Page 29 - The Letter By Ann Newhouse

As I lay with the bedclothes tucked under my chin, I though how quiet and dark my surroundings were. Not even the noise of the farm animals to keep me company, I guess they had to have their beauty sleep too.
I slept very well, waking to the sound of the cock crowing. I glanced at my mobile phone and it read 6 am. Unable to get back to sleep I reluctantly descended the stairs and to my delight I watched the sunrise and my neighbour driving his cattle to pasture. So, this is country life I told myself as I flipped the switch on my coffee machine. I called Sherry my best friend in Ireland to wish her a happy New Year, although, it was the middle of January. She excitedly told me about her new man. He owned his own company and house. He was tall dark and handsome, and his name was Brian Farrell. A ring at my door gave me a chance to finish our conversation sooner than Sherry would have liked but I hung up promising to write.
I opened the door to a tall burly man smiling from ear to ear.
‘Hello, I’m Joe, your local postman!’ he beamed ‘just thought I’d introduced myself’ ‘Hi I’m Amber, Amber Shankey, that’s me’ I was caught off guard, ‘pleased to meet you’.
‘I also run the odd errant when need be’, he continued unperturbed ‘your neighbour old Mrs. Cannon lives alone and can’t get out in this weather so I help her out’.
Still smiling he moved a little closer to the open door, ‘ah that’s a very homely aroma to my nostrils, tis a cold day is this’.
I then realized he was looking for an offer of an invite and a brew.
‘Do come in and have a coffee to help you on your way’, I stepped aside to allow him in.