Free TheSmallPrint by Barbara Elsborg Page B

regularity—as though something was building to a climax. She swallowed hard, not liking the idea of that. As a large man lumbered down the aisle with his eye on her seat, Matty moved to plonk herself opposite. She pressed her face against the window and watched the world pass by, wishing she was properly part of it.
    * * * * *
    When Matty had piled all she needed in her basket in the grocery store, including a funny birthday card, she made her way to the register. The line for self-checkout snaked back to the cereals. Damn. No point waiting. She’d not get a chance to scan all her purchases before someone pushed in. Matty roughly totted up how much she owed and slipped fifteen pounds in front of a cashier sitting at a regular till. The gray-haired woman picked up the notes and gave them a bewildered look.
    “Sorry, in a rush,” Matty said.
    She needed to hurry. The longer she stayed away from Milford, the more tired and anxious she became. Back on the main street, Matty wandered up and down, trying to find something for Turner’s birthday. She didn’t care if he thought she was trying to bribe him into letting her stay. A bit of her was, but Matty knew what it was like to spend a birthday alone, with no presents, no cards and no cake. A month ago, that had been her. Twenty-nine years old and not one “Happy birthday” had been tossed her way. Maybe a slice of her chocolate cake would warm Turner’s heart. George had made her promise not to give up, no matter how cold Turner seemed. If she could hang on until George returned, maybe he’d have some suggestions how to crack Turner’s shell.
    Matty smiled when she spotted the perfect gift for a miserable guy who slept all day—a solar-powered orange light encased in a glass cube. A fragment of sun trapped in a jar. She put twenty pounds of her precious cash on the counter and left with her purchase.
    Forty-three pounds remained in her purse. When that was gone, she’d have to take what she needed without paying. Matty gulped. She didn’t want to steal, but she had no way to get more cash. When she’d attempted to take money from a machine in the wall it had eaten her card and told her to inquire inside. Those were the early days when she’d still been open to trying to communicate. Now she knew better.
    She caught the next bus back and walked from the middle of Milford village, feeling better and brighter with every step. Turner’s car didn’t look as though it had moved. The lazy lump was probably still asleep.
    The light blinked on the phone in the hall, the connection restored. Her heart fluttered at the thought that the message might be an old one for her. Every week or so, she listened to the same three messages on her pay-as-you-go mobile, her friend Sally wondering where she was. Matty’s finger hovered and then she pressed the button.
    “Good morning, Mr. Turner. My name’s Diana Rolfe. I’m treasurer of Milford’s Winterval committee and I’m calling to remind you you’re hosting our get-together this evening at seven thirty. Looking forward to meeting you. Bye.”
    Matty sighed. Not for her. She pressed the save button.
    “Message deleted. You have no saved messages,” said a woman’s voice.
    Shit. Now she had to admit to incompetence or invasion of privacy. Or say nothing. It seemed Turner had been told about the meeting, so maybe keeping quiet was the best option.
    There was no sound or sign of Mr. Grumpy, which was just as well as she needed to use the kitchen. Matty put the solar cube on the windowsill to charge in the sunshine and set about making the chocolate cake. She longed to scoop up a spoonful of raw mixture but restrained herself. She wouldn’t be able to swallow it.
    While the cake was baking, she tore chunks from a pack of fondant icing, colored them different shades and shaped them into a decoration for the top of the cake—a dark-haired guy tucked up in bed. Matty hoped Turner thought it was funny.
    Neither the kitchen