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THE HOUSE WAS SILENT when Veronica got home from work. She stood in the doorway and called out hello, knowing if the boys were upstairs it was likely they wouldn’t hear her anyway, not if they had those expensive ear pod thing-a-me-bobs in. Jason had bought them a pair each in a fit of fatherly guilt over missing something or other he’d promised to be at. She hated the ear pods because she’d stood issuing instructions many a time from the bottom of the stairs which had literally fallen on deaf ears. She had a hard enough time as it was getting them to listen.
Abi wasn’t home, she saw, upon checking the front room. Perhaps she was finally meeting up with Brandon. ‘Please let them sort things out,’ she muttered, shutting the door on the mess. She loved her sister, she really did, she just loved her more when her crap wasn’t cluttering her living space. She heard a soft thump and it was followed by a mewl from the top of the stairs. She could always count on Scruffy-bum she thought, cheered by the sight of the tabby padding down the stairs.
‘Hello, you. Come and have a cuddle.’ She picked him up, snuggling him close enjoying his gratifying purr. ‘It’s your teatime, isn’t it? We better go and see what we can find.’ She carried him through to the kitchen which smelt of stale cooking oil. The boys had fried chips for afternoon tea she deduced, opening the back door to let the cool evening air flow through. She noticed the laundry she hadn’t had time to put on this morning was still piled in the basket waiting to go into the machine. Would it have been too much to have asked for one of them to put it on before they went out? On a positive note, at least the boys were putting their dirty gear in the basket these days and not stepping out of it and leaving it where it lay on their bedroom floor which was more than could be said for Abi.
‘Right, Veronica, first things first, feed the cat, put the washing on, then start dinner. She set about the tasks. She’d had a middling day for a Monday. Suit-man had appeared wanting to buy the matching Tom Ford deodorant to go with his aftershave which had proved a great distraction from revisiting the weekend that had just been for the hundredth time. She’d noticed he was wearing the same linen suit as last time. Unfortunately, he was out of luck with the Beau de Jour deodorant but he’d bought Mr Ford’s Neroli Portofino stick version instead.
He’d looked as though there was something he wanted to say but whatever it was he hadn’t, taking his Tom Ford bag and leaving without incident. She’d ignored Tyrone who’d wrapped his arms around himself turning his back on her pretending he was kissing someone. Her buoyant mood deflated half an hour after Suit-man’s visit to her counter when Heidi pranced past saying, ‘Smile, Veronica, you’re in sales not the funeral business.’ It had cheered her marginally and she had indeed cracked a smile, seeing Tyrone flick his middle finger at her retreating, sanctimonious back.
Her mobile bleeped a message and she turned the washing machine on before checking it. It was a text from Saskia. I haven’t heard from you. What shall I tell Luis? Is it a yes to dinner? Go on live dangerously.
Veronica frowned at the phone before punching out a reply. No. I prefer an uneventful life. I mean it. God, her life had been anything but uneventful of late, she thought, hitting send. There was definitely no room in it for some strange man called Luis even if he was an architectural whatever it was Saskia had said he was. She hit send.
She was about to put dinner on, a frozen lasagne, when she saw the plain white envelope. She didn’t know how she could have missed it earlier. It was leaning up against the salt and pepper shakers on the kitchen table and she stared at the handwritten address. It had a proper stamp on it too and hadn’t been franked like a bill or put in a prepaid envelope. This was an anomaly in a day and age where the only thing that came through her letterbox of a morning were the electric and telephone bills. Christmas being the exception to the rule because she had a handful of elderly relatives who could always be counted on for a card.
She put the lasagne down on the worktop and picked it up, turning it over to see who’d sent it. The neatly printed name on the back made her heart pound. The blood rushed to her head in a roar and she knew she’d better sit down or risk falling down. She pulled out a seat and sank down on it staring at the name she’d never thought she’d see. Isabel.