Would their baby have been loved like she wanted? A designer fashion accessory wasn’t exactly what she had in mind when she thought of her own future children, back when she was married. She was better off knowing the truth, the truth about their relationship, her own body, and the life she was meant to have.
She was sitting on her couch now, her chalet smelling of cleaning products to the point of nausea, because she had been unable to get the dark, panicky thoughts out of her head. It had been a hell of a day, and she found herself sitting now staring at the coffee table as though two live grenades were perched there. Her mobile phone was one, and the box from Martha was the other. As she went to make herself a cup of tea and a sandwich, suddenly realising how famished she was, she looked outside and saw Martha in her own window. She was washing something in the sink, but her face was different somehow. She looked brighter, and from where April was standing, it looked like she was happy.
Taking her supper back through to the living room, she placed her things on the side table and picked up her phone. She downloaded the apps she could stomach. Logging in, she forced herself to bring up the relevant app and look again at the photo. Reading the comments, April scrolled down as she saw former friends, family, and colleagues all wish Duncan and his new bride-to-be best wishes on their impending new arrival. Some people were already calling the baby Mini Dunc, and April’s sadness began to dissipate. It was happy news, she could see that, but it didn’t hurt any less that people had seemingly moved on so quickly.
The truth was, it was always a case of two worlds coming together with her and Duncan, and now their worlds were further apart than ever. She didn’t leave a comment – she didn’t trust herself not to gush or sound bitter or ‘too okay’ about the situation. She had feelings. She didn’t need to lay them bare and exposed for people to feed on. Clicking on the profile, she hit the block button and going through her phone, she unfriended and blocked until she could look at her social media pages without wanting to vomit. She’d asked for someone with computer experience for reception, so as soon as she could, she would get the Shady Pines pages up and running properly, up-to-date photographs and information on collaborations with other local businesses, and delete everything else that made her sad. She shouldn’t be hiding from her phone, she knew that now, and she needed to claim her life back piece by piece. Satisfied, she put the phone to one side, and opened the box.
Right at the front of the large wooden box was a letter, tatty and well worn. Looking at the date, she could see that it was dated decades before, and addressed to Martha, at the same chalet she lived at now. No postmark though. Hand delivered. Intrigued, she took a sip of tea and carefully covering herself over with a throw from the back of the couch, she opened the letter and started to read.
To the girl who caught my eye,
I’ve had the best night of my life, thanks to you. I hope that you get this letter and feel the same. I’m not one for declaring my feelings with paper and pen, and my pals would only make fun of me, but I couldn’t wait to talk to you again. I was sitting in the games room tonight, waiting for the dance hall to open when you came past. You didn’t see me, but my mate Stuart elbowed me in the ribs and we followed you to the beach. Your mate Stella caught his eye the other day, but she had nothing on you for me. It all meant I got to meet you. Being in that water with you, I never loved the sea more, and I never thought I would say that.
My dad always said that I would know when I found someone special, and by God, did I feel it for you. Watching you paddle on that beach, laughing with your girl pals, I fell in love. I am a man in love, and I had to tell you. Will you write me? Will you write and put a young man’s poor heart out of its torment?
I beg you, write to me. We have all summer.
Wow. April read the letter three times, reading the nervous declarations of a young man and wondering what else would be in the box. If this was the first letter, what would the rest contain? They knew how to write letters back then. Romantic, heartfelt, painstaking time taken over each word, every sign-off. Getting poked on Facebook didn’t have quite the same effect somehow.
The box was full of them. Words of love, all in little cream and white parcels of outpouring and emotion. She ran her hands along them all, in awe at the treasures in the chest.
Looking through the envelopes, she saw that the handwriting changed after a while, to Martha’s hand. She had written hundreds of letters, all addressed to G. That was it, no address or name on the envelopes. Just the date of writing, and the letter G. There were no letters back though, not after a certain date, which was almost two years after the first letter. Two years of writing letters to each other, and then nothing. Just one-sided conversations. Pushing her hands through the contents of the box, April saw that the last letter was dated this month. She took a risk, and tore it open carefully. It felt like she was reading the last page of a novel before starting it, but she
