Page 52 of The Life-Changing Magic of Falling in Love

And yet how could I never talk about Sarah? It’s hard enough to understand why the entire world isn’t talking about her.

Missing her.

Mourning her.

Sadness wells up and I swallow it back down, heading back out to the kitchen to make a start. Tears may be the best cleaning fluid for my heart but probably not for cleaning countertops.

I just wish I knew the etiquette for when, on a date, it’s okay to bring up why I don’t have a best friend messaging me every five minutes to check I’m safe. But I don’t even know how to start the conversation.

I thought I was ready.

I’m so not ready.

* * *

By the time I’m wondering what to do with the torn-out magazine pages on George’s desk, I’m feeling better. The physical exercise of washing all the floors in the apartment has given me back a better grasp on perspective.

As my hands trail loosely across glossy photos, I see that George has been using the magazines like an inspirational mood board. Either that or the multiple photos of pies means he has a fetish that’s getting out of control. I did say it only took a couple of weeks until clients got relaxed around their cleaners.

A quick glance at the wastepaper basket shows more photos so I’m going to go ahead and decide that the ones left on his desk are the ones he wants to keep and I start gathering them up into one pile.

It’s as I’m shuffling the pages together to stack neatly in his in-tray, I realise there’s no crossword for me to complete. Disappointment hits hard and before I know it, I’m going through the rest of his papers on his desk, trying to find it, fingers trembling like an addict craving their next fix.

He has to have left me one, surely?

I selfishly dismiss all evidence he’s going through a work thing and probably didn’t have time to leave the last clue for me as I methodically double-check the papers again, searching for it.

Maybe I should leave a crossword for him?

To help.

Before I second-guess myself, I’m heading over to my cleaning cart, pulling out my bag from the bottom shelf and diving into it for my paperback copy of The Times Crossword Puzzles. I flick through for an empty one and tear it from the book.

Back at George’s desk, I’m searching for a pen to write in the margin: In case you’re in dire need of a crossword fix.

I open the top drawer and that’s when I see the painting. Now, I don’t want to mock anyone’s artistic abilities but it’s obviously been done by a child so I can’t help it – I pull it out for a closer look. It’s a picture of a white cottage on a cobbled street with an oversized sign beside it. I’m trying to decide what the animal on the sign is as I turn it over and see the message: To Uncle George, We thought you might be missing your visits to The Bedraggled Badger with Daddy so we painted it for you. Lots of Love, Millie and Tom.

Well, how cute is that?

Obviously, he put it in the drawer to protect it before starting work but I can’t help thinking it should be displayed where all children’s paintings are best displayed, on the fridge. I’m about to put it back in the drawer when I see the newspaper with the crossword underneath it. I pull it out and realise he’s completed it. More evidence he’s feeling stressed? But, stuck on a large sticky note after the fold is a crossword clue with a note from him.

For putting away my dry-cleaning last visit: gratitude 5,3

I’m sorely tempted to write my answer as Spank You and add a question mark, instead of Thank You, but after becoming acquainted with how it feels to have my eyes pop out and my jaw hit the ground, I understand how uncomfortable an experience that can be.

Oh, yeah, also how inappropriate.

Instead, I grab one of his pens and write in the answer and then I add some boxes above and below the letter ‘o’ and write my own clue:

add a contraction before you lay out the mat, 5,7

I smile as I put the crossword in the centre of George’s now tidy desk. Will it be crossing the line to add another little note encouraging him to hang his niece and nephew’s painting? How could he not be cheered up from seeing that every day when he got in from work? Plus, if he stuck it to his fridge door it might remind him to buy some food every now and then.

Yes, I peeked inside his fridge.

And, yes, removed all the unopened out-of-date food.

And, yes, it does mean he’s been left with only a bottle of wine, a chunk of parmesan and a quart of milk.

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