She sang all the time. It was a wonder the radio in the kitchenette still worked after sustaining daily hits of soapy water from her singing.
A bit of a music buff, she kept pace with the top songs and artists in the charts. Pub music quizzes were her speciality, though she couldn’t enter a pub these days. Too small, too social. Large public gatherings where no-one cared to know you – they were her sole domain.
Halfway through the chorus of A-ha’s ‘Take On Me’ she thought she heard a knock on the door. Lowered the volume and listened. Heard nothing and twisted the volume knob, belting out a high note, shaking her shoulders, suds plopping onto the old radio.
The knocking came again. No mistaking it this time.
‘Postman – parcel for you!’
She’d ordered nothing. Suspicions darted around h
