Nothing written on the front, or the back. Where had it come from? Who was it for?
Connor got to his feet, only bothering to brush the dirt from his knees when he tried to get it off his hands. He looked around. Pointless. Of course, there was nobody there. Nobody could get into his garden. Unless they crawled through the delivery slot cut in the bottom of the steel gate.
The envelope looked fresh. Clean. New. It had been so long since he’d seen anything fresh or clean or new – or different – that he didn’t know what to do with it.
So he took it inside and tossed it into the decontamination corner while he washed his hands. Next to yesterday’s food parcel and three bottles of brandydrink he’d been saving for a special occasion.
Automatic reflex. Anything that came into the house sat in the corner like a naughty child until any trace of the virus had been starved into submission.
But as he dried his hands, he shook his head. How long was paper supposed to be left? Wasn’t going to happen. There wasn’t enough self-control left anywhere to ignore an unopened envelope for longer than the few minutes it took him to grab a pair of gloves and a new facemask from the box he kept on the hall table.
He reached down and picked up the envelope. Held it up to the light. Shook it. Almost put it next to his ear to see if he could hear anything rattling around inside.
Instead, he sat in his favourite lounge chair, took a deep breath, and broke the wax seal.
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