Page 36 of The Lucky Winners
It’s not long after I get back from Tilda’s that I hear the buzz at the gate. I wipe my hands on a tea-towel, toss it over the back of a chair and open the door to find Sarah standing there, grinning, her cheeks flushed from the fresh air.
She’s balancing a paint-splattered toolbox in one hand, a cloth bag tucked under her other arm. ‘Hello!’ she says, bright and chipper, as if she’s stepped out of a feel-good commercial for natural haircare.
‘You sound full of bounce,’ I remark, as she kicks off her boots by the mat, revealing grey wool socks with tiny yellow ducks on them. ‘You look a bit more casual than you did on Friday night.’
‘Yes, she was my alter-ego.’ She gives me a wicked grin. ‘She likes to lead me astray.’
I chuckle but there’s something I’m curious about. ‘I was with a neighbour at the bistro, Tilda. She lives just down the hill – I just got back from visiting her. Sorry I didn’t get a chance to introduce you. Maybe you recognized her?’
Sarah frowns. ‘Tilda? No, I don’t think so.’
Her cheeks flush ever so slightly. Judging by her reactions earlier, Tilda definitely seemed to know her.
‘Let’s tackle this kitchen, then, shall we?’ Sarah says brightly, glancing around. ‘This is going to look amazing once it’s done. You’ve got great taste.’
‘OK. Flattery will get you more biscuits.’
She laughs, tearing off a length of tape. ‘Noted.’
There’s a young, vibrant energy about Sarah, the kind that rubs off on others.
‘I can’t wait for the reading nook to be done,’ I say, as she sets her things down in the kitchen. ‘I know you haven’t started it yet, but still …’
Sarah laughs, a light, easy sound that makes the room feel warmer. ‘Promise it’s top of my priority list, soon as I’ve tackled this beast.’ She waves a hand at the kitchen wall. ‘I’ll prime it today and apply undercoat to cover up the red, and I’ll put the new colour on tomorrow.’
I lean against the doorway, watching her unpack brushes and rollers from the bag with the kind of precision that suggests she takes this seriously. ‘How long have you and Jack been together?’ I ask, thinking about what he’d confided in Dev at the pub.
She glances up, a soft smile tugging at her mouth. ‘Five years, but he only proposed last summer. He booked us a weekend in Wales – he’d got the ring and everything. I’m still not sure how he managed to keep it a surprise … He’s terrible at keeping secrets usually.’
I can’t help but smile back. Her warmth and honesty are infectious. ‘He sounds like a good one.’
‘He is.’ She dips a brush into the paint with practised ease. ‘Hardworking, too. Always covered in grease from Mower World, but he’s got the biggest heart. And he makes a mean cup of tea. But … I wish he had more faith in himself.’
‘In his own abilities, you mean?’
She nods. ‘Jack is a content person by nature, which is lovely. But I think he’d be happy just staying as he is. I don’t think he’d bother if we rented the same crummy flat for our entire lives. I feel like I’m always pushing him to stretch his expectations. Probably not fair of me.’
I feel a bit guilty for the suspicion I’ve harboured for Jack.
Maybe it’s just the protective part of me that’s wary of strangers.
But hearing Sarah talk about him like that softens something inside me.
She’s obviously very fond of him. But seeing her out having a good time on Friday night has given me a bit of insight into her zest for life, too.
As Sarah works, I set about choosing some new bedding online. Our conversation flows as easily as the white undercoat she’s started to apply to the wall. There are no awkward pauses, no sense of having to fill the silence with forced chatter. It’s comfortable. Easy.
At some point, while she’s balancing on a stepladder, I mention that Dev and I are useless at decorating.
‘My dad showed me how to do it. He had his own decorating business. I was adopted, but my parents were both brilliant,’ Sarah says.
‘They made me feel I could do anything I put my mind to. I couldn’t have asked for better people in my life.
I really like doing this in my spare time, but teaching is my passion. ’
I feel an unexpected tug in my chest and I’m inspired to share a little something of myself. ‘I was fostered,’ I reply quietly. ‘Didn’t have quite the same luck, though.’
Sarah doesn’t push. She simply nods, her gaze steady but not intrusive. It’s a rare thing, finding someone who knows when to leave space for silence.
‘Sounds like you landed on your feet though, meeting Dev,’ she adds, with a bright, genuine grin that makes it hard not to like her even more.
The time drifts on, marked by the rhythm of brushes against plaster and the soft hum of conversation.
We talk about books, naturally – it’s impossible not to with the reading nook looming in my mind, like a promised treat.
Turns out we both have a soft spot for short stories, especially the ones that linger long after you’ve closed the covers.
‘Nothing beats getting lost in a good book, does it?’ Sarah wipes a smudge of paint from her cheek with the back of her hand. ‘Except maybe finding someone else who you can talk to for hours about it.’
By the time she packs up mid-afternoon, the kitchen is brighter, fresher, like it’s starting to become part of the home I imagined when I moved in. I walk Sarah to the door.
‘See you tomorrow, Merri,’ she says, picking up her toolbox.
‘Looking forward to it,’ I reply, and I mean it.
As the door clicks shut behind her, I stand for a moment, the quiet of the house settling around me. It doesn’t feel quite so heavy in here now. And that, I decide, makes all the difference.