5. The Unexpected Delivery

Winston stopped at the end of Florentine Road and checked the remaining contents of his delivery bag. There were only a couple of letters left to deliver. He checked the addresses. Both were for Mackenzie Drive. He sighed in annoyance. Why should he have to go all the way over there just to deliver a couple of stupid letters? It would take him almost as much time to go down there and come back as it did to do the rest of his delivery round.

He glared down the length of Frobisher Avenue. Mackenzie Drive was right at the other end, almost into the centre of town. Honestly, it was closer to Pete's round than to his. He sighed with exasperation. He knew that technically, it was still part of his round, like Frobisher Avenue and Gilbert Close. But most of the addresses that he delivered to on those two roads were at this end, near the junction with Florentine Road and Wildbridge Park. Why couldn't the guys at the depot rearrange the delivery routes so that Pete did the deliveries on Mackenzie Drive?

He sighed again, and climbed out of his delivery van. He tossed his delivery bag, with its two remaining letters, on to the passenger seat, and retrieved the bunch of flowers from the parcel shelf. He'd had to leave home early to go into town and buy the flowers. And of course, Rochelle had wanted to know why.

It annoyed him, the way she always wanted to poke her nose into his business. Just because she was his wife. He'd told her to mind her own business, but that just seemed to upset her. Stupid woman! he muttered to himself as he closed and locked the door of the van. Honestly, if she was going to get all upset every time he told her off, what kind of example was she setting the boys? he growled as he arranged the flowers so that they looked as presentable as possible.

She needs be more resilient, so that when the boys grow up, they would be able to cope with people being rude to them, he told himself as he walked around the van and checked that all the doors were locked. And she needs to mind her own business, he concluded with a final sigh of annoyance, as he bent down and checked his appearance in the wing mirror.

Satisfied that he also looked as presentable as possible, Winston checked along Florentine Road for any oncoming traffic, before striding across the road and down Frobisher Avenue. He soon reached the end of the cul-de-sac where Jackie lived. At the far end stood the large, foreboding house that Jackie called home. He shook his head. He still couldn't believe that such a house still existed in Wildbridge, or that such a frail old lady lived there.

He looked around for the sign that indicated the name of the cul-de-sac. Some of the hedges that bordered the gardens around here were severely overgrown. He saw the sign, partially concealed by foliage, and walked over for a closer look. He lifted the branches away from the sign so that he could read the name. Walnut Close. He shrugged his shoulders. Although it ran off Frobisher Avenue, it wasn't a road he was familiar with. He couldn't remember ever having to make a delivery to Walnut Close. He let go of the branches, and they dropped down to cover the sign once more.

He was about to head down into Walnut Close when he became aware that there was somebody watching him. He turned, and looked across the road. An elderly man was standing there, resting on a wooden cane. Winston smiled. He recognised the straggly hair and beard, the old and battered suit, and the general demeanour of the other man.

His name was Xavier St John. He lived a short distance away, on Frobisher Avenue. Winston occasionally delivered parcels to him. Books, mainly. Apparently he used to be some kind of academic, a university lecturer or something. Since he had retired a few years ago, he had gained a reputation for being more than a little eccentric. Nothing wrong with that, Winston thought to himself as he raised his hand in greeting.

“Good morning, Mr St John,” he called out.

Xavier raised his cane in response, but did not speak. At least, not that Winston could hear him. He then abruptly turned and walked off, heading in the direction of his house. Winston was surprised by the sprightly manner in which he propelled himself along the road, using his cane rather like a third leg.

As he watched Xavier go, Winston remembered one of the guys at the depot mentioning that he was a bit of an expert on local history. He briefly considered crossing the road to catch up with him and ask him about Jackie's house, but Xavier had already disappeared from view. Maybe another time, then, Winston sighed, and looked down at the bunch of flowers in his hand. He hoped Jackie like flowers.

Bouquet in hand, Winston strolled into Walnut Close. He looked at the house in the cul-de-sac. Apart from the old house at the end, they were all modern two-storey properties. A couple of semi-detached buildings at the entrance to the cul-de-sac, then three detached houses on either side, leading to the old house.

He stood outside the old house, nervously inspecting the architecture. It seemed to be in fairly good condition, considering its age. How old had Jackie said it was? Two hundred years or more, wasn't it? He wasn't sure he believed that. He peered at the dark timber frames. They didn't seem to have started to rot away. Were they original, or modern replacements? He wasn't an expert on old houses, but there again, who was these days? The timbers looked authentic enough, a little warped and knotted, not quite straight. Unlike modern materials, which were all machine cut and dead straight.

He stepped back and inspected the roof. Again, the slates looked authentic enough, but there didn't seem to be any weathering or damage. In fact, the only part of the façade that was not completely perfect was the plaster infill between the timbers. There was some minor damage here and there, where small pieces of plaster had cracked and fallen away from the wall. Nothing too serious, though, he thought to himself. Something that could easily be fixed. He was sure he knew somebody who would be able to do that. Who was it? His brow furrowed as he tried to remember. Raj's brother-in-law? No, that didn't sound right.

