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1. Stewart

It wasn’t the rain. Nor was it the dull clouds in the sky or the wet puddles on his patio.

No. It wasn’t any of those things. All those things I found perfectly acceptable and part of normal life.

The man outside was not normal, though. Because no normal person walked around barefoot in the wet grass wearing only a bathrobe, and he was crying again.

Well, normal life was not standing behind a curtain, spying on your neighbour like some dull pensioner with nothing else to do. Privacy was a thing. Another person’s misery was none of my business.

I laughed out loud at my own thoughts, then bit my tongue in shame and took a step backwards, hoping the curtains weren’t twitching too badly.

A few years back, I’d read an article about ‘the journey’ of retirement. Long ranting texts brutally proclaimed that a certain percentage of people who retired early were dead within a year. Lack of exercise and routine were cited as the key factors—going from a busy life to existing with nothing to do, a decline in company and loss of communication skills. Letting your brain rot.

At the time, it had made no sense, but now, years later, it did, and more so, it sounded like something my son would have said and turned into a joke. I missed his voice. I missed the sound of chaos. The walls shaking from the thuds of bare feet running around upstairs. This house didn’t work without noise. It needed movement, the creaking of floorboards as the beams took the weight of the humans who used this place as their own personal playground.

Life. I shook my head. This wasn’t the life I had imagined. Of course I’d known that one day, I would be on my own again, living a quiet existence, pottering around and having cups of tea as the world gently spun around me. I hadn’t made any plans, instead relying on the job I had and not thinking about the future, but it arrived sooner than I’d expected.

I hadn’t been ready to retire, but yes, society was evolving, and businesses did too. The hotel where I’d spent almost my entire career working, the establishment that had been known for its first-class service, delicate handling of clients and the unrivalled VIP treatment we showered on our guests from the moment they set foot on our red carpet? Apparently, it was no longer part of the future vision for The Clouds Hotel group. The highly skilled team of doormen were made redundant overnight, alongside our concierges, half of the reception staff and most of the guest relations department.

We’d all been replaced by giant self-check-in machines and automatic revolving doors, a fee now applicable to store luggage in our self-service lockers.

I cringed at the thought, wondering how some of our regulars were faring with those kinds of modern entrapments. It wasn’t what we were as a hotel, and just thinking about it still made me fumingly angry.

The worst part was that in some way, I understood the man on the grass outside. I’d been where he was: angry and crying and trying to make sense of the world, and not just once. I’d had my fair share of misery in my life.

Mind you, I hadn’t walked around in a bathrobe barefoot in a communal garden where anyone peeking out the window could see me.

My phone vibrating on the table behind me startled me back to reality, but I still kept my eyes on the man outside as I answered. His dark hair was dripping wet, turning the grey at his temples the same colour as the rest of that mop on his head. Olive skin. Angular features. He’d no doubt once been an imposing character. Sharp and handsome.

“Hello, son,” I said as the video call connected.

Reuben. My son. In his mid-thirties. Father of two. Married to Gray, a man I adored almost as much as my grandchildren.

“Dad,” he responded firmly. “You okay? You rang earlier.”

“I did, and yes, I’m fine. Just wanted to tell you that the builder came to fix the flashing, and that your car has been serviced.”

“You told me that yesterday.”

Had I?

“I forgot.” Maybe I had. Or perhaps I wanted to hear his voice.

“You’re just bored, Dad, and I get that you’re lonely. Which is why I keep suggesting you fly out and come spend some time with us.”

“Oh, I’ll just pop round to LA for a visit, shall I?”

“The weather is gorgeous, and the property has a pool. You could just sit in the sun all day.”

“Not to mention I’d have to spend fourteen hours on a plane. No, thank you.”

“Your fear of flying is ridiculous.”

“Didn’t help that Gray did that film with the plane crash.”

“That was all made up, Dad. It wasn’t real.”

I sighed heavily. Reuben was constantly trying to get me on a plane, see the world, cross oceans.