Valentine's Anniversary

It was exactly a year ago. Mum had waded her way into my room early, too early for a Saturday. It was a bit of a battle as my dressing gown had slumped onto the carpet during the night.

'Wake up, dear. You've got some post.'

I could barely open half an eye.

'Thanks, Mum, I'll open it later.' I didn't sound on top form. Then when did I?

After balancing the envelope on top of my bedside light shade, Mum retreated. I heard the door dragging behind her, refusing to close tightly.

Soon it was later. I managed to force open an entire eye, though it needed some blinking. My phone confirmed it was 8.45am. Saturday 12th February, 2022.

I reached out awkwardly. I never receive actual mail. Who would have invested the postage to send me something?

I flicked on the light. The switch usually put up a struggle, but this morning it too felt tired. I reached out for the letter. It looked standard enough. I feared the worst. My friend Tina had added me to half a dozen mailing lists a couple of years before. Was she at it again? Please, not another stair lift advert. Or insurance pitch. Or bespoke funeral option.

I ran my thumb nail under the flap and drew out a card. As I said, I never receive mail, but on the rarest occasion when I do, I always seem to take out the card with the reverse side facing me. It's my law.

I turned it over. On the front were two bright red tomatoes. They were quite animated-looking, rosy cheeked, holding vine-like hands, with spidery hair, which looked a bit fly away in their make believe breeze.

The caption read 'love you from head to-ma-toes'. It was much too early. Naturally the inside was blank, except for a hugely irritating biro-etched question mark.

Tina was stitching me up. Or that creepy, middle aged man at the bus stop who smiled at me, a little too often. He'd presumably followed me home. Or was it from that assistant in the remainder book store. She'd asked me to go back, to tell her what I'd thought of the novel I was buying. She'd smiled, chuckled and raised her eyebrows. That was Black Friday weekend. Of course I hadn't gone back. But then I hadn't finished the book either. Yes, I'd much sooner it was from her. Then I looked at the envelope. Whoever had sent it knew my name. Not creepy man then, thank god. Sadly, not the remainder book shop assistant either. She couldn't have abandoned her till to tail me home.

Tina. I'd plan my revenge. I'd start straight away. I'd sign her up for double glazing information, for gym membership details, for baldness treatments...

I shut my eyes. Moments later there was a knock at the front door. A minute slipped away I could hear Mum's tread on the stairs, before she shoved her way back into my room.

'Someone's made quite the impression then. Looks like a dozen red roses. Shall I put them in water? Yes, I'd better do that.' Mum increasingly did the majority of the talking in our exchanges. She'd ask most of the questions and then answer them. It was sometimes best just to keep out of it.

Needless to say the detached florist's note was also anonymous. Another question mark. However the local logo needed no introduction.

Ninety minutes later I was standing at the counter in Buds and Petals. The scent was meadow heavy. A new, yet familiar Saturday girl breezed up to the till, notepad in hand.

'You, so it was you all along! You've changed jobs.' I was smiling at the thought.

The assistant blushed, making her freckles play and tease as she smiled back, 'I've taken a big chance here. I hope you don't mind.'

I waited a moment. 'Thank you for my roses. And card. But how did you know where to send them? And my name?' I was just starting to feel hooked.

'I'm sorry. I broke the rules. You used your loyalty card. As you were leaving I just had to click on your details. Let me make it up to you, starting with coffee. Give me ten minutes.'

Well, that was last year. It's our Valentine's anniversary coming up, I'm pleased to say. And, yes, I don't regret in the slightest overlooking her data breach.