We – you and I – are enough for me. I don’t want to try for another baby. I accept my life as it is. Please don’t say goodbye. I understand everything now. I love you, and that love, I promise, is enough.
With all of my love, always.
Rosie
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Subject: Coming Home
Date: 1 June
Hi Mum and Dad
Not sure when you’ll get this as you’re probably at the coast but I’m coming home on 2 July, which is a good thing as Basra is turning a bit nasty. I’ll probably have spoken to you on the phone by the time you read this.
Love, Rosie x
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Subject: Best Friend
Date: 2 June
Dear Rosie
I’ve got a best friend. It’s Matt. I went round to his house. We played in the garden but I had to leave when his dad came home from work because he was tired and didn’t want the noise in the house but we were in the garden, so I didn’t understand. His Mum took me back to my foster house. He says I can have a go on his XBox next week. Miss Cartwright thought you’d want to know.
Oliver
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Subject: ???
Date: 3 June
Hi, Josh
You haven’t answered?
Love, Rosie x
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Subject: Re: ???
Date: 3 June
Sorry, but I need some time to think.
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Subject: Coming Home
Date: 5 June
Dear, Babe
We got back from the coast late last night. There were a few messages on the phone, including your quickie from Tuesday. All we could make out was ‘Mum, it’s me’, the rest was broken up by static or whatever.
So, you’re finally coming home – fabulous news! Basra doesn’t seem to be as friendly as you first thought? What a bloody awful state of affairs this lot is developing into. Josh came round this afternoon to bring all my tools back. He’s taken a couple of week’s ad hoc leave – not like him? Such a shame about you two. Nice lad, but it’s your life, love. I told the dog when I took her for her walk this morning, I said I knew in my soul you’d be home soon. Just keep your head down in this final few weeks, that’s the only pathetic bit of advice I can give.
The dog spent the afternoon with me cutting the hedges and tidying the garden in readiness for our next trip off. If the forecast is good, we’ll probably push off back after tea tomorrow; it all depends on how your mother feels.
Nothing else to report right now. News on the school is grim. Looks like they won’t rebuild. Such a shame.
Talk to you soon. Don’t forget, KYHD
Luv ya - MumnDad. x
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Subject: On Tenterhooks
Date: 5 June
Hi, Ag
How are you? I know your wrist is broken but could you get Isabella to write a letter for you, just so we know you’re OK?
Guess what? I’ve asked Josh if we can start again. He’s taking his time to think about it. At least he didn’t say no, which can only be a good thing, can’t it?
Life in Basra is the pits. I took a foreign diplomat out into the city yesterday with his close protection (CP) team to look at a house that might be suitable as an embassy. We drove into this street and the diplomat and the CP team went into the house leaving me sitting in a Land Rover with two TA guys.
All of a sudden, all these Iraqi men carrying rifles started coming out of their houses and stood on the street, watching us. It was horrible. I honestly thought I was a goner. Anyway, the CP guys and the diplomat came out of the house, jumped into their vehicle and we all shot off, but I genuinely thought the Iraqis were brewing for a kick off and I may well be the luckiest woman on the planet today. To sum up, I can’t wait to get out of this stifling hell hole and back to England. I will never ever complain about the rain or my country again. I was a naive fool (again) to think that being Visits Officer would be enjoyable. Yet another life lesson for silly Rosanna.
Thanks for the brownies by the way – you must have sent them before your accident. Gethyn devoured them.
Again, what’s this about an admirer?
Lots of love,
Rosie
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]; [email protected]
Subject: Miss Me?
Date: 6 June
Hello! And how are my two heroes today?
I’m typing this email one-handed on a laptop balanced across my knee while lying on the settee in front of the fire with a crocheted rug draped over my bruised and battered body. But don’t worry, I have at least five people calling in at regular intervals acting as my personal Punkah Wallahs – fabulous! Poor Anya was most upset at my accident. And so she should be! What’s the use of having a fortune teller as your best buddy if she can’t prevent you from falling off a horse? She looked horrified and said, ‘And that, Agatha, is why I don’t read the cards of friends!’ but I think she was a bit shaken.
I know you’ll be desperate to know what happened on the day Nathan arrived, but I’m afraid you’re going to have to wait a bit longer as I can barely keep my eyes open (must be the painkillers) but I’m sure I’ll be back to normal soon and able to tell you everything. But please do both write and tell me your news as I’m keen to hear that you are both safe and well. Lots of love,
The Queen of Sheba (I may drag this out a bit).
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Subject: Proud of You!
Date: 6 June
Hi, Rosie
I’ve just written a combined email to you and Gethyn but having just read your email about Josh, I wanted to make the effort to write straight back because I wanted to say how proud I am of you for putting your heart on the line – go Boudica! I really hope he decides to take you up on your offer and have another stab at marriage. Let me know what he decides. Whatever the decision, you deserve to be happy and I’m sure, either way, you’ll find oodles of love and joy when you come home. We must have celebratory night out when you get back. Do you think you could come and see me in Appledart for a few days? I am injured, after all.
