‘A Family Thing’ – The Latest In Our Short Story Offerings

Published on: 7 Dec, 2025
Updated on: 8 Dec, 2025

Author Alexis Krite

Today we are delighted to publish a short story written by a former Guildford resident, Alexis Krite.

During lockdown, Alexis (some of you may know her as Kari) co-wrote a book of short stories, along with Dragon reporter David Reading, and they decided to donate the profits from sales to Challengers, the Guildford children’s charity.

Here, we present a more recent story from Alexis, who now lives in Devon.

A family thing

By Alexis Krite

Daisy averted her eyes from another victim of speed, of impatience, of perhaps not actually caring. The squirrel lay dead in the middle of the road, just yards from a pheasant that would no longer fly, a rabbit that would no longer hop and sniff the morning air and a fox that probably had cubs at home, hungry and cold.

She hated the motor car. There was so much noise, so much rushing around. She longed for a much simpler time: the time she knew as a child. Plainly this deep longing was at the heart of what she called her episodes.

The first time it happened, she’d taken the bus to do her weekly shop. She was sitting on a low wall, waiting to begin her return journey. She glanced at the road sign: Wildflower Meadow. But where were the flowers, where was the meadow? They were long gone, replaced by bland terraced houses and tarmac paths. She supposed the name was designed to attract buyers, to woo them into thinking they would be surrounded by nature

It was mid-afternoon and the sun was at its strongest. She closed her eyes and watched the patterns it formed on her eyelids. She breathed deeply, trying to blot out the sounds and smells of the town.

And then, slowly, without any great fanfare, it happened. Little by little the sounds became fainter and the revving of engines and blasting of horns faded away. She heard a bird and somewhere in the distance, the lowing of a cow. A scent of honeysuckle crept into her nostrils and then freshly mown grass and wild rose.

Wildflower Meadow. With her eyes still closed, she entered this other world completely, the bus forgotten, the shopping bags at her side ignored. She brought her hands down, expecting to feel the wall’s rough concrete. Instead, her fingers touched grass, damp with dew. With her eyes still closed, she pulled a stem out and touched her nose with it. The soft petals tickled her skin and made her smile.

How long did the whole thing last? Less than a minute, probably. Finally, she opened her eyes to see where she was. As the sun dazzled her, she realised she was back. Back with the traffic noise, the smell of fumes and the voices of angry people shoving each other to get on the bus.

She looked down and saw, between her thumb and forefinger, a tiny yellow flower. She didn’t notice the strange looks from the other passengers when she joined the queue.

For a week or two, Daisy looked back on her experience with some amusement, regarding it simply as the reward for having an imaginative mind. But then it happened again. She was sitting in the doctor’s waiting room. A man on a TV screen was describing the symptoms of some disease or other. On the wall was a sign saying Welcome to Pinewood Surgery.

Through the windows all she could see were houses. So where were the pines? Sure enough, there was a single Scots pine, just one, soaring up through the formal gardens, looking down on pizza ovens and swimming pools.

She closed her eyes and rested her head on the cushioned chair back. The crying of infants, the sharp tones of the receptionist, the smell of disinfectant, all drifted into nothingness. Instead, a warm breeze scented with pine enveloped her and above her head she heard the cackle of rooks and the tapping of a woodpecker.

She opened her eyes and for a brief moment, she was there, sitting on a fallen log in the middle of a pine wood. The Scots pine she had seen through the window was in its infancy, peeking up through the branches of other trees, to reach the sunlight.

But within seconds she was back in the surgery. “Are you all right dear? You look pale.” The nurse was offering her a glass of water. “You had a bit of a faint just then.”

Embarrassed, Daisy took the water. “I didn’t eat breakfast, silly me.” The nurse smiled and walked away.

Over the next few months, Daisy sought out place names like Brook Field, Jackson’s Meadow, River Bank, Otter Valley and Cottles Field. There were so many of them. She would search Google maps and then she began to go further afield. Each time she visited one of these places, usually a housing or industrial estate, she would close her eyes to see if she could re-create the same phenomenon.

