Once seated on the bus, she fished the little red envelope out of her coat pocket that had mysteriously appeared on the mat behind the door this morning and opened it.
A dinner party invitation for this coming Friday at seven o’clock. Jess could not recall ever being invited to a dinner party. House parties sure, where you would take a bottle of something and eat from the home-made buffet in the kitchen, but a dinner party? She wasn’t sure if it sounded a bit too formal. Not only was she unsure of what to wear, but who would watch Maisie? Unless, of course, she was allowed to bring her along. The invitation was from a lady called Alice in the ground-floor flat.
The flat had stood empty for a while, and she had not realised anybody had moved in. She would call in after work and ask if her daughter could come along. It might be fun, she mused, as the bus trundled along its familiar route to the city centre. It was hard to juggle a social life being a single parent, so maybe it would do her good to get to know her neighbours a little more. Besides, what else would she be doing on a Friday evening?
THREE
MARK
Flat 2
Mark was sitting in his neat lounge in Wisteria House reading the sports section whilst sipping a mug of tea. He’d walked down the tree-lined avenue to the Co-op for his newspaper and was now thinking about having the chocolate muffin he had bought. He resisted, though, as he’d already had a bowl of cereal.
He was trying to lose a little weight, but it was difficult in your mid-sixties. Besides, it was only a small paunch, and at six feet two he carried any extra weight quite well. He knew he would have to up his exercise to keep fit with the advancing years, though. Maybe he ought to leave the car behind and walk the couple of miles to the marina where he often spent his days on his sailing boat that was moored up there.
He was definitely more conscious of his health than his looks, though he was grateful to still have a full head of sandy-coloured hair that had only greyed at the temples. There were one or two women at the sailing club who had shown an obvious interest in him lately, but romance was the last thing on his mind.
He flicked the television on and found himself watching a repeat of an American sitcom that always put a smile on his face.Until he thought about Diane. His wife wasn’t keen on American comedy and used to spend that time reading or watering the potted plants and shrubs in the garden outside.
He missed her terribly.
They had sold their three-bedroomed house and downsized with the intention of travelling the world. They had rented the apartment as a base, and on the days when they were not away somewhere, they might stroll down to the beach, taking a rug and a flask of coffee with them if the weather wasn’t too blustery. If it was, they would have coffee at the Marina Café. Life was good. They did thankfully get some travelling in before she became ill.
And then she was gone, the late diagnosis of her cancer giving her so little time. Their daughter had come over from Australia then, asking Mark to move over there with her so she could look after him. She was a good daughter, but his life was here, along with all his memories, and her life was there.
Mark was comforted by the fact that Diane had visited all the places she had dreamt of visiting before she became ill, a highlight being the Taj Mahal. She loved how the emperor had built the mausoleum for his favourite wife, such was his love for her.
‘Would you do that for me?’ she had asked him as she rested her head on his shoulder and took in the view of the mesmerising palace. He had reminded her that he once built her a bookcase and she’d laughed, telling him an IKEA flat-pack didn’t really count.
They laughed a lot together, even after thirty-five years of marriage. It was one of the things he missed most, the sound of her infectious laughter. They just got each other, and he could not imagine how anyone else could ever take her place.
He tried to turn his thoughts to the present. It was a good day to go to the marina, but he was in a restless mood and toyedwith the idea of heading into town and maybe catching a train somewhere. He’d gone off before, just randomly picking a place and taking off.
Last time he had ended up in York where he spent a thoroughly enjoyable three days, having to nip into a department store and buy a couple of items of new clothing as he had only intended it to be an overnight stay. He had tried to ignore the hammer blows that occasionally hit him in the chest when he was out sightseeing and saw something that he knew Diane would have loved. They had never been to York together, which he regretted, especially when he wandered along The Shambles, an historic, narrow street full of timber-framed medieval buildings that faced each other across the cobbled street.
He was pondering his next move when he heard a knock on the door. When he opened it, a smartly dressed old lady stood in front of him on the landing.
‘Hi,’ said Mark, smiling. ‘Can I help you?’
‘Forgive me for knocking, but may I introduce myself,’ said the woman. ‘My name is Alice and I have recently moved into the ground-floor flat.’
‘Oh right, yes, hello. Good to meet you,’ he replied.
Damn, he had forgotten to reply to the invitation he had received in the little red envelope that had landed on his mat yesterday.
‘Nice to meet you too.’ She smiled.
‘Sorry, my name is Mark.’ He extended his hand then, and warmly shook Alice’s thin, papery hand.
‘I just wondered, before I write my shopping list, whether you will you be coming to dinner on Friday evening?’ enquired Alice.
Feeling put on the spot, Mark hesitated before he responded, wondering if she might be lonely.
‘Yes, sure, why not? Sounds good. I can’t remember the last time I had a home-cooked meal,’ he confessed. He thought of his sister Lynn’s Sunday lunches then, the smell of roast chicken filling the house and the afternoons spent playing board games with his nephew, but pushed those thoughts to the back of his mind.
‘Splendid.’ She smiled. ‘Oh, and you’re not vegetarian, are you?’ she asked.
‘No. I don’t mind the odd veggie curry, but I’m not a vegetarian.’
