I’d left the curtains open and the moon was high in the sky. It cast a glow over the sea that, unusually for the time of year, was calm that evening. Not that the thought would have entered my head, but leaving this for the city lights, the honking cars at all hours, and the rowdiness of people on the streets, would be madness. I felt calm, peace surrounded me; Mother Nature was taking care of my soul.
I dozed on and off throughout the night. When the sun started to rise I felt exhausted. I had to force myself to climb out of bed. Forgoing a shower, I dressed quickly and headed downstairs. The only noise was the gentle snores from Lucy, who was curled up in her bed beside the boiler. Without opening her eyes, she wagged her tail a couple of times. I dreaded the day we’d have to say goodbye to her. She’s been a constant companion to us all, especially for Dad, for years.
I made tea and opened the back door. Although December, it looked as if it was going to be a bright day. I preferred winter on the coast. There were fewer tourists than the summer months, obviously. As I sipped on my tea, I remembered back to my childhood. Each day outside of school would be on the beach. As I got older, perhaps late teens, I began to resent living in Cornwall. I wanted some excitement, and as soon as I could, I’d headed to University in London. It was where I’d met Trey.
I smiled at the thought of our first meeting. It had been in the university’s coffee shop. I had queued for my coffee and he’d bowled in straight to the front of the line, oblivious to the complaints that followed him. When he had realised, he’d bought the coffee for everyone in the line. That was Trey all over. He was extremely generous and kind-hearted.
We’d dated for a short while, and we’d broken each other’s hearts when he left to go home to support his mum after the death of his father. I didn’t see him for another year, until one day he turned up at the flat I was sharing. Unbeknown to me, he’d contacted my dad and asked for my address.
I took a deep breath in, the gentle breeze rustled the dune grass, and its sound was as therapeutic as a wind chime. I walked to the end of the garden; just over the fence was the edge of a cliff. I leant on the fence and looked out to the horizon. We’d often see dolphins cruising past, leaping and playing in the surf. I squinted against the sun, hoping to see their fins.
“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” I heard. I startled, spilling my tea down the front of my sweatshirt.
Walking along the coastal path was Daniel. Out of his ‘vicar’ clothes: he wore jeans, walking boots, and a heavy knit sweater. His hair was dishevelled, as if he hadn’t bothered to brush it that morning.
Daniel smiled as he came towards me and leant on the other side of the fence.
“I bet your dad hates this footpath just outside his garden. I can imagine in the summer it’s a nightmare.”
I nodded; it had been an annoyance on occasions. Walkers would stop, stare into our garden, or sit with their feet dangling over the cliff edge causing Dad all sorts of anxiety.
“I walk along here each morning, I guess I can’t really call it exercise. Want to walk with me?”
I nodded again, holding up one finger and pointing to the house. I wanted a coat. I jogged into the house and grabbed a lightweight jacket from the back of the door, left my mug on the counter, and picked up a pad and pen, and then joined Daniel.
I had to run around the side of the house to get to him. Years ago, there had been a gate at the bottom of the garden; Dad had gotten rid of that. He worried about people coming in, and us kids getting out. I smiled my thanks as Daniel placed his hand on my back and ushered me to the side of the path furthest from the cliff edge. It was rather an old-fashioned, gentlemanly thing to do, but I appreciated it.
“I know it’s not your thing, Dani, but I can’t help but stop and look at the beauty that has been created for us. I’m in awe sometimes, does that sound really strange?” he laughed, and I found myself smiling at the sound.
I’d be surprised if you weren’t, I wrote on my pad.
“I haven’t always been a vicar. I’ve always been a believer, of course. Would you believe me if I told you I was in a band? I’d love to lie and tell you we were super famous, but I think Him upstairs might be a little pissed off with me if I did.”
The laugh that left my mouth startled me enough to slap my hand over it.
“You know, you can laugh but not speak. I have a theory on that, want to hear it?”
I nodded, smiling at that smirk that played not only on his lips, but also around his eyes.
“Laughing is safe, words are not. You don’t want to speak, maybe because you don’t want to say the words that swim around your mind, that sit just on your tongue, busting to come out. But to laugh? Well, that’s something different. It’s just a sound, there’s no fear of it turning into a word. I can imagine you want to curse, scream at God, anyone, don’t you?”
I stopped walking, and he turned to face me. “I’ve never experienced the depth of grief you have. My mother died, but that was a long time ago. I can imagine how you feel, however, I’ve seen it too many times, sadly.”
I feel guilty for laughing. I’m not happy, but for that one moment, I was. It confuses me, I wrote.
“I can imagine. It’s okay to have those ‘one moments,’ Dani. At some point, those moments will be more moments, until you can freely be happy without the guilt. I’m glad I was able to make you laugh.”
He turned and we continued to walk, for a while, it was in silence. We came to a bench and sat. Daniel stretched out his legs and raised his face to the sun. He closed his eyes and I watched his mouth move, as if in silent prayer.
I just found out you and Miller are brothers, I didn’t know, I wrote on my pad. When Daniel opened his eyes, I placed the pad in front of him.
