by Karen Osman
‘Will you see them for Christmas?’
‘No, but I will take the children up there on the train for New Year, just for a few days.’
‘Sounds fun!’
‘Yes, they always enjoy it but it hasn’t got any easier as they’ve got older! Do you have kids?’
‘No, I don’t but—’
‘Sorry about that – the queue took for ever!’ burst in Jan. ‘It’s amazing what women talk about in public loos…’ And she was off, their conversation overtaken by Jan’s hilarious stories.
As Jan paused for breath, Mr Barnes took the opportunity to ask her what she would like to drink.
‘Half a lager, please!’
Turning to Kate, Jan commented, ‘Wine, eh? That’s a bit posh.’ Kate blushed at being caught out while Mr Barnes rescued the situation. ‘She deserves it after all her work on her writing this term.’
‘She does indeed, Mr Barnes, she does indeed!’ Winking at Kate, Jan exclaimed, ‘Cheers!’ before leading Kate into conversation with the two spinster sisters, Elizabeth and Mary.
By ten thirty, Kate was on her third glass of wine and feeling quite tipsy. She didn’t drink that often – children and hangovers didn’t go that well together. All three drinks were bought for her and she was conscious she hadn’t bought any drinks for anyone else.
‘Can I get you a drink, Mr Barnes?’ she asked.
‘Thanks, Kate! I’m afraid my upbringing as a gentleman would not allow me to accept. However,’ he said with a genteel bow, ‘can I get you another white wine? Or how about some champagne?’ Before she could protest, he had called out to the barman: ‘A glass of your finest champagne, sir, for the lady here. She is about to become England’s next famous author. What do you think, Kate? Are you ready for stardom?’
Amused, and slightly light-headed, Kate retorted, ‘Oh, absolutely! I’ll save you a signed copy.’ And then with a touch of flirtation added, ‘If you’re lucky, that is!’
Not missing a beat, ‘I consider myself very lucky,’ responded Mr Barnes. ‘Especially when it comes to beautiful authors with great potential!’
Kate laughed. It didn’t mean anything. Everyone was having a good time. The room was warm and lively and the wine was making her brazen. At the same time, she was aware of how close Mr Barnes was and how his hand brushed hers when he leant over to pay for her drink.
‘Can I walk you home, Kate?’ he asked smoothly. And with that, Kate drew a breath. It sounded intimate and reminded her of when her husband had walked her home after their first date. It was much the same weather: cold and crisp, creating the perfect scenario to keep each other warm.
‘Thank you, but I’ll be leaving with Jan shortly,’ she said, slightly cooler than she had intended.
‘Of course! Well, I hope you have a great Christmas and New Year. I also meant to ask you if you wanted to come along to a book club I’m part of? We’re always looking for new members and I remember you saying that you had started reading a lot again. The next meeting is 16 January and the book of the month is George Orwell’s 1984.’
‘Thank you, that sounds good. Can I let you know in January? If I’m at next term’s writing class…’ Kate felt foolish. He was only trying to be friendly. There was nothing in his invitations.
‘No problem,’ he responded amiably. ‘Here’s my number so if you decide to come, I can give you the details of where to meet. I do hope you make it next term – it would be great to see you develop your manuscript even further.’
‘Thanks.’ Taking the number, Kate slipped it into her jeans pocket. ‘Have a great Christmas, too.’
As he left, Kate glanced after him, not noticing Jan come up behind her.
‘Did he just give you his number?’ she asked quizzically.
‘Yes, but it’s so I can make a decision about a book club and whether I’ll be here next term.’
Unusually for her, Jan didn’t say anything but the slightly arched eyebrow didn’t need much of an explanation.
‘Come on,’ said Kate, suddenly sober. ‘Let’s get home.’
Chapter 19
Catherine
It had been six weeks since Catherine had written her last letter to Michael. She hadn’t expected a response within the first couple of weeks, but when a month went by and the only post was bills, circulars, and Christmas cards, she began to panic that her more intimate approach had backfired. She could feel herself becoming more and more agitated, as Christmas grew closer. She simply couldn’t lose him now, after she had worked so deliberately to build a bond with him. She had contemplated writing to him again to see if everything was all right but then worried that it would appear too intrusive. In the end, with Christmas fast approaching, she had sent him a Christmas card – no letter – just ‘Season’s Greetings’, and a small gift, which was a book, The Fry Chronicles. She had thought long and hard about the book she would send. She wanted something that reflected today’s culture but was also humorous and uplifting. For herself, she chose something dark, treating herself to The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo.
