Sally absolutely loathed the days when would-be adopters showed up at the childrens home. In the whole seven years shed lived there, not once had anyone picked her.
When she was little, mind you, she waited for those days with bated breath. Shed stare, entranced, at the smart ladies and gentlemen as if they were magicians, about to whisk her off to some grand manor. A new mum would tuck her in and kiss her goodnight; a new dad would hoist her onto his shoulders for rides in the park. Shed dream of having her own bedroom and never again having to see that awful Victor. He had a persistent habit of yanking her pigtails and calling her Twiglet.
Sally had no idea what Twiglet meant, only that it felt deeply insulting, and Victor never let up. Twiglet! Twiglet! hed chant relentlessly.
Shed been five when she arrived at the home, her parents having died in a car crash. For ages, Sally couldnt understand why her mum and dad had abandoned her. Gradually it hit her: they werent coming back. Their faces faded, as did their voices, the scent of their perfume and aftershave, even the memory of the house theyd lived in together.
Sally desperately wanted someone to choose her, but miracles dont happen every day and the older she grew, the more she realised she’d never be the chosen one. Sally was painfully aware she wasnt a looker, and only the pretty little girls with silky hair ribbons and sunny smiles ever got picked.
Victor was as annoying as ever, but by now Sally knew a twiglet was just a small bird.
Another Viewing Day rolled around. The other girls had their hair plaited and tied with ribbons, dressed up in their Sunday best. Sally, on a whim of fierce independence, hacked off her hair like a rebellious schoolboy. She was done waiting to get pickedshed decided from now on, she’d be the one doing the choosing!
When the staff clocked her short, choppy hair, they gasped in horror; Victor just cackled and called out, Twiglet! as always.
Sally was twelve by then; Victor was three years her senior. That day, of course, no one chose her. With her uneven haircut and thunderous look, she might as well have had a sign saying Approach with Caution.
Three years later, Victor aged out of the system and left. He did the rounds, saying bye to everyone, and finally sauntered up to Sally.
So long then, Twiglet?
Bye, said Sally, bored out of her mind.
Hang in there! Victor called out. Just three years to go! Then Ill come and get you!
As if! Who says Id choose you, muppet! shot back Sally.
Victor stared at her for a long, oddly serious moment, then left, never so much as glancing over his shoulder on his way out.
When Sally finally turned eighteen, she left through the great oak doors of the childrens home and gulped down her first lungful of free air. Years had transformed that awkward duckling into what most would call a bit of a swan: hair now long and flowing, green eyes bright, and a figure that made shop mannequins jealous. She headed to her old family flat, only to hear a familiar voice behind her.
Hullo, Twiglet!
She spun around to find Victor, tall and broad-shouldered now, grinning like a cheeky schoolboy.
What are you doing here? she snapped.
I did promise to come for you, and here I am, he replied, gliding confidently closer.
Well, I told you: I pick, not you! Sally retorted, glaring up at him.
Go on then, Sallypick me! he said, almost pleading.
Ill think about it, called Sally as she strode off towards her new front door.
Victor shadowed her all the way up the street, loitering outside until she was safely inside, then wandering off. Each night after that, Victor would show up and park himself on the bench beneath her window, staying put until Sally flicked off her bedroom light.
Summer wilted into a rainy autumn, autumn gave way to a chilly winter, and Victor, stubborn as ever, stopped by every evening without fail. One night, Sally ventured outside, perched beside him, and asked, Arent you sick of this? Surely youre freezing!
Doesnt bother me. Ill wait. Just as long as you say yes, he said, fixing her with a warm, lingering stare.
Sally shot up from the bench like shed sat on a drawing pin and bolted for her flat, peeking out through her lacy curtains to watch Victor gazing back up at her window.
On December 31st, Sally was racing home after work. She still had the table to lay, a party frock to wriggle into, and New Years Eve was only hours away. The bench looked oddly empty without Victor, which made her heart skip a nervous beat. What if something had happened?
An hour later, the flat was festooned with nibbles and cheap prosecco, but Victor still hadnt appeared. Worry gnawed at her belly, coiling into a tight knot of dread.
What do I do? Search the streets? I dont even have his number! Now whos the muppet? she berated herself.
Just then, light exploded outside her window.
Fireworks already? she thought, heading over for a better view.
There on the snowy patch outside her block, fizzing in giant fiery letters, was written:
CHOOSE ME, SALLY!!!
And sure enough, there sat Victor on the bench, waving at her through the falling snow.
