She’d had a crappy day at work, made worse by her boss being
particularly obnoxious over the four bouquets of flowers – yes, four, the greedy cow – that had arrived
in quick succession that morning, big, bright and flashy and a constant
reminder that
a) it was Valentine’s Day and
b) Paige would be spending the evening with a
Domino’s pizza rather than with one of four blokes who were thoughtful enough
to not only send flowers, but to send them to her place of work for bonus
gloating.
Still, a steaming hot pizza was a pretty decent
consolation prize, especially compared to some of her lousier ex boyfriends. In
a couple of cases, she’d have preferred the pizza, hands down. Her stomach
rumbled at the thought as her bus trundled her towards home and her hot date.
The bus spat her out onto the pavement at the end
of her road, the driver grunting as she offered a thank you, the doors closing
as soon as her toes made contact with the path, but instead of sinking Paige
into a fouler mood, the driver’s misery actually cheered her slightly. Perhaps
the driver was having an even crappier day than she was, so her life couldn’t
be all that bad. So she was alone on Valentine’s Day – so what? So her mum hadn’t even bothered to send a thinly veiled
‘anonymous’ card to bolster her confidence – good! It only made her feel worse
about being single and clearly so unattractive that this was the only way she
was going to receive a card. So what if Gabriella had gasped with surprise as
each bouquet arrived, flinging a wrinkled hand to her bosom (she could Botox
her face all she liked – the hands were a giveaway to her true age) and
wondered aloud who they could possibly be from this time? Paige wouldn’t swap places with her boss for all the
flowers in the world. The woman was the Devil – and not just because she was
admired so explicitly.
No, Paige was a good person – even if she was a
little narky at being left on the shelf at times – and the lack of cards,
chocolates and floral gifts couldn’t change that. She volunteered at the local
food bank at the weekend, she did her elderly neighbour’s shopping when it was
snowing or icy, and, despite having strong motive and access to a heavy-duty
paperweight, she had yet to murder Gabriella (though she daydreamed about the
act daily). And it wasn’t as though she was permanently single; it’s just her
single status usually coincided with Valentine’s Day and Christmas, so she was
unable to participate in Smug Couple things.
With a hiss, the bus pulled away from the kerb and
Paige made her way to the gorgeous Georgian property at the end of the road. It
was grand and imposing, but unfortunately the inside didn’t match the exterior.
When the landlord had chopped the building up into three flats, he’d ruthlessly
stripped out any character he could find. Paige’s flat was on the first floor,
sandwiched between Mrs Richards on the ground floor (whose shopping Paige was
more than happy to help out with when needed) and Lee on the second floor (who
was a bit of a dick). She unlocked the door (uPVC, no brass knocker, not even a
whiff of history about it) and headed into the communal hall. The post was sitting
in two neat little piles on the table: one pile for her, one for Lee. Mrs
Richards must have been feeling sprightly today as the carpet had been hoovered
(and there was no way Lee would have taken it upon himself to be helpful or
tidy) and the dying pot plant in the corner had been put out of its (and the residents’)
misery and had been taken away.
Paige was about to head up the stairs to her flat,
but she paused, foot in mid-air. Surely not. Turning, she knocked on Mrs
Richards’ door, listening for the reassuring shuffle of her elderly neighbour’s
slippers on the other side.
‘Hello, dear. I knew you’d come.’ Mrs Richards
beamed up at Paige, showing off her set of startlingly white dentures.
‘Did you?’ Paige peered at the old woman, looking
for signs of strain or injury after taking on too much. ‘Are you okay?’ Paige
peered more closely. ‘Was it you who hoovered the stairs?’
Paige couldn’t remember the last time the stairs
had been cleaned. She always meant to, but never got round to actually doing it
as it was such a faff. Guilt gnawed at her now, though as she pictured the old
lady hauling the hoover up and down the staircase.
Mrs Richards’ lips closed over her dentures as her
grin dimmed. ‘No, dear. That wasn’t me.’
‘Not …?’ Paige glanced up the stairs and Mrs Richards
gave a hoot.
‘That lazy bugger? You’ve got to be kidding me. I
don’t think he even bothers to vacuum the carpet in his own flat. Do you know,
there is post in that pile that’s dated before Christmas?’ She leaned out into
the hallway to point at the table, which now only contained one pile of
letters. Paige had picked hers up as she’d passed (there wasn’t a card in
there, FYI. Not even from her mum).
