WILD ROSE CHAPTER 3 AND 4.

Wild Rose

Chapter Three – Between the Roses
by MissT

Rose woke the next day to the sound of birdsong. She stretched out in her little bed and turned to see the morning sun spilling through the trees. The sheep scattered across the fields looked like tiny puffs of cotton wool, and the golden cornfields lay like a patchwork quilt. So perfect.

So why did she feel so heavy?

Her phone buzzed from the nightstand. Beth, again—constantly pinging messages. The last one had come in just after midnight:

> We’ve had holy hell here this evening. Your ex has been playing away with another woman, and she’s wrecked his car. The police…

Rose didn’t bother reading the rest. She threw the phone across the room. It bounced off the chair and landed face down on the rug.

“Doesn’t that bloody woman ever listen?”

She cringed, disgusted at how long she’d stayed with him. The drama that one man could cause was unreal.

> But that’s not my bloody circus anymore.

She rose from the bed, pulling her blonde hair up into a scrunchie. Catching sight of her reflection, she frowned, then headed downstairs and switched on the kettle. A letter sat waiting on the kitchen table, but she ignored it for now. The world could wait a few more hours.

Tea in hand, she stepped out into the garden. The sun was now fully risen, and the wild roses were in full bloom, breathing colour into the morning. She took a deep breath. Yes—this was where she was meant to be. Far from the noise. Far from him.

Her children were grown now—Dylan, 24, sport mad and training to be an RAF pilot. Narla, 21, a beautician with more Botox than Rose liked. But that was the industry, apparently.

> If looking like a blowfish is your goal, I guess you win, she thought dryly.

Then—movement.

Rose saw the man again.

This time, his gaze was fixed fully on her. Not like before, when he’d vanished the moment she turned.

She stood, heart hammering. “Hello! What a lovely day!”

But the man didn’t answer. He didn’t even blink. Just stared—as though she wasn’t really there.

That was it.

She strode across the garden and through the gate, heading straight for where he’d been standing just seconds ago.

Gone.

A chill crept up her spine. She climbed the stile and scanned the footpath in both directions. Nothing. Not a single trace of him.

> Bloody great. Now I’m seeing things. Must be the wine…

Back in the house, she ran upstairs to fetch her phone. Her mother might know who he was.

But when she picked it up, the screen was cracked and chipped from the earlier toss.

> Looks like a trip into town, she thought. Get this fixed. Get some provisions.

She didn’t want to admit it—but the man had truly unnerved her.

—

Wild Rose

Chapter Four – The Man Who Didn’t Age
by MissT

Rose arrived in Abergavenny after a thirty-minute drive. She found a parking spot, then stopped at a nearby newsagent to ask where the closest phone repair shop was. The man behind the counter pointed her towards a place about ten minutes away.

At the repair shop, the man behind the counter glanced at the cracked phone and raised an eyebrow. “I can fast-track it—for a fee.”

“Do it,” she said, fishing out her wallet.

“Two hours,” he said. “Come back then.”

With time to kill, she crossed the street to Waitrose. The whoosh of cool air conditioning wrapped around her as she stepped inside—instant relief from the late-summer heat. She gathered a few essentials, then took a seat by the café window with a coffee and a local newspaper.

The front-page headline made her blink:

> Locals Against Plan to Build Link Road Through Farmland
Protesters Plan Road Blockade to Oppose Council Decision

Her mouth fell open. They wanted to build what?

How could anyone even consider it? This landscape—rolling fields, stone walls, generations of hard-earned earth—torn up for a road. Disgusting.

She took a loud slurp of her coffee and set the cup down.

Then her stomach dropped.

There he was.

Outside.
The man.
Staring through the café window. Unmoving. Watching her.

She froze. Her breath caught in her throat. The noise of the café faded, swallowed by the sudden pounding in her ears.

She felt exposed. Like her insides had been turned out for him to see.

How dare he?

Fury surged through her. She snatched up her shopping bags and stormed out toward the petrol station forecourt where he’d stood—

Gone. Again.

Just air.

Her hands shook. Was she imagining things? Had the stress finally cracked something open inside her? Divorce, the move, the isolation—it was all piling up.

She gritted her teeth and walked back to her car. Still an hour to kill before the phone would be ready.

She didn’t want to go home. Not yet.

Her feet carried her to the town library.

Books. That would help. Ground her. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d read one properly—years ago, maybe.

The building was a curious mix of old and new—solid stone wrapped in glass and steel, like history trying to dress modern. She took the lift to the main floor, scanned the signs, and headed to the local history section.

Maybe there was something—anything—about her aunt’s land. A name. A story. A reason she kept seeing that man.

Rows of quiet shelves. Dusty records. Yellowing newspapers.

Then she saw it.

> Bryn Glas in Local Farming War

Her breath hitched.

She leaned closer, reading every line. Her aunt Edith had fiercely resisted selling her land to developers. There’d been tension with the council. Even a conflict with the local farming association. But Edith hadn’t budged.

She’d fought. She’d won.

And then—buried in the next column—a restraining order.

> Issued against Edmond Davies

There was a photo.

Black and white. Slightly blurred.

Rose stared.

Her heart slammed in her chest.

It was him.

The man she’d been seeing. The same face. Same eyes. Same chilling stare.

But the article was dated 1986.

She gripped the edge of the page, her fingers trembling.

He hadn’t aged.

Not a day.

She flipped the page, pulse racing. What the hell was this? A hoax? A cruel game? Some elaborate scam to frighten her off the land?

Or was it something worse?

She checked her watch. Nearly an hour had passed.

Snapping the book shut, she left the library, collected her newly repaired phone, and drove back to Bryn Glas—heart hammering the whole way home.