Stupid Cupid!

Could Ben’s “tough” granddad really be just a big soft marshmallow at heart?

- Giselle Green

I scratch my head, traipsing back from my fourth trip into the hallway to check if the postman’s been. He hasn’t. There’s nothing waiting on the mat. Not a sausage, and the pleasant anticipation I woke up with this morning is rapidly curdling into worry and disappointment.

Now, even with the re-run of her favourite soap on, the love of my life has clearly clocked the number of times I’ve been up and down to check. I’m about to slink back into the kitchen when she pops her head around the living room door, catching me in the hall.

“Were you… er… expecting anything in particular in the post this morning, love?”

“Oh no. Just looking out for my hardware catalogue, that’s all.”

I keep my voice deliberately bright. No good letting Rosie get wind of this.

“Fancy a cuppa then?”

Darting into the kitchen to escape her scrutiny, I feel an unfamiliar pang of unease course through my stomach. Blame it on me being fifteen years in the army, but Rosie knows I’ve never been what anyone might remotely call the “romantic type” and I wouldn’t be surprised if she’s already more than a little suspicious.

It’s a little embarrassing. If she ever found out what I’m expecting, I’m not entirely sure how she would react, but I don’t think she’d be best pleased.

I’m beginning to think it wasn’t the best plan I’ve ever had, but there’s no helping it now.

Kettle on, I settle down at the kitchen table determined to forget about it and get on with my crossword…

“One across, nine letters: Christian saint whose name-day is celebrated in February. Begins with a ‘V’.”

Huh. No chance of taking my mind off things here, I see.