Mrs Richards brought her hand back into the flat,
wringing it with her other hand. ‘So, you haven’t been up to your flat since this
morning then?’
Paige shook her head. ‘I’ve only just got back in
from work. I’m on my way up.’
‘I won’t keep you then,’ Mrs Richards said before
closing the door abruptly. Paige took a step back, a frown creasing her
forehead. How odd! Mrs Richards wasn’t usually so keen to say goodbye – she’d
normally invite Paige in for a cup of tea whenever they met in the hallway (and
Paige would accept as her neighbour made a cracking cuppa). Now she couldn’t
wait to get rid of her! Just when Paige thought she couldn’t be rejected
further on this marvellous day ...
She made her way up the freshly hoovered stairs to
her flat, her brow creasing once again when she spotted something stuck to the
front of her door. It was a white envelope, addressed to her. There wasn’t a
stamp or even an address, simply her name. The blu-tack underneath stretched
slightly as she plucked the envelope from the door before it pinged, releasing
the envelope into her hands.
It was a card. It
was a card! Somebody fancied her! She hadn’t been completely rejected!
Either that or her mum had missed the last post for V Day and had decided to
hand deliver it instead. But how would she have gained access to the building?
If Mrs Richards had let her in, she’d have mentioned it just now, surely?
Oh, God,
Paige thought as she slipped a finger under the envelope’s flap. What if it’s Lee?
She shuddered. Lee wasn’t just lazy; he also had a
strong whiff of weed about him, wore the same fraying jogging bottoms day in
day out, and belched so loudly, Paige could hear it in the flat below. She
swore she could sometimes detect what he’d eaten for his tea afterwards.
Taking a moment to muster a little bit of courage
(and to prolong this strange but thrilling moment), Paige reached into the
envelope and removed the card, opening it quickly and reading the message. It
was pretty extensive for a Valentine’s Day message rather than a hastily
scrawled Will you be my Valentine, Love X.
It couldn’t be Lee then.
Dear Paige, she
read. It was formal for a V Day message too.
I would like
to thank you for all your help over the past couple of years: the shopping
trips, the lightbulb-changing, chasing off that dodgy bloke pretending to be
from the gas board. Most of all, thank you for the company and chats over cups
of tea.
It was from Mrs Richards, which was sweet and made
Paige smile, but wasn’t it just a little bit sadder than receiving a card from
her mum? Equal, at least, Paige thought.
It’s been
such a relief knowing you are there, in the flat above, on hand to help out if
needed. I worry about Gran being on her own, but I feel better knowing you’re
around, even if it’s just for a chat. I’d hate to think of Gran being lonely.
Just a minute! Gran?
This was about Mrs Richards, but
it wasn’t from her after all.
I’d heard all
about you, of course, but it was nice to finally meet you a couple of weeks
ago, although it was only for a few minutes.
Ah, it was all making sense now. Mrs Richards.
Gran. The bloke she’d met recently in the hallway as she’d been on her way out.
Mrs Richards had been keen to introduce them, but Paige couldn’t stick around
to chat for long as she’d had to dash to the church hall for her shift at the
food bank. The details were fuzzy, but she remembered he was a little bit older
than her (five years, perhaps, no more than ten, nothing gross like several
decades) and he’d seemed kind. Friendly. Grateful for her help with his
grandmother as he’d been living miles away and couldn’t pop over as often as
he’d like to, though he was in the process of moving close by.
I’d love it
if we could meet up – perhaps tonight if you’re free (but you’re probably not)
– so I can thank you properly for everything you’ve done. Dinner, coffee,
whatever you’d like. I’ll be staying with Gran for a couple of days while the
new house is sorted – please do pop by, even if it’s only for one of Gran’s
cuppas and a chat!
Hopefully see
you soon,
Daniel
Paige read the message three times, still standing
out in the hall outside her door. Daniel, the grandson, was downstairs, sitting
in Mrs Richards’ flat, right now. She took a pretty good guess that it had been
him who’d cleaned up the hallway and hoovered the stairs, so she should go down
and thank him for that at least. Would she go for a coffee with him? Or even
dinner? Paige wasn’t sure, but the mere prospect was enough to put a spring in
her step as she skipped down the spotless stairs to knock on her neighbour’s
door.
* * * * *
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