She was fussing with the vase on the coffee table, nerves making her hands shake. Granny Eleanor Whitakers flat smelled of fresh scones and a faint hint of lavender that always seemed to linger in the air. Even at seventyfive, the lady still moved with a sort of dignified elegance, putting the finishing touches on the house before the guest arrived.
Gran, please dont interrogate him, okay? Blythe begged, her voice a little panicky. James is shy, and youll probably stare him right through.
Eleanor gave a small smile, slipping a lace shawl over her shoulders. If your James is good enough for you, my eyes wont scare him off. And if not even better. Relax, love. Ive lived long enough not to frighten young men.
The front doorbell rang. Blythe leapt to answer it. On the doorstep stood James, holding a handsome bouquet and a sheepish grin. He was athletic, with an open gaze and easy manners.
Come in, meet my Gran, Eleanor, Blythe whispered, trying not to gulp.
James stepped into the sitting room, offered the flowers, and bowed politely. Delighted to meet you, MrsWhitaker. Blythe has spoken of you ever since.
Eleanor, standing in the centre of the room, seemed to freeze. She didnt answer the greeting. Her eyes, usually sharp and assessing, grew distant, as if she were looking past James into some faroff memory. A faint smile lingered on her lips, turning into genuine amazement.
Gran? Blythe called, a little worried.
Eleanor shivered and, as if in a dream, reached out for the bouquet. Sorry, dearyouve taken me by surprise. Thank you for the flowers. Very kind.
James felt a flicker of awkwardness and exchanged a glance with Blythe, who simply shrugged. The evening had started oddly. Gran kept an unusually quiet tea, not asking her usual witty riddles, but watching James intentlyhow he held his cup, how he laughed, how he brushed a stray hair from his eyes. Blythes mind raced, thinking, Great, she doesnt like him.
But James held himself well. He talked about his job, cracked a joke about how theyd met at a dog show, and gradually the tension eased.
So, Gran, back in your day did suitors walk to you on foot? he teased, reaching for a biscuit.
Eleanor brightened. Why not? We did. In fact, once She paused, catching Jamess gaze again. Excuse my bluntness, James, but did anyone in your family ever fly? Any RAF graduates, perhaps?
James raised an eyebrow. No, actually. All engineers or doctors in my line. Why do you ask?
Eleanor lowered her eyes, hiding a smile. Just a notion. You have a striking looklike a young man I once knew, a pilot named Albert. He was a cadet when I was studying nursing. Same build, same eyes and a little dimple on his cheek when he smiled.
Blythe stared between her Gran and James, amazed. Shed always thought James was photogenic, but a dimple too?
What happened to Albert? James asked softly.
Life took us apart, Eleanor sighed. He was posted to the FarEast, and I stayed here. We wrote at first, then the letters stopped. First love rarely lasts, but it sticks with you forever.
She rose, retrieved a yellowed photograph from a drawer, and placed it on the table. It showed a young woman in a pretty dress, arms around a man in an RAF uniform, both laughing carefree.
Blythe gasped, Gran, he really looks like James! Spot on!
James examined the picture, a respectful look crossing his face. Theres a strong resemblance, he admitted. Im honoured to be likened to such a decent fellow.
Eleanors eyes softened, no longer surprised but warm, almost motherly. You know what, Blythe? Your James is a lovely lad. Honest eyes, just like Alberts.
The night slipped past midnight. Gran asked James questions not as an examiner but as a wise old friend, sharing snippets of her youthful days. When they left, she hugged James and whispered in his ear, Take good care of her. And be happy together.
Outside, Blythe pressed close to James. I was a wreck earlier. She practically took you as her own.
James smiled thoughtfully. It feels like a responsibility, doesnt it? I want to live up to the trust and to that dimpled guy in the photo. Weird feeling.
I like it, Blythe said. Now weve got our own family legendhow Grans first love came back to us through you.
