The rusty gate creaked open with a push, its hinges silent from recent oiling.
«Good old Bill,» he muttered approvingly. Of coursewho else would look after the place?
He trudged across the yard, dropped his rucksack by the porch, then wandered the perimeter before pausing at the door. His fingers brushed the round brass lock.
The key…
Bill had one, but he didnt want to bother him now. Besides, he was bone-tired.
Then he remembered. Reaching above the doorframe, his fingers found the black string. He pulled, and the key dangled free. A turn, a soft click, and the door swung open.
Inside, the porch was still, sheer embroidered curtains fluttering in the breeze.
«Emily did those,» he thought, stepping into the house.
He moved through the darkened rooms without switching on the lights. The scent of home wrapped around himwoodsmoke, old books, something faintly floral. His chest tightened. Tears pricked his eyes. His heart hammered wildly.
Blast ithis pills were in the rucksack.
He grabbed the forgotten bag, fumbled for the tiny lifesaver, and placed it under his tongue. The drumming in his chest slowed. The ringing in his ears faded. Only the dull throb in his temples remained. Fine. That would pass.
He sat. And for the first time in years, he felt peace.
Home.
«Who’s there?» A voice called from the open doorway. «Eh?»
«It’s me, Dave…»
«Edward? That you?»
«Yeah.»
«Whereve you been? Your Lizzie came by with some folksaid you were in hospital, something about not making it. Blimey, they were already talkin like you were gone.»
«They’ll be waiting a long time,» he chuckled weakly. «What folk?»
«Dunno. City types. Lizzie kept showin em around. Reckon theyre buyers. Anyway, sod itcome on, the missuss got supper on. Fancy joinin us?»
«Nah, Dave. Cheers for mindin the place.»
«Dont be daft,» Dave fussed. «Come on, just a quick one»
«Ta, but Im home.»
«Suit yourself. Ill fetch you a plate.»
As if hed vanish. Funny. This was his house.
He sat by the window, watching until dawn seeped in. The sun warmed his face as he stood, stretched, and wandered outside. He checked the shed, the woodshed, the garden. All tidy.
By midday, an engine rumbled. A car pulled up.
Who now? Lizzie in some fancy motor?
Laughing strangers unloaded bags, boxes, suitcases. His stomach dropped. Lizzie? How? Behind his back? Sold the house?
«Excuse mewhatre you doin here?»
«We live here now. Whore you, grandad?»
«Live here? Who said you could?»
«We bought it,» piped a little boy, no older than four, tilting his head. The adults ignored him, hauling in their things.
«Bought it from who? Thats my house!» He slammed the door in their faces.
They shoved back, complaining about the draft. What draft? The windows were shut.
«Ill call the police!» he shouted, barricading himself inside. Useless. A burly man yanked the door open.
«Hinges need oil,» the bloke remarked.
Edwards hands shook. Lizzie. His own daughter. Couldnt wait for him to die, could she?
«Grandad, will you live with us now?» the boy asked.
«No! And neither will you! This is *my* house!» He snatched up photo albums, clutching them to his chest.
«Need to call the previous owner,» the woman said briskly. «Tom, close that doorlook at this mess!»
«*Im* the owner!»
He retreated to the bedroom, slamming the door. The boy followed, offering a sweet.
«Ta, lad. Why wont they listen?»
«Dunno,» the boy shrugged. «They dont listen to me either.»
They were phoning someone. Lizzie? Good. Hed make her undo this.
He seized a drawingLizzies childhood sketch for Remembrance Day. And now? Shed sold their home. *His* home. Hers. Her mums.
Footsteps. He rushed out.
«Lizzie!» She strode past, just like her mother used to. «Lizzie! Im *here*!»
«She cant hear you, grandad. None of em can.»
«What? *You* can.»
The boy nodded solemnly. «They say Im makin things up.»
«Ask hergo on!»
«Mum! Dyou see this grandad?»
«Tom, *enough*!»
«You see? They dont.»
«But… Lizzie?»
The boy ran to her. «Lizzie, can you see your dad? Hes here. He says… whyd you sell the house?»
She froze.
«Lizzie, remember when we flew to Spain? You screamed, Daddy, the clouds have *undersides*!»
The boy repeated it. Her face paled.
«Or when you hid from Farmer Cobbs geese? Sat under the apple tree, waitin for one to bonk you like Newton? And that time you walloped Danny Barlow cause you fancied him? His mum came shoutinturns out she was my first crush!»
Her knees buckled. «Dad…?»
The boy whispered, «He says… he loves you. Hell always be near.»
The room fell silent. Women wept. Men wiped their eyes.
Lizzie sat on the garden bench, the boy beside her.
«Daughter,» he murmured through the child, «I have to go.»
«Daddy»
«Dont grieve, my Lizzie.»
She clutched the boy, sobbing.
«Hes gone,» the child said softly. «But hes close. And… he says your Alice is havin a boy.»
«What? The scan said *girl*! Alice is in labour now»
Her phone rang.
«A boy? Butwe picked a girls name! No, no, Im… over the moon.»
She stared at the sky, trembling.
*Thank you, Dad… and goodbye. The wind stirred the trees, a soft sigh through the leaves, as if the world itself was breathing with her. The boy looked up, smiled faintly, and waved at nothing. And in the quiet that followed, the house stood just as it always hadweathered, waiting, full of ghosts and love and memories no deed or sale could ever claim.