Checking her watch, Catherine sighed heavily. After breakfast that morning, she had driven to Kendal to get some last-minute Christmas gifts. She had already done most of her shopping and didn’t really have to go, but she felt the need to get out of the house and keep busy. She was surprised at how much the absence of a letter from Michael was affecting her. She normally enjoyed these excursions. The pleasure of being able to wander as she pleased for as long as she liked, stopping off at Farrer’s coffee shop before exploring the indoor market, was usually something she looked forward to, a chance to have a break from the regularity of her daily schedule. However, today she felt irritable and uneasy. The traffic seemed worse than usual, and it was pelting down with rain, bringing a cold chill that seeped through her layers. Despite this being a weekday, the small town was busy, due to the Christmas rush, and Catherine felt herself becoming annoyed as the throng of shoppers quickened their pace to match their hectic lives. While she was in no hurry, she had to admit it wasn’t much fun browsing in this weather. Making a snap decision, she popped into a nearby newsagent’s, picked up the local paper, and headed to the nearest coffee shop. Lucky enough to find a seat, she removed her coat, ordered, and sat back to browse the paper. She almost missed it, but for the fact that her coffee appeared at that moment, interrupting her turning to the next page. She checked again and there it was, no more than a few inches of column space.
Durham Prison Suicide
A man was found dead in the early hours of the morning at HM Prison Durham earlier this month. The cause of death is believed to be suicide, although no official spokesperson from the prison has confirmed or denied the report. The unnamed man was apparently serving a life sentence for murder. No further details have been released, although his family was informed at the time of the incident. The number of prison deaths across England and Wales has fallen since 2004 with an average of 130 deaths per 100,000. In 2009, the number of inmates who suffered a self-inflicted death was sixty-one.
Almost in disbelief, Catherine read the article again. Could it be Michael? Is that why she hadn’t heard from him? Her heart began to pound, her mind racing, frantically trying to remember if there had been any indication in Michael’s letters that he was feeling suicidal. She didn’t remember anything significant but what if she had missed it? What if she had been so focused on what to write to him, she had been blind to what he was trying to tell her? Running her hands through her hair, Catherine felt her usual calm composure leave her. She felt an urgent need to get home and reread – no, consume – every single one of his letters. She needed reassurance that she hadn’t been so thoughtless as to miss his intention to kill himself. If it was Michael, what would the rehabilitation centre think? She briefly thought about contacting the newspaper to see if they had any more information, but she knew they would have printed it if they had. Catching the eye of one of the servers, Catherine asked for the bill, trying not to get frustr
ated when the waitress insisted on chatting and taking a ludicrous amount of time to give her her change. In the end, Catherine told her to keep the change, even though it was a lot more than a standard tip. Slipping the newspaper into her bag, she headed out on to the street, barely even noticing the now-horizontal rain hitting her face, so intent was she in getting back to the car.
As she half ran, she forced herself to calm down, and made a decision to give it one more week before doing anything. If she still hadn’t heard from Michael then, she would contact the rehabilitation centre and see if she could get information that way. In the meantime, she would analyse his every letter if only to reassure herself. She would also cut out the clipping from the newspaper and add it to her already bulging file.
*
Catherine didn’t need to wait a week. A few days later, there was the letter on the mat, instantly recognisable by its postmark and hand-written address. She let out an audible sigh of relief. Having quickly hidden it in her dressing gown pocket, she handed the rest of the post to Richard, and hurried to the privacy of her locked bathroom. Her hands shook as she opened the envelope and while she tried to savour the letter, she was so curious she devoured it in minutes.
15 December 2010
Dear Catherine,
I’m so sorry for the delay in writing to you. It’s been a tough few weeks. One of the inmates decided he had had enough and committed suicide. It doesn’t happen as often as you might think, but when it does, it shakes everybody, even the toughest of prisoners. It makes everyone a little unsettled, including the guards. He was found in the morning during the daily wake-up call. It’s not quite clear how he did it but there are various rumours flying around, as you can imagine. No one saw it coming, to be honest, which makes it even harder to take in. There’s not a huge amount of dignity in suicide but I can understand when people here feel they have no alternative. It is also something I have contemplated many times just to escape this hell. The strange thing is, he was due for parole in a few weeks – some say he couldn’t handle the thought of being in the real world and others say it was the thought of another Christmas without his family. I guess we’ll never know, as there was no note. I hope this isn’t too difficult for you to read – I just wanted to make sure you had a proper explanation for my delay in writing to you. Thank you for the Christmas card and the book. It was the highlight of the last few weeks and helped keep my mind off things. It’s the first time I have received a Christmas gift in a long time, so you can imagine how special it is to me. Our schedule doesn’t change too much on the day, but the canteen does serve roast turkey, which we all look forward to. I’m sorry I’m not able to return the gesture but I wish you and your family a very merry and peaceful Christmas.
Michael
Catherine hadn’t realised she had been holding her breath, until she released it in one big exhale. She stumbled through the emotions of pleasure, pain and relief all mixing together, before finally settling on worry as the thought crossed her mind that he may also have the same idea to kill himself. He wouldn’t. Would he? It was so important to her that she reach out to him. In response, her desire to write back immediately was overwhelmingly strong, but would that be too much? But if she left it till after Christmas, would that seem insensitive? She tried to imagine what she would do if a friend had just had such an experience. Of course she wouldn’t wait – she would offer condolences and comfort as soon as she heard the news, so why should Michael be any different? Because he was a murderer? Because he had killed? Because he was familiar with death? It would be churlish not to write and offer support immediately. After all, that was her role here and she took it seriously.
‘Bye, love! I’m off now. You all right in there? You’ve been there for a while, even for you!’
Catherine jumped at the sound of the sudden interruption of her husband’s voice outside the bathroom door.