He sighed with frustration. He'd have to ask at the depot when he got back, if he didn't remember before then. Maybe he could suggest it to Jackie. He strode over to the front door of the old house and looked around. He was slightly disappointed. He had half-expected there to be a chain he could pull that would summon the butler or something. But there wasn't even a doorbell. He knocked loudly on the door, and waited.

As he waited, he looked around, noting that the small garden didn't appear to be lovingly maintained. The grass needed cutting, and there were several large weeds that needed removing. He shook his head and tutted. He guessed that Jackie was too old and frail to tend to her own garden, but couldn't she get somebody else in to do it for her? What about that daughter she mentioned?

He turned around as the door opened. To his surprise, a younger woman stood there.

“Oh!” Winston exclaimed, slightly taken aback.

The woman stared at him, wide-eyed and wordless. Winston regarded her for a moment, as he regained his composure. She seemed to be of similar age to him, with chocolate-coloured skin, large brown eyes, and long black hair that cascaded loosely down her back. This must be the daughter that Jackie mentioned, he thought.

“Hello, my lady,” he smiled, as warmly and non-threateningly as he could.

“Hello,” the woman replied uncertainly, regarding Winston with a combination of fear and intrigue.

Winston nodded and smiled to himself. He liked it when women showed him a decent amount of respect. Quite right, too. After all, he was a man. The superior sex. Rochelle could learn a lot from this woman about how to behave.

“Do you have a package for my mother?” the woman asked nervously.

Winston frowned. Package? Then realisation dawned. Of course! He was wearing his postman's uniform. She obviously thought he was delivering something to the house. Well, in a way, he was.

“Not exactly,” he replied, showing the bunch of flowers to the woman. “I brought these for her.”

The woman frowned, confused for a moment.

“I met your mother in the park yesterday,” he explained, “and I thought I'd call round to make sure she was alright.”

“Oh,” the woman sighed with relief. “You must be the kind gentleman who walked my mother back home.” She paused, and looked back into the house for a moment, as if either lost in thought or listening for a distant sound. She turned back to Winston and smiled warmly. “She told me all about you,” she added.

Winston smiled in return. “Sh told me quite a bit about you, as well,” he said. “Although I don't recall her mentioning a name....”

The woman giggled demurely. “Oh, I'm Desiree,” she replied, extending her hand to shake Winston's.

Winston shook her hand gently, noting how soft and supple her skin was. Not like Rochelle's. Her hands were rough and hard. She had said it was because of all the washing and cleaning she did. He didn't believe her. If that were true, then why weren't all women's hands like that?

Desiree withdrew her hand and sighed. “I'm afraid my mother isn't feeling too well this morning,” she told him. “I think she may have picked up a slight chill yesterday.”

Winston nodded gravely. “Yes, it was a little cold yesterday, wasn't it?” he replied. He looked down at the bunch of flowers in his hand, and sighed. He looked back at Desiree. Well, it hadn't been an entirely wasted journey, he smiled to himself.

He presented the flowers to Desiree. “Would you give these to your mother?” he asked. “I hope she will be feeling better soon.”

“Of course,” Desiree nodded, accepting the flowers. “I'm sure my mother will be alright. It's just, at her age, she has to be a little more careful and wrap up warmly when she goes out.”

Winston smiled and nodded. That was something he had noticed in Rochelle as well. She never seemed to wear the right clothes for the weather. She was always complaining about being too hot or too cold. He regarded Desiree, intrigued. She seemed to be rather more sensible than most women he had met. Why had he not encountered her before? he wondered. If only they had met six or seven years ago, he sighed to himself. Things would have been a lot different. And Rochelle would have had to find somebody else to marry and annoy.

“Won't you come inside for a moment?” Desiree asked. “I've just boiled the kettle.”

The question jolted Winston out of his reverie. He was slightly taken aback. Could she read his mind? Was she trying to seduce him? He grinned to himself. Quite right, too. After all, what woman could resist such a fine figure of a man.

He gathered himself, and considered the proposition. Certainly, he thought Desiree was rather attractive. And she seemed much more... respectful towards him than Rochelle had ever been. But there was still something – the house, Jackie, perhaps even Desiree herself – that made him nervous. “Thank you, but no,” he replied, remembering his manners. “I have to, er, finish my round...”

Desiree smiled, the disappointment etched on her face. “Oh well, perhaps another time, then,” she sighed. “If you're quite sure, that is,” she added, seductively playing with her hair.

Winston took a step back, surprised by the sudden change in Desiree's demeanour. So she was trying to seduce him. He nodded with satisfaction. Quite right, too. But he was married. And he did have to finish his delivery round. He sighed with disappointment.

“Maybe another time,” he told her.

Desiree sighed. “Well, goodbye, then,” she said, her voice tinged with disappointment.

“Goodbye, my lady,” Winston replied with a smile, before turning and walking back down the path.

Desiree watched as Winston strode along the road, out of Walnut Close. As he turned right and headed along Frobisher Avenue, she closed the door with a heavy sigh. She looked down at the flowers in her hand, emitting a groan of frustration as she threw them irately into the nearby waste-basket.

“Next time,” she muttered angrily to herself, as she stormed into the kitchen.