Not Valentine’s Day

Dave’s ears were still ringing from the night before. He’d had less than four hours sleep after playing in his band and felt like death warmed up, but he knew once he’d showered, downed a strong coffee and eaten two slices of thickly buttered toast, he’d be alright.

“Not too bad for forty-one!” Dave often conversed like this while studying his reflection in the hallway mirror. He tucked in his uniform. Other than a touch of bagginess under the eyes, his skin had remained smooth, and his thick brown hair was only just starting to recede. Any paunch was kept in check due to the many hours spent walking and cycling that his job as a postal worker entailed. 

The only time Dave didn’t walk or cycle during his working day was when he drove out to the villages to do the afternoon deliveries. There was a sense of freedom as he drove along the narrow roads, spotting the odd farm vehicle trundling along, while the hills gently rolled off in the distance. He loved entering places where little had changed over the centuries, at least on the surface. 

The village of Hamersham was a case in point. Its distinctive limestone houses formed the bedrock of the village. The high street featured a pub, a bakery, and a small grocery store which also served as a post office. Further on, set a little back from the main road, the parish church with its clock tower and stained-glass windows sealed the finishing touches to the country scene.

Dave was something of an an expert when it came to evading the snapping jaws of yapping dogs whilst delivering mail through faded letterboxes. He’d also learnt how to navigate the trickier patches during the harsh winter months.

***

As with any job, the people were what made it. In Hamersham village, Mrs Eccles, or Joan as he’d come to know her, was one of the nicer ones. However tight his schedule and it was particularly tight at this time of year, Dave always found time to fit in a cup of tea and a slice of cake in her cozy kitchen, whilst indulging in a spot of village gossip. What Joan didn’t know about the locals wasn’t worth knowing.  

Dave had lost count of the number of times he’d warned Joan about not leaving the door unlocked, but it fell on deaf ears. “You’re a townie, Dave. It’s not like that here. Everyone watches out for everyone else.” But then, she added “Well, the older villagers do anyway. Maybe not so much the newcomers.”

Dave learnt a newcomer was someone who hadn’t been born in the village or at least lived there more than fifty years. In the last ten, the village had seen an influx of new arrivals, due to the town’s rising house prices. In Joan’s opinion, newcomers were generally bad news, with their disregard for the “old ways.” She wasn’t about to change her way of life for anybody, least of all, them.

Joan seemed disappointed with her letters. “Nothing but the same old bills and ads. I was hoping for a little more today.”

“Er, what do you mean?” Dave asked, although he had a pretty good idea what she meant.

“Well, my daughter usually sends me a Valentine’s card. Ever since her dad died. But not this year. Maybe she’s forgotten.” 

“Perhaps you’ll get something later,” Dave said. 

“No point feeling sorry for myself,” Joan added. “Come on in. I’ve just baked a new cake and you look like you could do with feeding up.”

Dave patted his stomach. “I really shouldn’t, but if you insist.” It was a ritual they both enjoyed, built from years of trust.

Within seconds, Joan had produced a lemon cake from the pantry and placed it on the kitchen table, followed by a hot cup of tea. The cake melted in Dave’s mouth and Joan watched him trying not to drool over her china teacup. “Well?” She was bursting to know. “Did you get anything through the door this year?” 

Dave reluctantly finished the last of the cake. “If you’re on about Valentine’s Day, the answer is no. Why would I?”

“More to the point, have you got anyone you’d like to send one to?”

“Again, no. It’s all a lot of baloney, if you ask me. Just another excuse for making money. Bit like Christmas. Except that’s ok because it’s for children.”

“It’s not like you to be cynical.”

“Isn’t it?” The last time he’d given a Valentine’s card had been six years ago and that was to his ex-wife. The marriage hadn’t gone well and there had been a tussle over their son. Things had eventually settled down and Dave got to see him most weekends, but it wasn’t how he’d planned things. In his heart, he was a family man. Although he’d been on a number of dates since then, he hadn’t met anyone he felt it could last with. 

“You could have made an effort for Valentine’s Day,” Joan insisted.

Dave firmly shook his head.

“Why not?”

“Like I said. It’s all a lot of nonsense.”

“It doesn’t have to be. Not with the right person.”

“Well, I haven’t had much luck there. You know that.” Dave was beginning to regret opening up to Joan about previous dating disasters.

“It’s just that… now don’t be cross with me – I don’t usually interfere – but there’s this lovely young lady called Nicky who works in the local school. She’s about your age and single and I think you’d both hit it off. I said you’d meet her tonight outside the Nelson’s Head in town at 8 o’clock.”

“You said what?”

“Well, she was going there anyway, and you heard what I said. It took a lot of persuading, but you have a lot in common. She’s been hurt by a break-up too. It took her ages to get over Tom leaving her.”

“Right. Sounds like it’s going to be a laugh a minute.”

