The postman slowly drew away in his van. Seeing the postman always gave me a little excitement, whether he be doing his round on foot, or as in our case, in his bright cheery, cherry red van. I think the picture of the jolly person coming to each door, waving to the children and bringing news from friends and family, a sort of Enid Blyton type of character, has stuck in my head. Unfortunately our postman is rather surly, driving around with a cigarette hanging from his mouth, with hardly a care for anyone. Judging by the number of wrongly delivered envelopes we get, I doubt he takes his job seriously, and we wonder how many of ours go missing too.
Today, though, each of ours was addressed solely to us. There were five in all, quite a bumper delivery. Hardly surprising as hubby has a birthday tomorrow. Excitedly I go through them, but usually my anticipation is dampened by a pile of bills. What will today’s delivery bring? One from the bank, one from the dentist, the envelope being printed with the practice name. Here is a card from…..mm!!…the handwriting is familiar. Ah! The postmark, from the Midlands is a giveaway. They never forget, his cousin Eddie and family. Now, this one must be from Mabel, as she generally flicks the tails on the ‘g’ and ‘y’ so, yes, I recognise that. Oh, this last one is different. It’s a bit thicker but not so much as to warrant extra stamps. Could it be a hand-made one, I wonder, presuming it to be a birthday card. It is only a presumption though, seeing as it certainly doesn’t look business in nature. Who has already sent one? I can go through them. He doesn’t get many cards anyway, but here is cousin Eddie’s, Mabel’s, that’s two, Alison’s arrived yesterday and is tucked away safely, three. Robert, our son, usually manages to land one on the day, but I know his writing, and his wife’s, and this isn’t either. If I count his, that will be five, and my own, six. He hasn’t had more than that since our parents passed away and a favourite aunt is now in a home and forgets.
I peer at the franking. It is too indistinct to decipher. I take it to the desk to use the magnifying glass. That is no help either. Too light to leave a proper imprint. Bother! I am intrigued. I turn it over and…….ah! I hadn’t noticed this before. Across the top, in small upper case letters, is the message ‘FOR THE 11TH, NOT BEFORE,’ and then, just adding to the mystery, it ended….B!
B? who is B? We don’t have anyone starting with a B, apart from Brian himself of course, but he wouldn’t send one to himself, would he?
Oh dear, why am I so nosey? Does he have a secret admirer, I wonder? Could it be the new girl at work….what Is her name? Oh, damn, what IS her name? Go through the alphabet, that sometimes helps…. A, B….Beryl, Betty, Barbara, no……C, D…..that’s it….Diane. Not her then. Well, whoever it is, they are not keeping much of a secret if they use his home address! He knows I am usually at home when the mail arrives. I put it back on the pile and make a coffee, picking up a pen and paper to write a shopping list. Sitting at the kitchen table, I gaze through the window, across the garden to the old shed, planning what to do with that corner plot. The envelope drifts from my mind as the daily grind takes over.
It is now 5pm. Tea is cooking and I hear the car come to a halt on the gravel outside. Brian is home.
‘Hello dear! How was your day?’ We almost repeat it to each other robotically each day on his return.
‘Is there any post?’ he asks………..!
