Trepidation

An envelope. How could an envelope be so significant? She turned it over, racked with indecision as to whether to open it now or to shove it in the nearest drawer which was filled with other, similar envelopes. Putting off the deed wasn’t going to make things any easier, she knew that to her cost. Toast. She would fortify herself with toast and home made jam. No use in facing the inevitable on an empty stomach. She put the envelope behind the clock and went to the kitchen.

Each mouthful of toast tasted of dust and ashes. Each sip of tea was hemlock. With an exclamation of self-disgust she pushed away her plate and cup. What was she to do? Things hadn’t always been like this. Once upon a long ago she’d rushed to gather up the post with eager hands, ripping open the envelopes with frantic fingers. Envelopes had been her friends, her joy bringers. Now, her hands shook with trepidation rather than anticipation.

The cat scratched at the back door wanting to go out into the sunshine. How she hated the sunshine just now. Its mocking rays flooded in at the windows. She wished the sky was filled with rain-pregnant clouds; how much more fitting for her mood that would be. The steady tick, tick, tick of the clock reminded her that it was useless to put things off any longer. Her laggard steps took her back to the lounge. She tried not to look at the mantelpiece as she shifted magazines, ornaments from one place to another.

‘Oh damn it, why, why?’ Stomach churning, she gingerly withdrew the envelope and sat in the armchair. At least she may as well be comfortable as she received the news. With a last burst of bravado she ripped open the flap and extracted the sheet of paper. At first, none of the words made any sense. They may as well have been written in Sanskrit … then, slowly, surely, each typed letter formed into words, each word coalesced into sentences, each sentence conveyed the message – and what a message.

‘Dear Mrs Jones, after due consideration, even though you did not make the shortlist, we are pleased to offer you the post of librarian. Your starting date will be in two weeks’ time, starting at 08.30 am. …’

She did a little jig about the room. It was time for a celebratory chocolate biscuit at the very least – but first, she must phone Jenny – not to gloat of course, but her neighbour had been so confident of getting the job. And a little one upmanship didn’t hurt – did it?