Plain Jane
Jane settled comfortably on the worn sofa in her favourite little coffee shop, waiting for her order. She often came here for a cappuccino and an éclair to lift her spirits before a long day at work.
Outside, snowflakes drifted quietly down from the grey London sky. Jane took a blissful sip of steaming coffee. At the table opposite, two women sat together, clearly friends.
You know, I ran into my exs new girlfriend the other day, one whispered. Honestly, you shouldve seen her absolutely nothing special, if you ask me! What on earth does he see in her?
Her friend snorted. Maybe she makes cracking Sunday roasts? Or is a wildcat in the bedroom? Both women burst out laughing.
Oh, come on! Have a look at her photos on Facebook shes nothing to write home about.
Their giggles carried through the room, and Jane froze mid-sip. Her mothers words from years ago flashed through her mind, ones Jane had overheard at the age of seven: Our Janes no beauty, bless her. Shell have to make up for it in other ways work hard, be kind.
Now grown, Jane took meticulous care of her appearance. Still, no matter how hard she tried, she never felt quite beautiful enough. Her mother often said, Chin up, love. You might not win any beauty contests, but youve a good head on your shoulders. Focus on your studies, do your best, and youll never be left on the shelf.
At school, Jane had been embarrassed by her awkward looks and boyish figure. At university, she learned to dress stylishly and put on just the right touch of make-up. She even managed to find herself a boyfriend, who, unfortunately, liked to mumble jokes about her flatter than a pancake rear and giants feet. Jane came to realise that clever or not, love was still unlikely to come her way. So, she accepted it, and got on with life.
After finishing her coffee and éclair, Jane hurried off to work. Later, at lunchtime, she needed to pop round her friends flat to feed the cat and water the plants. Helen had jetted off to Morocco for a couple of weeks, and her husband was rarely at home. If by some fluke they cross paths, he wont even notice Jane, Helen thought before going off on holiday without a worry.
When Jane arrived at the flat, she poured biscuits for drowsy old Whiskers, then began watering the jungle of plants. Music was drifting through the wall from the next flat. Jane recognised the tune and softly started singing along: And I think to myself, what a wonderful world Suddenly, a feeling of complete contentment swept over her. Here in Helens bright flat, surrounded by greenery and music, she felt light and free. Without realising, she started to sway and spin gently around the room, admiring the blooms and just a little herself.
Unexpectedly, voices rang out behind her.
Jane spun around and found herself face-to-face with two men. There was David! Helens husband. And he wasnt alone. Both seemed surprised. For Jane, mortification was instant.
Hi, Jane. This is my mate, Simon. We just popped in to grab some paperwork. You were dancing so splendidly, we couldnt take our eyes off you. Sorry to barge in.
I Helen asked me stammered Jane, cheeks burning.
She made a dash for the door, not seeing Whiskers in her path. She tripped and crashed awkwardly to the floor, a sharp pain darkening her vision.
She woke up later in a crisp hospital bed.
Hello there! How are you feeling? The woman in the next bed smiled kindly. Im Victoria, your neighbour for now. Youve just got a mild concussion, but the doctor says youll be right as rain. A courier dropped something off for you and a young man brought flowers. She winked conspiratorially.
Jane could only mumble a thank you.
Gingerly, Jane stood and shuffled to the window, lifting the bag left by her friend. Inside she found fruit, a bottle of Ribena, and her favourite éclairs. Most likely from Helen and David.
Reaching for the flowers pristine white chrysanthemums Jane spotted a note. Dear Jane, wishing you a speedy recovery. A charming girl like you doesnt belong in hospital! Please come with me to the flower show. No is not an answer. Simon.
Jane pressed her face into the bouquet, eyes shut with joy, and ran over to hug her new hospital friend.
Beauty doesnt always shout for attention. Every woman carries her own kind, often gentle and shining from withinLater that evening, long after the nurses had turned down the lights and the clicks and beeps of machines became a gentle lullaby, Jane found herself smiling in the hush of her little hospital sanctuary. Victoria had drifted off, snoring softly, and the moon sent a silver path through the window, illuminating the chrysanthemums by her bedside.
Jane picked up Simons note and traced the words with her fingertips. She pressed the card to her chest and, for the first time in as long as she could remember, allowed herself to laughreally laughat how wildly unexpected life could be.
She didnt know what Simon saw in her, what hed glimpsed as shed swirled alone and carefree among Helens plants. But maybe that wasnt the point. Maybe, she realised, being seen at allreally seenmeant stepping into the world just as she was, éclairs and awkwardness and all.
Tomorrow she would call Simon and say yes. Not because she felt she ought to, or to chase love or prove anything to the world, but because, at last, she simply wanted to.
Outside, the snow continued to fall, erasing sharp edges and lending the city a quiet kind of magic. And as Jane drifted into sleep, warmth blooming in her heart, she finally understood: sometimes, all it takes is one unexpected turn for a plain life to blossom into something quietly extraordinary.