They walked hand in hand through the quiet London streets, the silhouette of an elderly woman still visible through the window of the flat on the fifth floor, watching them go with a soft smile, sending a shadow of her distant past into the future.
Eleanor stayed by the window until their figures faded into the night. The flat fell silent save for the steady ticking of an old mantel clock. She returned to the table, picked up the photograph, and ran her fingers over it.
Albert what a meeting, even if only in a flash of memory, she murmured.
She settled into her armchair, and images of longago summers flooded her mindapple trees in bloom outside the RAF college, Alberts bright eyes as he handed her a modest bunch of lilyofthevalley, the farewell at the station, his firm embrace, the smell of his uniform, promises to write every day. The letters started thick and neat, then grew sparse, then stopped altogether. She waited a year, then married another, had a daughter, lived a long, reasonably happy life. Yet that gentle scar from her first love never fully healed.
After all these years, his smile, his cheek, that dimple its like a ghost checking up on me, she thought, a rueful smile playing on her lips. She wasnt a sentimental old lady; life had taught her practicality. Still, this little encounter stirred something deepmore curiosity than selfpity.
The next morning, Blythes mother, Laura, called. How was it yesterday? Did Gran grill your James?
Mom, you wont believe it! She practically blessed him at the door! Turns out James looks exactly like her first love, that pilot Albert. She even showed us the photographhes spittingimage!
Silence crackled over the line. Albert? A pilot? Lauras voice tightened. The one in that old leatherbound album?
Do you know him?
A bit, Laura replied dryly. Alright, Im happy for you both. Say hi to James for me.
Blythe hung up, bemused by her mothers restrained excitement.
Meanwhile, Eleanor, stirred by a sudden impulse, rummaged through the back of her chest of drawers. Besides the leather album lay a small bundle of letters tied with a blue ribbon, untouched for years. She untied the ribbon, pulled out the latest letterdated the day shed marriedwritten by Alberts friend, informing her that Albert had died in a testflight accident. The news had arrived long after her life had moved on, a mix of pain, resentment and old guilt resurfacing.
She traced the yellowed paper with her fingertips. So we meet again, Al, your grin, your laugh now they live on with my granddaughter. Perhaps thats your legacy, after all these years?
A knock at the door made her start. She slipped the letters back, closed the album, and opened to find Laura, looking a bit worried.
Mom, Im here about something. Blythe just called, told me everything.
Come in, love, Eleanor said, letting her daughter in. What did she say? About James?
Yes! I get why youre nostalgic, but dont you think youre romanticising it? You always told me Albert left you, stopped writing
Eleanor met her daughters gaze. He didnt leave me, Laura. He died. I got his friends letter after Id already married your father.
Lauras eyes widened. He died? Why never tell me?
Why? So youd think I could have had a different life? My father was my second choice, not a fallback. I lived the life I chose, no regrets. The truth served me until yesterday, when it meant nothing more than a quiet echo.
Laura swallowed, the sting of jealousy softening into something like pity and respect. Im sorry, Mum. I never knew
No harm done, Eleanor replied. James is a good lad. I see right through people, and he reminds me of the brightest man I ever loved. I want Blythe to have a better story than mine. Understand?
Laura nodded, and for the first time in years she hugged her mother genuinely, tightly.
That evening, Blythe and James returned to the flat. Eleanor watched them bustling in the kitchen, laughing, preparing dinner. She caught Jamess dimple and smiled quietly.
Look, Al, she thought, our lives still tangle in strange ways.
Blythe slipped an arm around Eleanors shoulders. What are you thinking about, Gran?
Happiness, Eleanor whispered, glancing at James. It sometimes arrives from a direction you never expect. Treasure it, she said, nodding toward James. Cherish every moment.
Blythe pressed her cheek to Eleanors silver hair. I will, Gran. Promise.
Meanwhile, James pulled a warm apple crumble from the oven, his smile in the kitchen light identical to the one frozen on that faded photograph.
