Black Friday Blues

I had queued all night for the wedding dress. Would I be the lucky one who bought it?

ICLOSED the door of my little flat, went downstairs, then hesitated, my hand raised to knock on the front door of the flat downstairs.

Should I risk another snub? On recent experience, I was pretty sure that Steve, the new tenant on the ground floor, simply liked being on his own and wouldn’t welcome being dragged out for an evening with the gang.

Yet he’d seemed so friendly at first. It was just since that evening at the cinema with my friends and me that he had changed.

Now, whenever we encountered each other coming in or leaving, he barely spoke, and obviously wanted nothing of my – our – company.

As I hesitated I heard the faint noise of the TV from inside. A lonely evening with just the box for company on a dark, late November evening?

The next moment, before I could change my mind again, I was knocking at his door.

“Hi, Steve,” I said brightly as it opened.

“Oh, hi, Jo.”

He didn’t look especially pleased to see me but I persevered.

“The gang are meeting up at the Olive Tree, that tapas bar in the market square. Fancy coming?”

“Thank you but no, I don’t think –”

The door closed slightly but I put my foot in it.

“If you’re skint, don’t worry. We’re only having a drink and the cheapest tapas.”

“But you all know each other, so –”

“But that’s only because we’re locals and have been all through school together,” I interrupted. “Don’t feel left out because of that. We’ve always got room for more. Please, Steve, we’re a friendly bunch.”

“Well . . .” he began and it suddenly struck me that he looked a bit down.

“Come on,” I said impulsively, and actually gave his hand a tug.

“Oh, well, all right. Thanks.” He gave me a faint grin. “I’ll just get my jacket.”

Much later, we all tumbled out of the Olive Tree and stood in a huddle under the awning.

“Brrr.” I shivered and turned up my coat against the late evening chill. “There’s going to be a frost, don’t you think, Jake?”

Jake, the son of a local farmer, was our expert on the weather.

“I reckon so. Well, it’s nearly the end of November, after all. But at least we’ve got all the ploughing done and the winter wheat in. How’s your grandad, Jo?”

“He’s great, thanks. He and Gran are both having a great time out there. I wish I was,” I added ruefully, then, to fill Steve in, said, “Gramps spent all his