The box arrived just after eight.
It was a beautiful thing. Grace gratefully received it, sighing as it was deposited in front of her feet.
“Thank you,” she said in her plummiest tone, rich and fragrant. “You have been too kind.”
Grace had been raised that when you have people to deliver and serve, you should always be gracious.
Sliding the box towards her, Grace admired it. It was from Ikea. She’d always been impressed with the ingenuity of those Swedes. The way they made their furniture, that special clever key you got when you bought something. She’d flicked through the catalogue, admiring the way they put colour together. The simplest items looked so modern, so fresh.
It was something Grace strived for, to make everything ordered. These people from Ikea made it so easy. Admirable.
Grace fumbled with the box. It was going to be an enjoyable afternoon, putting this thing together, working out how to make things just so.
Mavis down the way was going to be so envious. Grace knew she was too good for this street, this place. And Grace wasn’t going to dissuade her of that notion. Grace liked quality. Knew quality.
The box was unfolded. It made such a beautiful sight.
Grace took the box of quality and laid it to rest over the other the boxes. A perfect fit. She would sleep soundly tonight under the railway arch even though it threatened rain, safe in the knowledge of such quality above her head.