Five French Hens. Judy Leigh

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      Jen woke early in the morning; her eyes immediately opened wide and she listened. She sat upright in bed, her heart pounding. She’d heard a noise downstairs. She held her breath. The digital alarm said it was almost seven o’clock. She listened harder, her ears straining against the silence. There it was again, a soft bump like a footfall. It had come from the living room. Jen breathed out imperceptibly. It hadn’t come from outside; it wasn’t the soft gliding of a milk float – there hadn’t been one in the street for years – or the heavy rumble of the bin men’s lorry. It had sounded like someone bumping against furniture. It was a burglar.

      Jen called out, ‘Who’s there?’

      The fear in her own voice made her tremble. She slid out of bed and reached for her dressing gown, pulling it over her nightie. Somehow a second layer made her feel safer. She edged to the top of the stairs, her feet barely touching the carpet. She held onto the banister, supporting each step she took. At the bottom of the stairs, the front door was locked; she’d locked it last night after Eddie had left. Jen listened; empty silence rang in her ears, and then the noise came again, a brief brushing sound, once.

      ‘Who’s there?’ Her voice was a little stronger but her legs were trembling. She edged towards the door, pushed it open slowly and turned the corner into the living room. Her heart leapt as she saw a hunched shape and a pair of green eyes narrowing in her direction.

      ‘Gus!’

      Jen glanced from the black and white cat to the open curtains: she had left the top window open and the neighbour’s cat had clambered through. She blew air from her mouth in relief as Gus scuttled towards the front door to be let out. She turned the key and opened the door, watching him rush out into the quiet street.

      Jen decided she needed to settle her nerves: she’d make herself a cup of strong tea; perhaps she’d have toast and marmalade. She sank onto the sofa and put her head in her hands.

      She’d left a window open. It was a small gap, but a burglar could have easily crawled through into her home. She was by herself, vulnerable, prey to all sorts of dangerous people.

      At once she wanted Eddie to hold her in his arms, to pull her to him and tell her she was safe. If he’d been there, she wouldn’t have been so afraid. He’d have stood up to a burglar; he’d have been strong.

      It was suddenly crystal clear. She loved Eddie; she needed him. They should be together. Not only would she be safer, but she wouldn’t be alone. It made complete sense. Eddie was right, she knew it. He was sensible; he was just what she needed in her life: stability, comfort. Jen took a breath. She knew what she had to do, and at once. She reached for her mobile and dialled his number. Eddie answered almost immediately, his voice a crackle, concerned and reliable.

      ‘Jen? It’s half past seven. Are you all right, my dear?’

      ‘Yes.’ That was the word she wanted to say. Jen was breathing rapidly. ‘Yes, Eddie – I’ve never been better. And if you want to ask me again, that’s my answer – yes.’

      He was quiet for a moment and then he chuckled softly. ‘Are you saying you’ll marry me, Jen? Really? Well, that’s wonderful news.’

      She was smiling, her face stretched with happiness and relief. The warmth in his tone told her she had made the right decision.

      ‘Eddie… yes, I’m sure.’

      ‘Excellent. This calls for a celebration. Can you meet me in the café on the seafront – Coffeelicious? It opens at nine. I’ll buy you breakfast.’

      Jen nodded, her heart pounding. She realised Eddie couldn’t hear her, so she added, ‘Yes, yes, yes,’ and beamed again at the sound of the word.

      ‘Oh, then I’ll see you soon, my dear,’ Eddie whispered. ‘And I’ll bring the ring along, shall I?’