Mouse by D. M. Mitchell

away to cancel things, even lifted the receiver with that intention, but then decided it was too difficult a thing to do. She could turn out the lights, lock all the doors and pretend that she was out, but he’d come knocking and knocking, and what could she do about that?
    In the end she ran a very hot bath and tried to stem her escalating agitation. Afterwards, still wrapped in her bathrobe, she ran her hand across the few dresses she possessed hanging limply in her wardrobe, and she shook her head in dismay. She didn’t have a thing to wear. Not a single thing. She hadn’t been out in years and here was the evidence of her isolation. She was going to look drab, awful, simply awful whilst he would look so dashing. He was going to be hugely disappointed.
    She wept into her palms, sitting on the edge of the bed and rocking back and forth. Her red-eyed, tousled haired reflection stared accusingly at her from her dressing-table mirror. How horrible you are, she thought; how miserable, fat, frumpy, worthless and ordinary,
    Thoroughly dejected she settled on the black dress she wore for her father’s funeral, no longer fashionable, in fact it was a little tighter around the midriff than it had been when she’d bought it. She put it on, smoothed it down and pinned on one of her mother’s brooches to brighten it up. Her shoes were plain also, flat and uninteresting. When she looked at herself in the full-length mirror she felt a fresh wave of depression swamp her. She hardly bothered to fix her hair. It defied fixing at the best of times.
    Oh well, she thought, he will get what he gets and if he decides to walk away then all good and well. It’s what she deserves after all. That’s what her father had told her: people always get what they deserve in the end, especially bad people.
    There was a knock at the front door. She swallowed hard, opened it slowly, disconsolately.
    ‘Ms Leach!’ said Casper Younge, looking dapper in a smart suit and tie. He handed her a large bunch of flowers. ‘You look positively beautiful!’
     
     
    *  *  *  *
     

7
 
Funny-Peculiar
     
    They sat at a table tucked away into a quiet corner of the restaurant. The waiter handed out menus. Laura shrank in on herself, holding the menu card like a shield to hide behind, glancing skittishly at other diners. Casper hooked an index finger over the top of her menu and teased it down a little.
    ‘Peek-a-boo!’ he said. ‘Are you trying to hide from me?’ His blue eyes sparkled in the candlelight.
    She put the card down. ‘No, of course not.’
    ‘You look uncomfortable. Are you alright?’
    She gave a jittery smile. ‘I’m not used to going out,’ she said. ‘I don’t feel as if I belong here.’
    He frowned. ‘You most certainly do.’
    ‘I feel people are staring.’
    He looked around. ‘They are far too busy concentrating on themselves,’ he said. ‘Most people generally are. If you don’t like it here we can leave.’
    ‘No, that would be terrible of me after all the trouble you have gone to, Mr Younge!’
    ‘Now then, isn’t it time you stopped calling me Mr Younge? I sound like a teacher or something. Call me Casper .’
    She smiled. ‘Like the friendly ghost,’ she said.
    ‘Yes, that’s it, a jolly old spook! Never been called that before, but it’s got spirit!’ He laughed and she laughed with him. ‘There you are, not such a bad old place after all. You must smile more often. Your face lights up when you do.’
    She lowered her head to hide her embarrassment. The waiter came to the table, asking if they’d like drinks. Laura looked across at Casper , panic widening her eyes. ‘I really don’t know…’ she said.
    ‘That’s fine. I’ll order for both of us, shall I?’
    ‘I don’t drink,’ she said quickly. ‘Water, please.’
    ‘Then I’ll have water too,’ he said. ‘A bottle of your best mountain spring water!’ he said to the waiter. ‘Are you ready to order yet, Ms Leach?’
    ‘I’ll have