Valentine met her future husband on the street. She’d overslept before an exam, dashed to the tram stop, and watched helplessly as it pulled away right in front of her.
“Brilliant,” she huffed, stamping her foot in frustration. “Now I’m definitely late.”
“Where do you need to go?” A bloke on a bicycle stopped beside her. “I could give you a lift.”
“On a bike? Are you joking?” she snapped.
“Well, it’s better than walking. Or you could wait for the next tram—who knows when that’ll turn up?” He grinned, waiting for her answer.
This was back before mobiles, when payphones barely worked, and you couldn’t just hail a cab. What did she have to lose?
“We’ll cut through the backstreets—faster than the tram,” he urged.
Val bit her lip, hesitating, but time was slipping away. She hopped onto the bike’s rack sideways.
“Hold on tight,” he said, pushing off the kerb. The front wheel wobbled at first, and she nearly panicked, but soon they were moving smoothly. Within ten minutes, they reached the medical college. Val jumped off.
“Thanks,” she said, noticing the sweat on his temples. “Was it hard?”
“A bit,” he admitted, grinning. “What’s your name?” He balanced on the bike, one foot propped on the steps. Their faces were level.
“Val. What’s yours?”
“Alex. Good luck on your exam!” With that, he cycled off.
She watched him go, then hurried inside. A few students had already gone in ahead of her. The corridor was packed—everyone hunched over their notes, cramming last-minute. Val steadied her breathing, trying to focus. The door swung open, and a beaming Mark Thompson emerged, waving his grade book like a trophy.
“Top marks?” Val asked.
“Second class,” he said cheerfully.
“Next!” called the department assistant from inside. For some reason, she fixed Val with a sharp look. “One out, next one in. I won’t call again.”
The others hesitated. Val took a deep breath and stepped forward. She picked a question slip, skimmed it, and knew straight away she had this.
“Number?” the assistant asked briskly.
“Thirteen.”
“Take a paper and start. Who’s ready?” She peered over Val’s shoulder at the others.
“I am,” Val blurted.
The assistant’s perfectly shaped eyebrow shot up. “Sure? Maybe—”
“I’m sure,” Val cut in.
A nod from the professor, and she was off. When she walked out later, a classmate grabbed her arm. “How’d it go?”
“Flying colours!” Val grinned.
“Who examined you?”
“The professor. He was in a good mood today.” She practically floated down the old cast-iron staircase, her heels clicking lightly.
Outside, Alex was waiting, leaning against his bike under a tree. Val nearly skipped down the steps.
“You stayed?”
“Wanted to see how you did.”
“Brilliant!”
“Fancy a ride?”
“Where?” She blinked. She wasn’t revising today, but she hadn’t planned on gallivanting with a stranger either.
“Wherever you like. Boat ride? Cinema? Or just a walk.”
“Don’t you have work?”
“Still got a week off.”
They ended up on the river, then a café, and finally in a cool, dark cinema. By the time Alex dropped her home at dusk, Val knew she was smitten.
“Where’ve you been? I was worried! How was the exam?” her mum demanded the second she walked in. “Of all times to go gallivanting. Fail your exams, lose your grant—see how you like that.”
“I won’t fail,” Val promised.
A year later, she and Alex married. He was older, already working. They moved into a tiny, peeling flat and were deliriously happy.
Eighteen months in, Alex’s dad dropped dead of a heart attack mid-lecture—he taught at uni. His mother was shattered, wandering the house like a ghost or staring blankly at the ceiling. Worried, Alex suggested they move in to look after her. Val agreed. She’d get home from college early, cook, clean. His mum would blink at her like she didn’t recognise her.
Val confided her fears to Alex—his mum wasn’t well. Tests confirmed it: grief had accelerated her dementia. A year later, she stepped into traffic, off to buy the kefir her late husband had loved. Alex and Val were at work.
Now the big house was theirs alone. Soon, their son Nick was born. Life rolled on—rows, makeups, raising Nick—until the storm hit.
Lately, Alex had grown distant. “I married a slim girl,” he’d say. “Now look at you—letting yourself go. Gym? Diet? Ever heard of them? Sort yourself out.”
It stung, even if he wasn’t wrong. He wasn’t exactly Mr. Universe himself.
“You know I can’t have long nails—I’m a dentist!”
She fretted he was cheating, but he was never late, never travelled. Still, dread coiled in her chest.
Before his birthday, she asked about guests.
“Didn’t I say? Restaurant this year. Booked a private room. Boss hinted at a promotion—can’t look stingy in front of him and his wife. Big crowd.”
Val froze. Her cooking had always been praised. But she didn’t argue. His day, his rules. Less work for her, but that snake of fear stirred again.
She bought a new dress, a fresh blow-dry, makeup. Once, he’d have gushed. Now: “Nice.”
The restaurant was packed. Toasts, gifts, the boss praising Alex’s promotion. Then dancing. Val begged off, claiming exhaustion. Alex pulled a young blonde onto the floor.
In the loo, two voices cut through.
“Bold move, flirting with her here. You said she was a frump, but she’s alright. He won’t leave her—they’ve a kid.”
“Just watch me,” came the giggled reply.
Val stayed hidden until they left. Back in the hall, Alex was whispering to the blonde, their faces close. She fled to a cab.
Nick was with her mum. Val changed, washed her face, studied her red-eyed reflection. Mum adored Alex—she’d never understand.
He stormed in two hours later. Her exit had humiliated him. She’d never heard him rant like this.
“You humiliated yourself. Dancing with your mistress in front of everyone! Promised her you’d leave me? Fine—have your divorce. Go!”
“Not denying it. 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, called a cab, and sat in mute shock all the way to Mum’s.
One knock, and Mum took it in: the case, her face. The kitchen lecture began.
“Go back tomorrow! Fight for him—don’t hand him to some tart. Don’t rob Nick of his dad!”
Too drained to argue, Val promised to return Monday—anything to escape. That night, she sobbed into her pillow.
Monday, she asked colleagues about rentals.
A senior nurse pulled her aside. “Friends moved to Canada. Dad’s here—terminal cancer. They couldn’t take him. Need a live-in carer. Won’t hire strangers—fear he’ll be hurried along for the flat. But they’ll sign it over after.”
“I’ll do it.”
She switched to part-time, three days a week. Now to convince Mum to keep Nick—no place for a boy in a deathwatch.
Mum erupted. Retired, used to solitude. Didn’t believe the flat promise. “They’ll swindle you!”
Days of nagging later, Val would’ve taken anything to escape.
It was brutal—she was a dentist, not a nurse. The old man needed constant care. He gave her his pension card. At first, she cooked properly, but he barely ate. Soon, she lived on eggs and toast—the flat’s stale smell killed her appetite. At least she slimmed down.
He lasted eight months—doctors had said two.
His daughter Skyped often, checking on him. Convinced he was cared for, calls grew sparse. She sent money for the funeral but couldn’t come.
After the burial, a notary arrived. The flat was Val’s—signed over eight months prior. She’d owned it unknowingly.
The leftover money covered a refurb. The worst was lifting the sickroom stench from the furniture.
She fetched Nick, returned to full-time work. A hard year, but busyness dulled the betrayal.
Life stabilised. Nick finished school, uni, married a classmate. Her parents bought them a one-bed flat.
When their daughter arrived, space cramped. Nick complainedWhen the second baby came, Nick moved his family into Val’s flat without asking, leaving her in their tiny one-bedroom—alone, but finally free to live without owing anyone anything.