“Yes, I’m three years older. We were always so close growing up, but we drifted apart for a while. He was very troubled…” His sentence trailed off as he looked out to sea.
I was curious but didn’t want to ask anymore. I guessed Daniel hadn’t meant to divulge such a personal statement. There was a pained look on his face, and I could have kicked myself for spoiling the moment.
Daniel placed his hands on his knees, and after a deep breath in, with a slow exhale, he stood.
“I have to start making my way back. I’ll have a group of old ladies, headed up by Mrs. Hampton, bashing down the church door shortly.” He laughed as he spoke and I was pleased to see the humour back in his eyes.
“Honestly, Dani, I think they believe I am totally incapable of anything. I keep telling them, I was motherless when I was younger, I know how to make a bed and iron a shirt.”
We walked side by side and Daniel talked the whole journey back. He pointed out different birds; he named the dune grass we passed, and had me laughing a second time with anecdotes of the ‘old biddies,’ as he called them, who ran his life and the church.
All too soon, we’d arrived back at Dad’s garden. “It was a pleasure to spend some time with you, and I’m sure we’ll get to the bottom of who Anna really is.”
I smiled my goodbye and watched him walk away. I circled the house to the side gate.
“There you are, we were worried.” Dad’s voice carried down the garden. I turned to see him standing with Miller.
Miller didn’t seem to be as happy to see me as Dad was. Although he smiled, it seemed to be forced.
Daniel and I took a walk along the path, I wrote.
“I bet the fresh air did you the world of good,” Dad said with a smile.
We had a nice time, I laughed! I enjoy his company.
I nodded, shrugging off my jacket and accepting the steaming cup of tea he handed me. I turned to Miller and gave him a smile, he didn’t quite meet my eyes and I frowned.
I didn’t know you were brothers, I wrote, showing the pad to Miller.
There was a moment of awkwardness. “We’re not close,” he said.
I looked at Dad, not knowing what to say next.
“How about a fresh cup of tea,
Miller?” Dad said, diffusing the tension that seemed to have mounted.
“That would be great, thanks, Alistair,” Miller said.
I saw the transition. Miller was very transparent with his emotions. A wall had been erected and I knew not to ask any more questions. After all, he was my builder, not a personal friend. I felt a little disappointment in that; I’d have liked to have a friendship with him. I thought that might have made working together easier.
I picked up the roll of plans; assuming Miller had visited for a reason and laid them out on the kitchen table. I sat, expecting him to also sit. He stood, waiting for Dad to finish making the tea. I reached for my pad and wrote.
I’ve gone through these, there’s nothing I’d like to change, so can we go ahead?
I tapped the pad with my pencil to gain his attention. The Miller that turned towards me and sat was the one I’d seen the most of. He smiled and nodded, his earlier mood concealed.
“That’s great,” he said.
I signed the documents to give him the go ahead to proceed and we shook hands to seal the deal. He took one copy and folded it in half; he left the other on the table.
Do you need these? I wrote, tapping the plans.
“No, they’re your copies. Like I said before, I’ll get started with a pre-application, that will give the council a chance to decide if there’s anything they don’t like before we go with the full application.”
“Do you anticipate any problems, Miller?” Dad asked, taking the seat beside him.
“Not really, there are enough parking spaces. They do get a bit anxious about that. It’s a sympathetic conversion to a building that’s outlived its purpose. I’ve dealt with the planning officer many times, he’s usually a good guy, never caught him on a bad day yet,” he said with a laugh.
For an hour or so after Miller had left, I sat and pondered on his reaction to seeing me with Daniel. He’d said they weren’t close, in fact, he hadn’t acknowledged Daniel in any way. But that didn’t excuse his attitude towards me. He confused me but I decided I wasn’t going to worry about it. I’d keep a professional relationship with him. It would have been nice to have a couple of friends locally. Since we were probably the only three in the village under the age of sixty, it was a shame that wasn’t likely to happen.
The sound of the letterbox rattling brought me out of my thoughts. Dad had popped up to the local shop as we were low on milk, or maybe he just wanted a chat with Mrs. Hampton. I walked to the front door and saw the familiar purple envelope on the mat. If I could time when I was likely to get a response from Lincoln, I’d sit by the living room window and see if I could catch who was delivering the letter. I bent down to pick it up.
I held the envelope in my hand for a while, just staring at our two names on the front. The flap was held down with fresh tape but I wasn’t sure how long the envelope would survive. It was torn on one corner, frayed on another. I took the letter upstairs, wanting some privacy when I read it. Dad was due back soon.
Dani,
I’m glad you find these letters therapeutic; I do, too. I rarely talk about emotion, or how I’m feeling. It’s not the done thing for a guy, we’re supposed to ‘get over it’ or ‘move on.’ I was even told that I’d spent enough time mourning; it was time to pull myself together. That comment hurt, especially since it was from a family member.
Is it selfish of you to want to experience something positive? Of course not. Looking forwards is all you have, Dani. You can spend your life looking back, but you’ll end up standing in one place. I don’t believe you’d want that. It took me a long time to understand that concept; the drink paralysed me for a while. I did some stupid things; spoke terrible words to those that cared about me. I alienated myself, and for a long time, I was happy about that. I didn’t want their pity, their concern, and I didn’t want to infect them with my misery.