Hastily putting the letter back into her pocket, she opened the door to him. Peering round the door, only her face showing, she joked: ‘Sorry, darling, I feel the need for a little more maintenance today than usual.’
As she knew he would, Richard automatically reassured her.
‘To me, you’re the most beautiful woman in the world,’ he said as he kissed her cheek, before heading out to the office.
‘See you later!’
‘Bye!’
Catherine went back into the bathroom and locked the door. Sinking down again on the side of the bath she cautioned herself to be more careful. Only when she heard the front door slam as Richard was leaving did she head back to the living room to sit at her desk. She didn’t start writing immediately in case he had forgotten something and came back. Instead, she sorted through some bills and general paperwork. After fifteen minutes, she removed the letter from her pocket and smoothed it open, trying to iron out the creases from where she had hurriedly crumpled it. She read it again, a lot more slowly this time and, keeping it open in front of her, she started to write a response.
20 December 2010
Dear Michael,
I received your letter this morning and I just wanted to say how sorry I am to hear your news. I did read something in the paper a few days ago, and was quite worried about you, so thank you for letting me know. I have heard and experienced much worse so, no, it’s not too tough for me to read. I’m sure it must be incredibly unsettling for everyone there. Perhaps the only consolation is that he will find peace now. The rehabilitation centre made us aware that suicide is not unusual and to possibly prepare for it. I do hope you have the strength to carry on and if you need anything from me, please just let me know. I’m glad you got the Christmas gift and it’s helping you through these troubled times. I shall write again in the New Year with all my news, but for now, I just wanted to let you know that I was thinking of you at this difficult time.
Catherine
Chapter 20
Alison
Alison was spending more and more time at The Professor’s house and less time in college. Whenever she did come back – normally, to pick up her post and a change of clothes – she was in and out within ten minutes and managed to sneak around without anyone seeing her. However, one early morning, Laura caught her as she was unlocking her door.
‘Where have you been?’ she screeched, making her jump.
‘Hi,’ Alison responded, trying to play it cool.
‘Hi? Is that all you can say? I haven’t seen you for ages and I’ve had to start going to breakfast with Lulu down the hall…’
‘I’m sorry,’ replied Alison, now with genuine feeling. ‘I’ve missed you, too, but I’ve been busy, studying and everything…’ Her sentence trailed off. Alison glanced at the poster on her wall. The Professor had given it to her after their first kiss. It was a print of two cherubs sharing an embrace and a kiss. It was called L’Amour et Psyché and it was her most treasured possession. As she looked at the poster, something in her face must have given her away, because Laura looked at Alison quizzically for a moment and then her whole face lit up.
‘You’ve met someone!’ she proclaimed with a certainty that was unnerving. ‘I knew it. Tell me everything, now!’
And as Laura made herself comfortable on Alison’s bed, she knew there was no getting away from this one.
‘Er, sort of.’
‘What do you mean “sort of”? Who is he? Which college does he go to? What does he study?’
There was no way Alison was going to risk sharing the information that she was in love with her law lecturer, so she did what most people do when they have a secret. She lied.
‘Well, he’s in a different college, he’s studying the same course as me, and he’s lovely. But we’re taking it very slowly so there’s really not much to tell.’ Alison was surprised by how easy the lies tripped off her tongue. What had become of her? She never lied, and it wasn’t a comfortable feeling.
Laura screamed in delight and hugged her. ‘I’m so happy for you! I can tell by the look on your face that
you’re crazy about this guy – whoever he is! I can’t believe you’ve found someone before me! God, what if I end up a lonely old spinster on the shelf?’
And she was off, and Alison knew then, thankfully, that the attention was no longer on her and they would spend the next half an hour talking about the type of man Laura would like to marry. And while she enjoyed the conversation, she already had the first inkling that their friendship was changing. Alison thought Laura could tell, too. ‘Don’t forget about me, will you, now that you have a boyfriend?’ joked Laura when Alison said she had to get to the library. ‘And don’t forget we’re going to Newcastle for a night out for my birthday. You have to be there!’
‘I promise, I won’t forget,’ responded Alison, and for the first time, she enjoyed the feeling of her friend being in awe of her, instead of the other way around.
*
The end of term was fast approaching and, compared to the last one, Alison felt it had flown by. She was in a whirlwind of classes and secret liaisons, and she felt amazing. The Professor was like her oxygen – allowing her to breathe and survive in the academic world. And the secrecy of it just made it even more exciting. She felt special and not just average any more. Out of everyone, he had chosen her. They talked endlessly about everything, spent whole days in bed, only getting up when they got hungry. Being known as the ‘sensible one’ amongst her friends, Alison knew she was in dangerous territory seeing a faculty member. While it wasn’t illegal, there was a certain protocol and Alison was pretty sure they weren’t following it. The age gap didn’t seem to make a difference to either of them but there were times when she was conscious of how young she sounded to his ears.
‘What do you fancy doing tonight?’ he asked one Saturday afternoon.
‘Well, Laura, myself and a few others are going into Newcastle for a night out to celebrate her birthday.’
‘Really? Should be fun…’