“Just give it a try. You can always make your excuses if it doesn’t go well. Nothing ventured, nothing gained. Go on. Do it for me.”

“If you say so.” 

“Seeing it’s Valentine’s Day, it might be nice to get her flowers,” Joan suggested.

“You mean red roses and all that tripe?” Dave grimaced as he envisaged popping into the local garage and being forced to spend a fortune on someone he didn’t even know, in what would inevitably end up being another disappointment.

 “Maybe not roses,” Joan said. “Nicky’s not exactly the conventional type.”

“What do you mean, not exactly conventional?”

“I mean she’s an individual, doesn’t follow the crowd. Don’t look so worried. She’s very nice when you get to know her.” Joan sprang up from her seat like a young girl. “I tell you what! You can give her a bunch of snowdrops from the garden. I think she’d appreciate them.”

***

After returning home and catching a couple of hours kip, Dave felt more human. Checking out his meagre wardrobe, he couldn’t decide what to wear. It was too cold to rock up in a smart t-shirt and jeans, his normal date attire, so he played it safe and opted for a pair of plain trousers, a white shirt, and fawn jacket. It made him look a bit stiff and starchy, but it was the best he could muster up at short notice. As an afterthought, he stuffed his leather jacket in a bag.

***

He hadn’t known what to expect, but the woman standing outside the pub in the moonlight was wearing skinny jeans, tan ankle boots, and a fake fur jacket. Slim and of average height, the most striking thing about her was her long wavy hair which was dyed a vivid red. Dave didn’t know what to make of her.

The figure stepped forward and held out a heavily ringed hand. “Hi, I’m Nicky. You must be Dave.” At least her voice sounded nice.

“That’s me. Er, I got you some flowers. Seeing it’s Valentine’s Day and all that, it seemed rude not to. I hope you like them.”

“Well, at least they’re not roses.”

“What’s wrong with roses?”

“Nothing, but everyone gets roses. It’s so unimaginative.” Nicky’s eyes were a vivid blue. “Seasonal and handpicked too! Thank you.”

They both laughed nervously. “Well, shall we head off?” he asked. “I have my car. Where would you like to go?”

“Have you heard of the Pike and Trout?” She named a quaint eighteenth-century inn on the outskirts of the town. Serving traditional fare, it tended to be frequented by an older clientele. Its best feature was an airy restaurant overlooking a fisherman’s lake. The rest of the place was a series of bars leading onto further dimly lit rooms, most in dire need of renovation. The rooms had numerous nooks and crannies with huge fish sealed in glass cases suspended from the walls. Nicky’s choice surprised him - he’d have expected her to have gone for something else entirely. Still, he’d always had a soft spot for the place because it made a nice change from the kind of venues he played at with the band. 

“Sounds good to me.”

***

“Have you booked a table, sir? It is Valentine’s night.” The waiter from the bar appeared harassed. 

“Oh! I never thought of that. It was a bit last-minute.” Dave hadn’t expected the place to be so busy. He turned to his date. “I’m sorry. Maybe we should try somewhere else.”

“It’s probably the same everywhere,” Nicky said. “Let’s just get a drink at the bar. That’ll do for now. What do you think?”

“Why not? What would you like?”

“I’ll have a gin and tonic. Oh, and while you’re at it, get some crisps too. I don’t mind what kind.”

“Ok.”

She pointed to one of the bar rooms. “I’ll go and find a spot through there. See you in a bit.”

***

When Dave returned, Nicky was ensconced in one of the lumpy settees.

“The only trouble is once you get into one of those, it’s not easy to get out,” Dave remarked.

“Is that your way of telling me I’m overweight?”

“Not at all,” Dave flushed. “You look… er, very nice.”

“Thanks. I don’t think.”

They sipped their drinks, their eyes drawn to the mounted glass cases. At least, she wasn’t constantly checking her phone, Dave thought. He’d put away his too.

“I wouldn’t have thought this was the sort of place you’d go for.” Dave said trying to break the ice.

“Why not?” she asked defiantly.

“Well, it’s not exactly trendy here. I mean, look at the décor. It must be years since they had a makeover. Everything about it is antiquated. Especially the furniture.”

Nicky took a sip of her drink, smiling to herself. “That’s what’s so great about it. It doesn’t try to be something it’s not. I’m not crazy about the ugly fish in glass cases, but you can’t have everything. I suppose.”

“It makes you wonder how they make it pay.”

“Well, they’re busy tonight. Maybe they make up for the quiet times when they have special events.”

“Maybe.” Dave decided to change the subject. “Joan told me you’re a teacher.”

“Yeah, I love it. I teach infants in the village school.”

“Joan mentioned you live in the village.”

“I expect she also told you how we got chatting in the local bakery. I go there as often as I can.”

“I’d have put you down as someone who likes baking their own bread, rather than buying it from a shop.”

