Birthdays are supposed to be special. I check my phone for what feels like the hundredth time and as the small hand clicks on the twelve, it confirms that I've officially hit the big five-o. Happy birthday, Maddie. They do say we get the life we deserve. You must have done something very, very wrong to find yourself in this mess. This certainly isn't how I envisaged my life at this point in time. What could be more depressing than lying in the dark, the air so cold I can't bear to even have a hand outside the covers and knowing that my kitchen probably isn't going to arrive today? This is it for the entire festive period. Ho! Ho! Or rather, bah humbug! No heating, no cooker and only the worst Christmas on record to look forward to. As far as firsts go, I think any one of them on their own would have been rather unfortunate. Come on universe! I've spent a large part of my life sending out good karma in one way or another – isn't this just a little unfair?
I pull the hood of my dressing gown in tighter, the cold air not only makes everything feel slightly damp to the touch, but it seems to infiltrate down through any little gap or crevice it can find. Lewis hasn't made a sound, so I'm guessing he's asleep. I roll over, trying to encourage the duvets to tuck in tightly around my body, but they're too thick and a new channel opens up for the cold air to investigate.
A little while later I hear a movement and realise Lewis is pulling on his coat. I hear the door and then hollow footsteps as he walks past the window. His shadow floats across the blind and then a minute or two later he's in view again. It's so quiet I can hear the click as Lewis flicks the switch to turn on the fridge in the kitchen. As he walks back into the sitting room, the light from his torch flashes across the doorway into the dining room. A sudden tickle in my throat provokes an involuntary cough and I freeze, not wanting to draw attention to myself.
"Are you asleep?" his voice is barely a whisper.
"Yes," I reply.
"Sounds like you're awake to me. Would you like a cup of tea?"
"I thought you'd never ask. It's freezing and I'd love one, I'm just too cold to get out of bed. Aren't you cold?"
"No, years of army training and field ops discipline your body to withstand the elements. It's only when you're wet and cold that it becomes a problem." His voice is raised slightly, above the sound of the kettle heating up. "Have you slept at all?"
"Hardly. The kitchen isn't going to arrive, is it?" I sound as depressed as I feel.
"No."
A few minutes later he's standing in the doorway and I can just about make out his outline and the fact that he's carrying two mugs. He wants to talk.
In the gloom it looks as if he's dressed in a dark navy, or possibly black, sweat suit and I can see the top of what looks like a white tee-shirt visible at the neck line. He doesn't seem too sure about what to do next. The bed takes up most of the room and all I have is a small coffee table in the corner.
He steps forward, I assume to head for the table to put down the tea, when he stumbles over something.
"Damn it!"
"Sorry, watch out for my shoes. Hang on, let me sit up and I'll take it off you."
It's scalding hot, but I pull my dressing-gown sleeves down over my hands and nestle the cup between them. The heat is welcome and it's cheering. "Why don't you sit on the end of the bed for a moment?"
I'm surprised when he does just that – I thought he'd feel awkward.
"Thanks for plugging in the appliances. I'd like to get the food back out of Terence's freezer first thing. I don't think Joanna approves of me, for some reason. I wouldn't like to cause any trouble between them."
"Joanna's a cold one. She's probably worried you'll crook your little finger and Terence will be there helping out. He has no idea his wife walks all over him, poor guy."
I wasn't expecting that comment and I don't know quite what to say.
"That's a bit judgemental. I think she felt this might be too much of a project for me to take on, that's all. I should have known about allowing the coolant to settle, she was right to be a bit put out. Poor Terence had to work hard to fit everything in. It is nearly Christmas, after all."
"Oh, come on! We'd all help out a neighbour in a similar position and we wouldn't make them feel uncomfortable. Do you think you've taken on too much?"
"At the moment, yes. When the heating is blasting out and I have a working cooker, ask me again and you'll probably get a different answer."
"If you ever want to walk away from it, I'm a willing purchaser."
I'm glad of the cover of darkness, so he can't see the look on my face.
