwall? You screamed, seeing clouds from above?”
Emily paled.
“Or when you hid from Farmer Cobbs geese? Sat under the apple tree, waiting for inspiration? And that lad, Timothyyou thumped him daily till his mum came shouting… and I recognized her. My first sweetheart.”
“Dad?” Her voice cracked. “Where is he?”
The boy whispered, “Here. He says… he loves you. Hell always be near.”
The room stilled. Women wept. Men wiped their eyes.
Emily sat on the bench, the boy beside her.
“Daughter,” he murmured through the child. “I must go.”
“Dad…”
“Dont fret, my Em. Im always here.”
The boy blinked. “Hes gone. But he said… your Alice is having a boy.”
“Alice? The scan said girlshes in labour now!”
Her phone rang.
“A boy? Butyes! Overjoyed!”
She gazed at the sky, tears gleaming.
Thank you, Dad. And goodbye.