“Oh, I do whenever I get the chance. But the bakery isn’t any old shop. I think it’s important to support the local shops. Don’t you?”

“Yeah, I guess so.” Dave who tended to rush round the supermarket once a week, hadn’t seriously considered it.

“Don’t tell me! You do all your shopping at the supermarket or online.” Her expression wasn’t exactly friendly. She clearly regarded him as part of the “problem.” 

“Well…” he looked sheepish.

“It’s just I hate to see these small businesses go under,” she said vehemently. “The bakery has served the village for two hundred years and the family are struggling to keep it going because so many people use the supermarket. It’s sad.”

“I guess the supermarket is cheaper and more convenient for most people. Perhaps they don’t have time to get to the bakery every day,” Dave suggested.

“There’s nothing to stop them going at weekends and storing loaves in the freezer if they live in the village. I was talking to one of the mums at school who also lives in the village. She’s lived there nine years and never stepped foot in the bakery. I had to stop myself from saying something.”

“Do you always get so fired up about everything?” Dave asked.

“That’s what my ex used to say. He said I should carry a soap box with me so I could stand up and preach on street corners. But I can’t help caring about things. If no one does anything, nothing changes.”

“You may well be right. But don’t you think most people are trying their best just to get through the day? There’s so much going on, they don’t have time to deal with anything other than the immediate things.”

“That’s the trouble. Most people just sleepwalk through life, and nothing improves. It’s depressing. Sometimes it seems people don’t really care about anything beyond their own petty concerns.” Her nostrils flared alarmingly. “I mean, what do you care about?”

“I care about many things,” Dave was becoming irritated. 

“Like what?”

“I care about my son. My marriage didn’t end well, and it was difficult getting to see him regularly. It’s wrong to make assumptions about people. Get to know them before you judge them.”

“I’m sorry,” she said, lightening up. “It’s hard when relationships go wrong. I should know.” Her face was transformed by a wistful smile. “I know I can be a bit belligerent at times, but it’s only because I care.” 

“It’s good to care about things,” Dave said. “And seeing you’re asking, apart from my son, I guess my main passion is music. Ever since I was sixteen, I’ve been in a rock band. What started as youthful rebellion has kept me going through the bad times. For me, music transcends everything.”

Nicky’s face lit up. “I’ve no disagreement with you there.”

***

The rest of the evening passed pleasantly enough as the pair discovered more about one another’s lives and what they had in common.

All was going well until they were about to leave. Nicky stood up waiting while Dave scrambled in a bag for his leather jacket.

“A leather jacket? Typical,” she snorted.

Dave tried not to get cross.

“Typical of what? What have you got against leather jackets?”

“I’m a vegetarian. I don’t like using animal products.”

“Humans have been using them as long as they’ve been around,” Dave said. “Anyway, that jacket is my trademark. I’ve had it since I played in my first band. I can still fit in it. Just about.”

Nicky laughed, in spite of herself. “What’s the name of your band?”

“Dip Deep. I don’t know if you’ve heard of it.”

“I have.” She was secretly impressed. Many of her fellow teachers enjoyed the band’s music, saying how professional they were. “They’re pretty well known round here, aren’t they?”

“They are.”

“It’s just that rock music isn’t really my scene. I’m more into Sia and Enya. I also love classical music. I’m a big fan of Debussy.”

“I don’t really know much about classical music, I’m afraid.”

“What! You don’t know what you’re missing.”

 “The band are actually playing a gig at the village pub next Saturday evening. How about coming along? You can always leave if you hate it.”

“I could do. Everything sounds good after a few drinks.” She grinned mischievously. “Say I do show up? What do I get in return?”

“Maybe I’ll come to a classical concert with you.”

“Sounds like a fair exchange.”

As Dave drove Nicky home, he wondered what was passing through her mind. She was certainly an intriguing character.

At last, they arrived outside a group of grey stone cottages only a road away from where Joan lived. “Well, this is it.” She turned to him, clutching her flowers. 

“I’ve really enjoyed myself, Dave. You’re not my usual type, but maybe that’s where I’ve been going wrong. I got really hurt after my last relationship ended so I don’t want to feel pressured. If it’s alright with you, I’d like to take things slowly. See how things go.” She kissed him on the cheek.

“Fine by me,” Dave said, enjoying the sensation of her lips. She wasn’t his usual type either, but there was definitely something there. 

Once she’d left him, he drew the car up near Joan’s house. After checking the curtains were closed and the lights were out, he gently dropped his unsigned card with the hearts and roses through the letterbox, before driving off. 

As he drove home, he thought about the evening with Nicky. It had certainly been different, but in a good way. He had a feeling he was going to enjoy getting to know her. He wasn’t sure how it had happened, but driving along rain-spattered roads, he suddenly felt hopeful.

Maybe there was something in Valentine’s Day after all.