"Sarah said that you intended putting in an offer the same day that I saw the cottage."
There's a moment's hesitation.
"Sarah shouldn't have told you that – it's confidential information. As it happens, I messed up."
"Was that why your diary was free? You thought Ash Cottage was going to be yours?"
"Yep. Although I do have other jobs waiting, including one for next door."
We sip our tea, respectively, both considering the implication.
"I'm sorry your…um…circumstances meant you missed out. You think I won't get through this?" My voice sounds edgy in the darkness, as if it's an accusation.
"Look, it's none of my business what you do, but if you change your mind about living here on your own…"
It's surreal. I don't know this man who's sitting on the bottom of my bed; I only know that people seem to trust him. It's true to say I don't feel unsafe with him here. His body heat has already made a difference to the room and just having that solid human bulk sitting there, talking to me, means more at this particular moment than he could ever know.
"I'm not afraid of anything – except failure." I have no idea why I'm admitting that, or even what it means. Have I already judged myself as having failed? Hitting fifty, single and living in a wreck, in a place where I don't know anyone? At first I thought gaining my freedom was liberating, but maybe poor decision-making will be my undoing. I could be living in a cosy little flat in Bristol, within walking distance of old friends. Friends? Well, people who now feel uncomfortable around me because they've only ever known me as one half of a couple. A tear starts to trickle down my cheek and I wince to think that I've probably never felt sorrier for myself than I do right now.
Lewis leans forward, his forearms resting on his knees and his hands cradling the mug. He's unaware that he's feet away from someone who just started a new decade in her life. Fifty is the new forty, or so they say, but I'm sure as hell depressed by the number.
"Failure, now that's a dangerous word, Madeleine."
His voice is soft, but shows no emotion whatsoever. Curiosity begins to encroach on my self-pity.
"Which means?"
He spins his head to look at me, although we are merely shapes to each other and there's no way I can read his expression.
"Sometimes failure is the difference between life and death. One little mistake and that's it, a life is lost forever. But it gets worse. It ripples outwards and a family is torn apart by their grief; the word 'hero' makes no difference to their loss. It's cold comfort for changing their lives forever."
Now I understand.
"Where?"
"Afghanistan. But that's irrelevant. We're talking about you. So your marriage failed – what's new? Your sons are grown and you're free to do what you want. Who are you going to fail?"
"When you're used to having lots of people around you, all fighting for your attention, it's hard to adjust to having no one. Maybe you can't understand the feeling of loneliness, because from where I'm sitting it feels like a kind of failure. Everything I thought I had has slipped through my fingers so easily I now wonder if I ever had anything at all. I always braced myself for the time when the boys were independent and I'd see less of them, but I thought I'd have someone by my side. Someone who wanted to be with me."
What am I doing? Lewis doesn't want to hear all this…stuff, that's whirling around all jumbled up inside my head. For goodness' sake do yourself a favour and stop talking, Maddie!
"You don't think you're attractive any more?"
"I'm fifty and frumpy."
"Fifty? Really?"
"Fifty and oh, one hour and twenty-seven minutes."
He starts laughing.
"Happy birthday, Madeleine. Here's the thing – you're anything but frumpy, just ask that boss of yours. Guess I'd better leave you to get some beauty sleep, then."
The bed lifts as he straightens and I watch the hazy shape of him disappearing through the doorway, a chuckle breaking the silence. Is he being sarcastic?
I put down the mug, roll onto my side and scooping up my pillow I punch it twice in quick succession.
Just as I lay my head down, my mobile phone kicks into life and a series of pings announce incoming text messages. Why is it that any surge in signal happens in the early hours of the morning?
"What is that?" Lewis calls out.
I turn my phone around and look at the screen.
"Happy birthday messages from the boys and two from this morning announcing the appliances are on the way," I throw back at him, anger reflected in my tone and volume.
“No need to shout,” he replies in a tediously fake hush, “you might wake the neighbours.”