First of all, there was nothing. But then it worked, again and again. Each time she was able to stay a little longer, first with her eyes closed and then with them open. She became beguiled with the country as it used to be and began to resent her return to the filthy, busy environment that she was accustomed to. Several times when she returned, she found herself lying on the ground or being helped to her feet by someone.

One September morning, Daisy was walking through the ugly 80s shopping centre ironically named Valley View Market, her handbag clamped under her arm. She hated coming to this part of town but Sam, her nephew, had finally persuaded her to sell the jewellery she’d been bequeathed by her great aunt Margaret. She was heading to a jeweller he’d recommended, for a valuation. The various diamond rings and pearl necklaces were wrapped in tissue and pushed to the bottom of her bag.

As she entered the enclosed market with its ghastly muzak blasting out, she closed her eyes just for a second, and then quite suddenly, the paving slabs under her feet became rough, like cobbled stone.

She opened her eyes with a start and in front of her there squatted an old farmhouse. A broken sign hung from a fence post. Valley View Farm.

Smoke puffed out from a chimney and floated up into the late summer air. Daisy walked towards the house, realising this was the longest she’d stayed in her Other World. Gentle hills rolled against each other and sheep lifted their heads in curiosity. She came to the door, which seemed strangely familiar, and she would have knocked but the door was open. She stepped into the darkness of the kitchen.

Once her eyes had become used to the gloom, she could see a man sitting in a rocking chair next to a range. A ginger cat lay in his lap and propped up against his knees was a girl with long dark hair, in her twenties perhaps. At a table a woman was podding peas into an enamel basin. The peas dropped with a ping as they hit the bowl.

No one seemed surprised to see her. The man nodded towards her and the girl continued to stroke an old dog who was lying on the rug. The woman looked up and spoke. “It’s our Daisy, you been gone a long time. Sit yourself down then. Jack, top up the tea.” The man leaned over, lifted a kettle from the range and began pouring the steaming water into a brown teapot.

In this twilight world Daisy sat at the table, which was covered with piles of paper and chipped crockery. The girl spoke sharply. “Father’s going to sell to them builders, said we’d get enough to move to one of them new estates.” She directed this statement at Daisy, a hint of anger in her manner.

Going to sell. Daisy glanced through the cobwebbed window. A light mist was rising and she could see beeches tinged with orange. In her world, they were long gone, replaced by nail bars and vape shops. She opened her bag and brought out a handful of jewellery. “Will this help?” she asked. The woman dropped the pea husk she had been podding. “You found them! Ma’s finery! We been looking forever, thought she must have put them down the well when she went doolally!”

The girl leapt up and came over to Daisy. “Oh, Auntie Daisy! Father’s been that upset. Now we can re-stock the dairy herd and buy in some new ewes and…”

The man interrupted her. “Now, now, Annie, all in good time, all in good time.” He looked at Daisy and nodded. “Thanks, love.”

His wife came over from the table. “You’ve got it too, love, this family thing?” The woman nodded sympathetically. “Used to scare me rigid, when I was a child. Hard to know which world I really belonged to.” She seemed to shake herself, taking the jewellery from Daisy’s clasp. “You’ve got the gift all right, girl. Guess this old farm will be saved again.”

The hospital machines bleeped around Daisy and the doctors discussed her episodes. But Daisy heard none of this. She had settled into Valley View Farm with a contentment she had never known before. Finally, the constant bleeps flowed into one long sound. For a few moments Daisy lay there alone, until a girl with long dark hair slipped through the door and stood by her bedside. In her hand she held a posy of wildflowers. She bent down and whispered in Daisy’s ear. “I picked these off the farm this morning and don’t you worry, Auntie Daisy, it’s my turn now, I’ll keep the farm safe, it will always be safe.”