I’m also happy to hear you’re going to a therapist. I believe you have so much to say, can you imagine how wonderful it will feel to speak out the words you want to when you visit Trey and Hannah? Those words will float off, Dani, to be heard by them wherever they are. Thoughts can only be contained within the mind. Words are free. Which is why, I guess, they are also so abused.
We lost power, too. It took until the end of the following day for us to be reconnected. Like you, I sat with the fire roaring and the candles burning. It made me think of how much time is wasted with a blaring television or the undecipherable music on the radio. It was nice to just sit and think, to read a little, and to ponder on life.
It’s the third anniversary of Anna’s death soon. I don’t intend to hide away. Do you remember what I said about her hair? I’m going to do what she wanted, and throw it out to sea. She had such a fascination with the sea, loved being in it at all times of the year. She’d always wanted to be a marine biologist, but sadly, she’d never gotten her desired career. That was my fault.
I have many regrets; I have many wrongs to right. It’s only now, and I thank you for this, that I feel able to start that next leg of my journey.
Make that appointment, Dani, let your words be free.
Lincoln.
I read his letter a couple of times. There was something maudlin about it. There wasn’t one particular thing that jumped out at me, just the tone of what he’d written. I guessed coming up to Anna’s passing anniversary had done that. I wondered, again, if my writing to him prompted him to think of her and her death more than he wanted to.
Even more so, I wanted to know who Lincoln was.
Chapter Ten
Christian made a surprise visit, without Helen or Alistair. He looked tired, dark circles framed his normally blue eyes that seemed dull with stress. His shirt was unusually creased, and there was a stain on the lapel of his jacket. At first, I assumed it was the ‘new baby thing,’ but when he avoided all reference to Helen and Alistair, I became concerned. He’d been sitting talking about my house; the agents had received an offer for the asking price from the first viewing. Christian had thought we should refuse and see if we can achieve a little more. I wasn’t particularly fussed. I told him to go ahead and accept the offer.
Periodically, Dad would look over to me. I could see the concern etched in his face. He knew something was wrong as well. Christian was often a private person but his body language screamed that all was not right.
Take a walk with me? Let me show you what we’re doing with the barn, I wrote.
He didn’t look up from the pad but slowly nodded. Dad gave me a very slight nod of his head, as if he’d approved of my question.
“How about I sort out some lunch while you two catch up?” Dad said.
“That sounds good,” Christian replied.
We rose and donned coats before leaving by the back door. I took his hand in mine while we walked towards the barn.
I pulled the creaking door open and we walked in.
Those boxes are all yours. We haven’t looked through them, thought you might like to, I wrote on my pad.
“Are you going to ever talk again?” Christian asked, surprising me.
I hope so. I’m making an appointment to see a therapist in a week or so.
“It would be nice to have a conversation with someone.”
Again, his comment surprised he. He slumped down in one of the chairs beside a pile of boxes. He pulled one towards him and opened the lid. It was a bitter laugh that left his lips when he pulled out an old small, wooden, cigar box.
Christian, are you okay? I know you’re not, but if you want to talk, I’m here, I wrote.
I wasn’t sure if the snort was in response to what I’d said or what he’d found in the cigar box. He opened the lid and pulled out a pile of letters.
“Helen has been having an affair. I don’t know if Alistair is my child or not.”
His words stunned me. I sat on a chair opposite him and reached out to take one of his hands in mine. Eventually, he looked up at me, his eyes were filled with tears.
; “It’s why we haven’t invited you, or Dad, over. The atmosphere is just fucking awful, right now. I don’t know what to do about it all. I mean, I know what I want to do. If it weren’t for Alistair, I’d walk. She’s begging my forgiveness, telling me Alistair is mine but refuses a DNA test. That tells me all I need to know really.”
Oh God, Chris. I can’t imagine how you feel right now. Can you do the test without her consent? Do you need to do the test? What does your heart tell you? Does it matter whose child he is? I wrote.
“I can, and I will. But having her agree would have satisfied my mind a little. I don’t think she knows who the father is. And you know what? It does matter, to me. I’ll love Alistair no matter what, but it matters, Dani. I can’t go through life not knowing.”
What if you find out he isn’t yours? How will you feel then?
“I don’t know, is the honest answer. He’s innocent in all this, but I can’t see past what Helen has done, and I don’t think I can live with her. I know I can’t forgive her. I asked her what I did wrong. I work hard, provide a nice life for us, I want to know why I wasn’t enough. I’m going to get Christmas out of the way and then make some decisions. She’s planned this fucking big Christmas with all her family, and I’m not sure I can keep up the pretence anymore.”
I was hurt by his statement. There had been no thought of Dad, or me, in their Christmas plans.
Is she still having the affair? Do you know who it is?
“No, so she says, of course. And no, she won’t tell me who it is, although I suspect it’s someone she used to work with.”
Letters to Lincoln Page 9
