Chelsea sat on her little stool by the front window and waited less than patiently. It was quarter past three and the post should have been her by now.
She tapped her watch, checking that the mechanism was still working.
She sighed and was about to go and make a cup of tea when the familiar blue and white mini box-truck rumbled into view.
“At last!” she gasped.
Chelsea longed to run out and meet the postman, but she’d been warned the last time she’d done so. They threatened to stop bringing the post to her. She’d have to make an appointment to go and get it.
Well, that wouldn’t do.
She hopped from foot to foot, watching excitedly as they thin man stuffed her mailbox with letters. She he was done, he tipped his hat and hurried back to his truck.
Chelsea ran out the door and across her front garden. She leaned over the privet and retrieved her treasures.
Gloom stormed over her as she thumbed through them. The letter she was waiting for was not among them.
Sullenly, she went back inside and dropped the bills and correspondence into the bin.
She knew she was already a winner, she just needed the letter to prove it.