“Leave her here, let her die!” they said, tossing the old woman into the snowdrift. The villains never imagined the boomerang would soon return.
Valentine Whitmore walked toward her apartment block. The ladies on the bench were gossiping about the expensive car recently parked nearby.
“Who does it belong to?” Valentine asked.
“How should we know?” one of them sniffed. “Probably Marys. Folks like us dont get visits from such fancy motors.”
“Only the ambulance comes for us!” another added.
The neighbours carried on, chatting about the government and all the latest rumours. Then out came Mary herself, the owner of the luxurious car. She marched past without a glance at them or the vehicle parked on the grass. Valentine hurried home.
“Valentine Whitmore?” a man spoke as she reached the stairwell. “Do you remember me? We spoke a few days ago. Im your nephew.”
“Oh, Arthur!” she exclaimed, recognising him. “Why didnt you tell me you were coming? Is that your car on the lawn?”
“Yes, mine.”
“Well, go move it before the neighbours complain! What were you thinking, parking on my flowers?”
Her nephew rushed outside while Valentine put the kettle on. She needed to sell her flatno sense leaving the neighbours to ruin her garden.
Years ago, her uncle used to visit with his son. Later, the family lost touch. And now, here the young man was! But something about him unsettled her. He smoked too much. Though still young, his teeth were already yellow. Still, at least hed come. She hadnt wanted to hire an estate agent to sell the place. Better to let her nephew handle it. Yet he refused payment.
Valentine had grown old without husband or children. She longed to move closer to nature. Fresh air would do her better than climbing four flights of stairs. The village had a garden plot. While she still had strength, she wanted to grow her own vegetables. By autumn, a buyer appeared.
“Winters coming. Lets wait till spring to sell,” Valentine decided, postponing the move.
“But prices will rise by then!” Arthur argued. “Cold weathers best to check the heating. Besides, weve got a buyer now. What if they back out later?”
“But you havent found me a house yet! Where will I live? Lets find one first, then sell the flat,” Valentine sighed.
Arthur reluctantly agreed.
Soon enough, her nephew presented options. After touring them, Valentine felt disheartened. Every place needed work. Still, the flats sale would cover both a cottage and repairs.
Arthur knew construction. He could advise his aunt on material costs and labour. He promised to help.
But the old woman fretted.
“Winters at the door. I dont want the hassle of repairs. I just want to step inside and live like a proper person.”
“Thats why Im here to help!” the young man assured her.
Valentine grew uneasyArthur seemed too eager to sell her flat and buy any old cottage. Yet she convinced herself he stood to gain nothing. She thanked him anyway for assisting her.
Once she picked a cottage, a completion date was set.
The buyer and solicitor arrived promptly. Arthur brewed tea for all. Valentines heart achedthis was her home. A lifetime of memories. But there was no turning back now. Belongings were packed, papers signed.
“Right then. Time to move!” Arthur declared once the deed was done.
“Waitnow? Ive not even cleared the cupboard!” she protested, but he insisted. The buyer needed the flat tonight!
“Fine, if it must be today,” she relented. “But let me pack the dishes first.”
Soon they were off in a van. Valentine yawned, dozing fitfully. Through half-closed eyes, she glimpsed the road, heard muffled voices.
“Can you hear me, Auntie?” Arthurs voice echoed faintly. She hadnt the strength to answer.
“Leave her here,” she caught later, awareness flickering. Smoke, snowhad she dreamt it? They abandoned her in a drift.
“Let her die,” Arthur added.
The truth struck herher nephew had tricked her. Drugged the tea, forced the sale. Eyes shut, she braced for death.
Meanwhile, a young woman watched. Driving past, shed spotted the parked van and pulled over, thinking the men needed help. Then she saw them hauling something toward the woods. Heavy snow fell. Why unload in such weather? Suspicious, she noted the licence plate, waited.
Once they drove off, she rushed to the spot. There lay an old womanalive, but barely. The girl called her husband, and together they carried Valentine to their car.
“Where am I?” the old woman rasped on the road.
“We found you,” the girl, Irene, said. “Do you remember how you ended up in the snow?”
“Yes,” Valentine whispered. “My nephew sold my flat. We had teahe mustve put something in it. Then they dumped me. Got rid of me.”
“Lets get you warm,” Irene said, rubbing her hands.
“Youre kinder than my own blood,” Valentine smiled weakly. “Id have died out there.”
Later, Irenes family helped her report the crime. An investigation began. The girl offered Valentine shelter until justice was done.
Within weeks, her flat was returned. Arthur and his accomplice were jailed for fraud. Come spring, as planned, Valentine sold the flat and bought her cottage. No repairs neededjust a garden to tend. That summer, she invited Irene and her husband for tea. She never forgot their kindness.
