Me and Mr Carrington: A Short Story Read Online Free

see, keeps them fresh. Sunlight is a killer for cut flowers. Aren’t they lovely? And expensive too.’ I nod and smile. ‘Oh, I nearly forgot. This also came with the bouquet.’ Mrs Grace takes her granny bag from the worktop and snaps it open. ‘Betty said I was to make sure you knew it arrived like this. Didn’t want you thinking she had taken a sneaky peek.’ She hands me a small gift card from her bag and I instantly feel ashamed for suspecting Betty.
    Georgie,
    Thinking of you.
    Tom, aka Mr Carrington to you! x
    God he’s gorge, in a proper gentlemanly way. I don’t think any man has ever sent me flowers just because they were ‘thinking of me’. My smile widens and my heart lifts as I slip the card into my pocket. And Tom quite clearly isn’t bothered by the other staff knowing about us as there’s no way he’d send flowers to me at work, and with such an obvious card and no envelope. He even remembered our joke by the pool that day, and I think this makes me love him, L-U-V or whatever, just a teeny bit more.
    ‘The card was bouncing around on one of those wire stems, bold as brass, so I put it in here for safekeeping and away from prying eyes.’ Mrs Grace pats her bag before plonking it in an armchair. ‘None of their business if you’re carrying on with the boss.’ She purses her lips.
Uh-oh, here we go. Lecture time
. But it doesn’t come. Instead, she drops a teabag into each cup. ‘My Stan could learn a thing or two from your Mr Carrington. Those flowers definitely didn’t come from that new Asda superstore down on the industrial estate.’
    ‘He’s not actually my—’
    ‘Well, then hurry up and make him so,’ she says, wagging a bony index finger at me.
This is a surprise
. ‘Men like him don’t come along every day. Trust me, I know. If I had my time over again …’ her voice trails off as the kettle boils and she busies herself with making the tea. ‘Don’t get me wrong, my Stan will do, but I really wish he wouldn’t spend so much time and money on those filthy birds.’ I nod politely. ‘One of the so-called homing pigeons flew away last week and never came back, and you’d think his whole world had collapsed, the fuss Stan made. Wouldn’t even eat his chip shop dinner, and everyone how much he loves a chip shop dinner.’ She purses her lips and stirs more vigorously, making the spoon clatter against the inside of the cup and the tea swirl around like a mini whirlpool. ‘Sugar?’ she stops stirring.
    ‘No thank you.’ I shake my head and she hands me a cup on a saucer. I take a sip.
    ‘Fairy cake, lovey?’ Mrs Grace pulls the lid off a Kate and Wills royal wedding-embossed cake tin and offers the contents to me. ‘They’re from Sam’s café. Leftovers from yesterday, but still perfectly fresh to eat.’
    ‘Ooh, yes please,’ I say, knowing how delish Sam’s cupcakes are – she left strict instructions for her staff to make them to her exact same recipe while she was on honeymoon, and by the looks of these creamy-peaked beauties they’ve done a brilliant job. I place my teacup on the coffee table before taking a cake and carefully peeling off the case. Mm-mmm, even better, red velvet, my absolute favourite.
    ‘Here.’ Mrs Grace offers me a napkin, which I gratefully take too, because no matter how careful you are, it’s officially impossible to not get smothered when diving into a red velvet with buttercream icing.
    ‘Delicious!’ I lick the tips of my fingers having devoured the cake in approximately one minute flat. Truly scrumptious.
    ‘Take one for Annie, if you like?’
    ‘Ooh, I’m sure she’d appreciate that. Thank you.’
    Mrs Grace wraps a cupcake in a napkin and goes to hand it to me and then stops, her hand in mid-air.
    ‘I nearly forgot.’ She puts the cake in my hand and turns to the box of scarves. After rummaging around for a bit, she says, ‘Ah, here it is.’ She looks very pleased with herself. ‘Waste not, want not. You might