Page 85 of My Kind of Happy

That was possibly one of the most superfluous pieces of polite conversation in the English language. You know yesterday when you watched the person you love most in the world disappear from sight forever in a coffin? Did it go well? I’d hated that sort of comment in the weeks after Freddie died; I should have known better.

‘It was a fitting send-off,’ said Mr Benton-Ridley, coming to my rescue. ‘Just a small gathering. She didn’t have any family and she could be a difficult woman, she’d never been one for friends. As her Alzheimers took an ever firmer grip on her mind she lost contact with the few friends she did have. I did my best to keep her happy and calm … anyway, she’s at peace now.’

I heard the tremor in his voice and my heart went out to him. ‘You must be in need of a rest yourself.’

‘Looking after Val has taken every spare minute for the last four years, I’m going to try and remember what I used to like doing. Anyway, I’ve taken enough of your time. I just wanted to thank you. And I’m sorry if I sounded confused when you answered the phone, the name of the florist’s threw me for a moment. A blast from the past.’

He laughed awkwardly and I had a sudden thought. Nigel. A wife with Alzheimers. It couldn’t be, could it?

‘Have you shopped with us before, then?’ I thought back to the database. There were hundreds of names on it but I’d have remembered a Benton-Ridley. But then if he always paid in cash, it wouldn’t be.

‘I … Yes.’ His voice was barely audible.

My breath caught, goose pimples instantly covering my arms.

‘Funny that your name didn’t come up on our database.’

He didn’t respond straight away and when he did his voice was shaky. ‘There used to be a pet shop nearby.’

My heart thumped against my ribs; it was him. ‘There still is. Biddy still owns it.’

‘I wonder …’ He hesitated and in that space I could almost feel how torn he was; the guilt and the joy and the hope.

‘Yes …?’ I prompted eagerly.

‘Nigel? You on the phone? There’s a lady at the door with a casserole,’ I heard a female voice in the background. It sounded like his sister who’d been at the undertaker’s with him. The one who hadn’t seemed overly fond of Nigel’s wife.

‘Thanks again,’ said Nigel, hurriedly.

‘Well, you know where we are,’ I said quickly as he ended the call.

Had he been on the verge of asking me to give Biddy a message, I wondered, or even better sending her some flowers? I made a note of his number and typed it into the new database. Should I tell Biddy that his wife had passed away, or should I leave Nigel to make his overture towards her in his own time? The latter, I decided; this wasn’t my story, it was theirs and if Nigel no longer felt the same way about Biddy, she’d have her hopes raised only to have them dashed again.

At ten o’clock that night I put clean sheets on the bed and dived under the covers, sighing with pleasure at the unique sensation that only fresh bedding can deliver.

Scamp took my sigh as an invitation and scooted up closer until I could feel his hot breath on my arm.

‘You do know that sleeping on my bed is only a temporary arrangement, don’t you?’ I said. I didn’t know how he did it, but he seemed to make himself double in length and girth at night-time and he took up far more than fifty per cent of the space.

Scamp opened one eye and gave me a smug look.

I laughed and stroked his ears. ‘I guess I’ll just have to hope that when I meet the man of my dreams, he likes dogs.’

As I turned out the bedside light and my mind started to quieten, I couldn’t help but wonder who exactly was the man of my dreams? An image of someone with golden hair, gentle eyes and a warm laugh popped into my head and I squeezed my eyes shut. Biddy had fallen in love with a man who couldn’t be hers and if I wasn’t careful, I could end up making the same mistake.