Page 10 of The Late Bloomer’s Playlist

The Marvelettes

PLEASE MR. POSTMAN

There was a bunch of crushed red roses lying askew in the kitchen sink when I got up. And I groaned. I thought of nipping their stems and hurrying them into water. But the thought of staring at them for days on end was enough to put me off, so I decided to leave them well enough alone. Instead, I checked my phone – cleared another three notifications – and then put it in the bread bin. I took out a packet of crumpets in its place. It was a toss-up between plain butter or melted cheese, and the latter won out – as it always did. So I set the kettle to boil and turned the grill on to start heating them through, and then trod the distance to the fridge to pull out milk and mature cheddar. There was a blissful quiet in these moments before my husband was awake. There was no music and no chatter and no–

The doorbell cut across my basking.

‘Arsehole.’ Whoever it was, they must be an arsehole.

‘Morning, Patti,’ the postman said with an offensive amount of cheer.

‘Morning, Pete,’ I answered, matching his tone. My faux politeness was a high-end brand of red wine; something that had matured and become believably palatable over the years.

‘Red letter day for everyone by the looks of things.’ He skimmed through a mixture of red, white and pink envelopes like a card dealer before handing them over to me. ‘You have a good one now, won’t you?’

‘Oh, I’ll certainly try,’ I said, already closing the door.

From hallway to kitchen, I flicked through the letters myself and sorted them into mine – two white, one pink – and David’s – three red, one pink. I threw David’s on the kitchen table and leaned against the work surface to open my own. The kettle had boiled and the grill was ripe with the smell of whatever David had made for lunch the day before, but I wanted to get the administrative duties out of the way before breakfast. I tore through the first two whites – a notice of service disruption from the waterboard; a request for blood tests from my doctor – and eyed the pink one.

‘Is someone sending you love letters?’

David’s voice made me jump. I hadn’t even heard him come in.

‘All right, sheepish.’ He laughed as he snatched his own envelopes from the table. ‘I was only teasing. Enough water in that kettle for two?’

‘No.’ From the corner of my eye I saw his head snap up in surprise and I smiled before I turned and filled the kettle to the next line on its gauge. ‘Do you want crumpets?’

‘With cheese?’

‘Mhmm.’

‘Then yes.’

David kissed the side of my temple before ushering me out of the way. He opened the cupboard door that hid the recycling bins, already poised to throw out whatever post he’d received. Seizing the chance, I dropped my own pink envelope and its contents into the bin, too.

‘You don’t want to keep that?’

‘It’s a Valentine’s Day card from Dog’s Trust.’

‘Oh.’ David dropped one card into the bin and then started on the second. ‘Seriously, how do these women know where we live?’

I laughed. ‘Perhaps because you bring so many of them back here?’

‘I do not bring so many of them– Who’s Darla?’

‘Hm?’ I turned back, two empty cups in hand, and reached behind him for the teabags.

‘“Darling David, the happiest of Valentine’s Days to you, you stud. Let’s catch up soon. All my love and hot kisses. Darla.”’ He looked up. ‘Hot kisses? Is that meant to be a good thing?’

‘I…’ I started to pour boiling water into our mugs. ‘I really don’t know that I’m best placed to say.’

He made a noise that I recognised; without glancing across to him, I knew it came accompanied with a grimace. He dropped the card into the recycling bin and then threw the rest in without even opening them.

‘Well, that’s that for a year. Pass the crumpets.’

I stirred tea with one hand and passed crumpets with the other.

‘Who are the flowers from?’