Valentine met her future husband on the street. She’d overslept on the morning of an exam, dashed to the bus stop, and watched the tram roll away right in front of her.
“Brilliant,” she muttered, stamping her foot in frustration. “Now I’m definitely late.”
“Hey, where you headed?” A bloke on a bike pulled up beside her. “I can give you a lift.”
“On that? You having a laugh?” she snapped.
“Come on, better than walking. Or you could wait for the next tram—who knows when that’ll show.” He raised an eyebrow, waiting.
There were no mobiles back then, payphones were dodgy at best, and hailing a cab wasn’t an option. What did she have to lose?
“We’ll get there faster than the tram—cut through the backstreets,” he urged.
Val bit her lip, weighing it up as the clock ticked. Finally, she swung onto the bike’s luggage rack.
“Hold tight,” he said, pushing off the curb. The bike wobbled at first, and Val nearly jumped off in panic. But soon they were speeding smoothly. Ten minutes later, they reached the medical college. Val hopped down.
“Cheers,” she said, noticing the sweat on his temples. “Was it rough?”
“A bit,” he admitted. “What’s your name?” He balanced on the bike, one foot on the college steps, their faces level.
“Val. Yours?”
“Alex. Good luck with the exam!” He pedalled off.
Val watched him go and hurried inside.
By the time she reached the exam hall, the first few students had already gone in. Others leaned against the walls, cramming from notes. Val tried to steady herself after the wild ride. The door swung open, and out stumbled a grinning bloke from her class, waving his grade book.
“Five out of five?” Val asked.
“Four!” he beamed.
“Next!” A stern lab assistant peered out. For some reason, she fixed Val with a glare. “One in, one out. I won’t call twice,” she snapped before disappearing.
The students hesitated. Val took a deep breath and stepped in. She grabbed a paper, skimmed the questions—she knew this.
“Ticket number?” the assistant demanded.
“Thirteen.”
“Take a sheet and prep. Who’s ready?” The assistant scanned the room.
“I am,” Val blurted.
The woman’s perfectly arched brow shot up. “Sure? Maybe—”
“I’m sure,” Val cut in.
The assistant glanced at the professor. He nodded, and Val approached his desk.
Outside later, a coursemate asked, “How’d it go?”
“Smashing!” Val grinned.
“Who’d you get?”
“The prof. He was in a good mood.” She practically floated down the wrought-iron staircase.
When she burst out of the building, Alex was there, leaning against his bike.
“You waited?”
“Wanted to hear how it went.”
“Nailed it!”
“Fancy a ride?”
“Where to?” She hesitated. She wasn’t revising tonight, but going off with a stranger?
“Wherever. We could hire a boat, catch a film, just walk.”
“Don’t you work?”
“Got a week left of leave,” he said.
They rowed on the lake, stopped at a café, then sat in the cool dark of the cinema. Saying goodbye at her doorstep at dusk, Val realised she’d fallen for him.
“Where’ve you been? I was worried. How’d it go?” her mum demanded the second she walked in. “Out gallivanting—you’ll fail your exams, lose your grant.”
“Won’t happen,” Val promised.
A year later, she and Alex married. He was older, already working. They rented a tiny, peeling flat and were deliriously happy.
Eighteen months on, Alex’s dad dropped dead of a heart attack mid-lecture. He’d been a university lecturer. His mum nearly lost her mind, wandering blankly through their house or staring at the ceiling.
Alex, terrified for her, suggested they move in to help. Val agreed. She’d return from college before he finished work, cook, clean. His mum would wander in, squinting at Val like she didn’t recognise her.
Val shared her suspicions with Alex. He took his mum to hospital. Val was right—grief had sped up her dementia. A year later, she was hit by a car. She’d gone to buy kefir, her late husband’s favourite. Alex and Val were at work.
They stayed on in the big house. Soon, their son was born. Life rolled on—rows, make-ups, raising their boy—until the storm hit.
Val noticed Alex pulling away. He’d snap, “I married a fit girl, not this frump. Hit the gym, sort your hair out—get a manicure!”
She knew he had a point, but it stung. He wasn’t exactly fit himself, with his growing gut.
“Can’t wear long nails—I’m a dentist!”
She feared he was cheating, but he came home on time, no suspicious trips. Still, dread coiled in her chest.
Before his birthday, she asked how many guests to cook for.
“Didn’t I say? Booked a restaurant. Boss hinted at a promotion—invited him and his wife. Big crowd.”
She froze. Her cooking was brilliant, always praised. But she bit her tongue. His day, his rules. At least no slaving over the stove. Yet the dread stirred like a waking snake.
She bought a new dress, did her hair, touched up her makeup. Once, he’d have raved—now, a tepid “nice.”
The restaurant was packed. Toasts, gifts, the boss praising Alex’s promotion. Then dancing. Val declined, claiming tiredness. Alex whisked some young thing onto the floor.
Val fled to the loo. The cubicle door banged shut as two women entered.
“Bold move, flirting with the wife right there. You said she was a frump—she’s alright. He won’t leave her. They’ve got a kid.”
“Just watch,” a younger voice chirped.
Val stayed frozen. When she returned, Alex was still dancing, murmuring in the girl’s ear. Fighting tears, she slipped out and hailed a cab.
Her mum had their son overnight. Val had promised to fetch him in the morning. At home, she washed her face, studying her wrecked reflection. Her mum adored Alex—thought Val had hit the jackpot.
Alex stormed in two hours later. Her leaving had humiliated him. She’d never heard him rant like this.
“You humiliated yourself. Parading your mistress. Promised her you’d leave me? Fine—have your divorce. Go to her now.”
“No excuses. Should’ve said sooner. The house is mine—my parents’. You’re the one leaving. Yana’s pregnant.”
How she didn’t collapse, she’d never know. She packed a suitcase for herself and their son, called a cab. The whole ride to her mum’s, she felt numb.
A quick ring. Her mum opened the door, saw the case, and understood. Over tea, she blamed Val: “Fight for your man! Don’t let some tart steal him. Don’t rob your son of his dad.”
Val promised to return on Monday, just to end it. But she sobbed into her pillow all night.
On Monday, she asked colleagues if anyone knew of rooms to let.
An older nurse pulled her aside. Friends had moved to Australia—their cancer-stricken dad couldn’t travel. They needed a live-in carer but feared strangers after the house.
“If he dies under your care, they’ll sign it over to you as payment.”
“I’ll do it,” Val said instantly.
She switched to part-time, would work three days a week. Now to convince her mum to keep their son. A boy shouldn’t witness death.
Her mum erupted. Retired, she prized her solitude. Didn’t believe the house promise. “They’ll stiff you—no pay, no house. You’ll get blamed when he croaks.”
Her nagging wore Val down. Within days, she’d have left for anywhere.
It was gruelling—dentists aren’t nurses. But at least no rent.
The old man’s pension and disability stipend went on food he barely touched. Soon, she lived on eggs and toast. The flat stank. Oddly, she lost weight.
He lasted eight months—doctors had given him two. His daughter Skyped often at first, then less as she saw he was cared for.
She sent cash for the funeral but couldn’t attend. Val buried him alone. The next day, a notary handed her deeds signed eight months prior. She’d owned the flat all along.
The money covered the funeral and a refurb. The stench in the furniture was the worst.
Val reclaimed her son, returned to work. The year was brutal, but busyness dulled the heartache.
Life settled. Her son graduated, marriedIn the end, as she rocked her granddaughter to sleep in the small flat, Val realised happiness wasn’t about the size of your house, but the love you made room for.
