Valentine met her future husband on the street. She had overslept before an exam, dashed to the tram stop only to watch it vanish before her eyes.
“Brilliant,” she huffed, stamping her foot. “Now I’m definitely late.”
“Where are you headed, love?” A bloke on a bicycle stopped beside her. “I could give you a lift.”
“On a bike? You’re having me on,” she snapped.
“Better than walking, innit? Or you could wait for the next tram—who knows when that’ll be.” He looked at her, expectant.
Mobile phones didn’t exist yet, payphones were dodgy at best, and hailing a cab wasn’t an option. What did she have to lose?
“We’ll cut through the alleys—get there quicker than the tram,” he urged.
Val chewed her lip, wrestling with doubt as the clock ticked. Eventually, she sidled onto the bike’s rack.
“Hold tight,” the lad said, pushing off the kerb. The wheels wobbled, and for a second Val nearly jumped—until they steadied, speeding past rows of terraced houses. Ten minutes later, they pulled up outside the medical college.
Val hopped off. “Ta,” she muttered, noticing the sweat on his temples. “Was it hard?”
“Bit of a slog,” he admitted, leaning against the steps so their eyes were level. “What’s your name?”
“Val. Yours?”
“Alex. Good luck on the exam.” And with that, he cycled away.
She watched him go, then hurried inside.
The corridor was packed. Students slumped against walls, cramming notes. The door creaked open, and Sergei Mukhin stumbled out, grinning like a fool.
“Got an A?” Val asked.
“B,” he chirped, waving his grade book.
“Next!” called the invigilator from the doorway. Her eyes locked onto Val. “One leaves, the next enters. I’m not calling twice.”
Val took a steadying breath and stepped in. Snatching a ticket, she scanned the questions—knew them all.
“Ticket number?”
“Thirteen.”
“Take a paper and prepare. Who’s ready?”
“I am,” Val blurted.
The invigilator’s eyebrow shot up. “Certain? Maybe—”
“Certain.”
A nod from the professor sealed it. Val aced it.
Outside, a classmate poked her. “How’d it go?”
“Smashing!” Val beamed.
“Who’d you get?”
“The professor. He was in a good mood.” Val’s heels clattered cheerfully down the cast-iron staircase.
Alex was waiting by his bike under a tree.
“You stayed?”
“Wanted to hear how it went.”
“Brilliant!”
“Fancy a spin?”
“Where?” She blinked. No studying today, but gallivanting with a stranger wasn’t part of the plan.
“Wherever. Boat ride? Cinema? Or just a wander.”
“Don’t you work?”
“Still got a week off.”
They rowed on the Thames, nipped into a café, and caught a matinee. By dusk, as they stood outside her flat, Val knew—she was smitten.
Her mum pounced the second she stepped in. “Where’ve you been? You’ll botch your exams, lose your grant!”
“Won’t happen,” Val lied.
A year later, she married Alex. He was older, settled. They rented a poky flat—utter bliss.
Then Alex’s dad dropped dead of a heart attack mid-lecture. His mum lost her marbles, wandering their home like a ghost. Worried, Alex moved them in. Val cooked, cleaned—his mum barely recognised her.
Val confided her fears. Dementia, the doctor confirmed. Within a year, his mum stepped into traffic, off to buy kefir for a husband six feet under.
Alone in the big house, they raised their son, Nick—until the storm hit.
Alex grew distant. “I married a stunner, not this frump. Hit the gym, for Christ’s sake. Sort your hair, your nails—”
Val knew he wasn’t wrong, but it stung. He wasn’t exactly Adonis himself.
“You know I can’t have fake nails—I’m a dentist!”
Suspicions gnawed at her. No late nights, no trips—yet something felt off.
Then, before Alex’s birthday:
“How many for dinner?”
“Didn’t I say? Booking a restaurant. The boss hinted at a promotion—I’ve invited him, so no skimping. Crowd’s coming.”
Val froze. Her cooking had always wowed—but no arguing. His day, his rules. Still, dread coiled in her gut.
She dolled up, bought a new dress. Alex’s praise was lukewarm—once, he’d have showered her.
At the restaurant, toasts flowed. The boss lauded Alex’s promotion. Dancing began—Val declined, citing fatigue. Alex whisked some young thing onto the floor.
In the loo, voices cut through:
“Bold move, flirting with the wife right there! You said she was a heifer, but she’s tidy enough. He won’t leave her—they’ve a kid.”
“Wait and see,” giggled another.
Val stayed locked in the stall.
Back in the hall, Alex murmured in his dance partner’s ear. Val fled, hailed a cab.
Nick was at her mum’s. Val scrubbed her face, stared into the mirror. Mum adored Alex—she’d never understand.
He stormed in hours later. Her exit humiliated him. Words, so many words.
“You humiliated yourself. Cheating, right in front of me! Promised her you’d leave? Fine. Go now.”
“Won’t deny it. Should’ve told you sooner. The house is mine—my parents’. You’ll be the one leaving. Yvonne’s pregnant.”
Val packed in silence, took Nick to her mum’s.
Her mum blamed her: “Fight for your man, you daft cow! Don’t hand him over!”
Val promised to return Monday—just to end the nagging. But she wept all night.
Monday, at work, she asked about rentals.
A colleague pulled her aside:
“Friends emigrated—left their sick dad. Needs a live-in carer. Too risky to hire a stranger, but they’ll sign the flat over after he dies.”
Val agreed instantly. Cut her hours—three days a week. Now, to convince Mum to keep Nick.
Mum raged. “Lies! They’ll never pay! You’ll get blamed when he croaks!”
The old man lingered eight months—doctors gave him two. Val starved herself, guilt-ridden spending his pension.
When he died, his daughter wired funeral funds. A notary arrived next day—the flat was Val’s, signed over months prior.
She scrubbed the stench from the walls, reclaimed Nick, rebuilt her life—until uni left him cramped with his wife and kids.
“Mum, it’s not fair! You’ve this huge place—we’re suffocating! Sell up, downsize—give me the difference!”
Stunned, Val offered to swap.
He beamed. “Love you, Mum!”
Funny—he’d never said it before.
Alone in the dingy flat, she wept—not for the lost space, but the lost years. Then she wiped her tears.
Nick returned months later, eyeing the fresh paint and furniture.
“Spit it out,” she sighed.
“Yvonne’s due soon. Could you take Tommy? It’s chaos with two…”
Val remembered dumping Nick on Mum all those years ago.
“’Course, love.”
Alone again, she smiled. No seaside retirement yet—she’d need a sofa for Tommy. But at least she wouldn’t be lonely.
She opened her laptop, browsing kids’ beds—ready to give him all she’d failed to give his father.
