by Sara Martin
“Do you have the newspaper?” I asked.
“I haven’t read it yet.”
“Please can I check something.”
Hesitantly, she handed it over. My eyes were immediately drawn to a picture of Mr. Donaldson on the front page.
“That’s my teacher!”
“Oh?” Mum put her reading glasses on.
I read the headline aloud. “Local teacher’s secret author identity revealed.” I couldn’t believe it. I read the rest of the article.
High school teacher Alfred Donaldson has revealed he is author Alexander Morris. Under this name, he has ten novels published by Penguin UK. His author identity has been under wraps until his public announcement yesterday.
The news comes at the same time as his resignation from Bridgeway High School.
“I want to dedicate the rest of my years to writing,” Donaldson says.
His books are often dark and disturbing.
“I want to be free from unconscious self-censorship. Even with a pen name, this was difficult as a teacher of young people.”
The staff and students of Bridgeway High School will be sad to see him go.
“Alfred has been a valuable member of our staff for many years,” says principal Steven Young. “It is a great loss to the English department.”
“I felt it was time,” says Donaldson.
Since the announcement, Penguin have expressed interest in distributing his titles in Australasia.
“Mr. Donaldson is leaving Bridgeway High,” I said, surprisingly upset. I wondered whether my talk with him had influenced his decision. I hadn’t meant for him to leave his job.
“You’re not going back to school anyway,” Mum reminded me. She took the newspaper from me and read the article. “To think your English teacher is a successful author…”
“Didn’t I tell you that?”
Mum scratched her head. “Hmmmm… That’s right. You did. I’m sorry I didn’t take it more seriously.”
“That’s okay.”
“Mr. Donaldson encouraged you with your writing, didn’t he?”
I nodded.
Mum smiled. “He must have seen potential in you.”
“Yes, I think so.”
“Maybe this writing thing will work out for you after all.”
Her gentle admission meant the world to me. “Thanks, Mum. I really hope so.” I couldn’t linger on her words for long.
A sharp and urgent knock at the door made me jump. “Are we expecting someone?”
Mum’s brow furrowed in confusion. “I don’t think so.” She put down her cup of tea and started to get up.
“Don’t worry. I’ll get it.”
“Thanks.” She sat back down. “If it’s someone trying to sell something, tell them we’re not interested.”
I answered the door. Julian stood there, messy-haired, red-eyed. I gaped at him, too shocked to speak.
He shuffled nervously on his feet. “Ivy…”
“What happened?” I spluttered. “Aren’t you supposed to be on a plane right now?”
“There’s been a turn of events. My flight has been delayed. I don’t have much time.”
“Why are you here?”
“I couldn’t leave things the way they were.”
I was deeply aware that our conversation could be overheard. “Let’s go somewhere and talk.” I led Julian to the garden behind the house. In the cover of trees, we continued our conversation.
“What happened?” I asked, studying his face for clues. He looked as though he had aged about five years overnight.
Slowly, he chose his words. “I kept thinking about what you said about us. About the possibility of staying together…”
The painful memory was still fresh in my mind. “You shot that down pretty quick.”
Julian looked down, ashamed. “I thought turning you down was the right thing to do. It would set you free to live your life.”
“But I want you in my life,” I pleaded.
“I know, and I felt terrible. I couldn’t sleep last night, thinking about what I’d done. Deep down, I knew the truth, and I couldn’t deny it any longer.”
My heart pounded on overdrive, and my body was so tense I could snap. What is he going to say?
“Ivy,” Julian stepped towards me. He took my hand in his. “I don’t want this to be the end of us. I want it to be the beginning.”
I cried. I couldn’t help it. So much emotion had been pent up inside me, and now, it poured out freely.
Julian frowned, concern in his eyes. “What’s wrong? Have I upset you?”
I shook my head, wiping away my tears. “I’m just so happy.”
“So, you’ll be my girlfriend, then?”
“Yes. Of course, I will!”
“Then let’s make a promise.”
“What promise?”
“To reunite. When I have finished my first year of studies. When you have finished writing your novel. Meet me in Florence. I want you to come.”
He didn’t need to elaborate. Of course, the answer was yes.
“I will.”
Julian flung his arms around me. “I can’t wait.” He squeezed me so tight he lifted me up off the ground.
“Me too.” Wrapped up in his arms, I felt overjoyed. I kissed him on the lips.
We were unable to contain our grins.
He broke away. “I’m sorry. I have to go now. My flight will be leaving soon.”
I nodded. Nothing would ruin my happiness now, not even him having to leave.
He was about to go, but he hesitated. “Ivy?”
“Yes?”
“I love you.”
Fresh tears rolled down my cheeks. “I love you, too.”
39
Three months later
On a blazing summer day, a gentle breeze rustled through the lush green trees surrounding me. Cicadas chirped and water trickled in a nearby stream. Warm sunlight caressed my skin. I smiled, full of peace. I approached the structure ahead of me.
What was once an old, rundown shed had been transformed into a beautiful log cabin. This was my new home. I held the key tight in my hand. When I reached the door, I noticed a package waiting on the doorstep. I stooped down and picked it up. Turning it over in my hands, I saw it was from Julian. The return address was Flat 12C, Via Velenze, Altrarno, Florence.
My heart pounded. I took the package inside. My suitcase was on the bed since I still hadn’t unpacked. I heaved it off and sat down with the package on my knees. When I tore it open, an envelope and a gift-wrapped present fell out. I opened the envelope first. Inside was a letter. I unfolded it and read.
Dear Ivy,
It’s half past seven in the morning. From my apartment window, I can see the sun rising over the Arno river. It has been a month since I moved to Florence. I enjoyed spending time with my parents in France, but it is good to finally get settled here.
Italian lessons have been consuming my days. I still don’t feel prepared. My classes with Alberto Barsetti begin in two weeks. I’m anxious and excited.
Florence is just beautiful. You would love it here. Every street is brimming with little art studios and galleries, bakeries, cafés and gelato vendors.
It’s an art-lover’s paradise here. You’re surrounded by so much art that it’s overwhelming. I have already visited so many galleries that I think I’ve overdone it. The art here is to be enjoyed slowly—savoured. I have to keep reminding myself I’m going to be here for a long time. There’s no point in rushing.
I’m living with an Italian guy, Gio. He’s a little older than me and a graphic designer. It’s great living with a local. He knows all the best spots around town.
Living here still feels so surreal, but I know with time, this is going to feel like home.
How are you, Ivy? I think about you every day. I can’t help it. We had something good going on. It’s just the timing was all wrong. I’m counting down the days until we see each other again.
I hope
you enjoy your gift. It’s from a little bindery where they sell hand-crafted stationery. You would love it.
Please write back to me. I might not always be able to reply straight away, but trust me, I will keep in touch. It’s going to be a challenging life ahead of me. I know you will be working hard too.
Don’t give up on your writing.
Love,
Julian
Tears welled up in my eyes as I read. I had been doing my best to stay strong since Julian’s departure, but the letter brought my feelings surging back in full force. I was so overjoyed to hear from him. The gift, wrapped in exquisitely patterned paper, was heavy on my lap. I opened it, peeling away layers of paper to reveal a thick leather journal. I ran my fingers over the cover, supple and smooth. I opened the book to feel the soft and creamy pages, waiting to be filled up with words.
I will write in this notebook every day. I promise.
…
Note from the author
Thank you for reading Ink and Ivy. I hope you enjoyed it!
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