Love, Ag
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Subject: Shit Day
Date: 7 June
Hi, Aggie
Today is not a good day. No news from Josh and to top it all, Gethyn has gone to work somewhere else for his last two weeks. It’s like I’ve lost a part of my soul. But at least I ticked off another a few things on the list. Gethyn and I drank the wine you sent and watched the sunset while lying on the airport roof last night (you’ve got to stay incognito to prevent getting shot at). We’re not allowed booze but we thought, ‘sod it!’. Then, at 3a.m., we went into the silence of the terminal building and Gethyn danced a river dance – giggling like a child - on the General’s planning table (it’s covered in Perspex so it was fine) while I played an Irish jig on the violin. He said he felt like he was dancing a jig on Tony Blair’s grave, which cheered him up no end! Quick as a flash, we took my violin, shot back up to the roof and waited for the sunrise. I played La Vie en Rose. It was wonderful.
Regarding Appledart. I don’t need a reason to come, you idiot, I want to. So, yes, please, can I come to your café? Will you feed me cake till I pop? I do expect you to keep writing while I’m there, however.
Speaking of writing, don’t be angry, but I thought of something regarding your work: You and I must have watched Little Women, what? one hundred times? You were Jo (obvious
ly) and I was Meg (even more obviously). You’ll remember that Jo only settles into her writing career once she writes about her dead sister, Beth. In other words, once she writes truly from the heart, about a place and a time and people she knows and loves and understands, she’s happy, and realises that, even if no-one else reads or likes her book, it doesn’t matter, because it’s something she’s proud of in her own right, without requiring approval from anyone else.
Why don’t you do the same thing? You could write about the two of us; two childhood friends who lost touch through heartbreak and a misunderstanding, and who rekindle their friendship during difficult times and discover, through the course of their correspondence, that nothing in life is so utterly unbearable or totally unfathomable, when shared between friends. You can have all my letters – from you, from Dad, from everyone - and you could write a story just for me (exaggerate and drag it out a bit if necessary). During these past months I’ve grown to realise that partners – and even some family – come and go, but best friends, well, they last a lifetime, don’t they?
It’s just an idea.
Love,
Rosie
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Subject: No subject
Date: 7 June
Dear, Rosie
I’m sorry it’s taken me a while to respond, but I’m on leave at the moment doing a little travelling, so I haven’t always got access to the Internet. Also, I needed time to think about your letter and what my answer should be.
I find this is such an unfortunate letter to write given your situation, but the truth is, I think it’s too late for us to start again. I think your present state of mind is achievable only because you are in Iraq and, like you say, life has been stripped down to basics and you’re able to see things differently. But I know you, Rosie, I really do. And I know that once you’re home, once you’re seeing children and mothers on the streets again and you’re back at work and other women are going off on maternity leave, you’ll soon yearn for a child and we’ll be back to square one. For the past few years, seeing your face weighed down with sorrow, has been hellish. And then losing Angelica … it’s a place I don’t want to go back to. I don’t need to look at a window pane in the rain to understand your sadness because, trust me, I felt every inch of your pain for years and it was my pain too. I’m sorry to say this, but I hadn’t realised how unhappy I was in our marriage until I was free of it.
The main reason I’m saying no to a reconciliation, though – and the difference between us – is despite everything we’ve been through, I would never have left you. I loved you. You broke my heart, Rosie, and I just can’t imagine jumping on the hamster wheel again. I felt like you only wanted me in your life to provide you with a baby. But I wanted to spend my life with you with or without a baby, even though I really did desperately want to be a Dad – that’s the difference between us. You miss me now because you’re in Iraq, but deep down, I don’t believe anything has really changed. I wish you all the very best in the world, but I need to start again. I know it’s a cliché, but I mean it – be happy.
Josh
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Subject: Cash
Date: 7 June
Hi, Rosie
Can I change my mind about the offer of the borrowing some money? A mate leant me some cash a few months ago to tide me over and he’s being arsey about getting it back. Can you manage that three grand? I’ll pay you back as soon as I can, promise.
Si
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Subject: No subject
Date: 7 June
Josh
I understand.
Rosie
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Subject: Re: Cash
Date: 7 June
Hi, Si
Email me your bank details and I’ll find a way to get it transferred.
Rosie
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Subject: Re: Re: Cash
Date: 8 June
Thanks a million, Rosie. I’ll make it up to you – and that’s a promise.
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Subject: It’s Hot!
Date: 10 June
Dear, Babe
Roll on July - what do you say?
I don’t know how you cope with the heat. We’ve had an unseasonable hot spell here and we’re struggling – it’s 25 degrees! The dog tries to keep cool by lying in the shade underneath my car on the cold concrete, which means we’ve got to keep checking to make sure she’s not slipped through a hole that the cat’s made in the hedge on to next door’s drive – she’s a bugger for doing that. Mind you, we’ve got her cunning little plan sussed out now, so she’ll have to think up a new ruse. Would you believe, it’s starting to rain: let’s hope it doesn’t thunder or else I’ll have a nursing job on my hands.
The big news is that they’ve caught the school arsonist. It’s shocking state of affairs but one of the pupils – a foster kid – set the place alight. What’s the world coming to, eh?
Mammy went to Shirley’s for her hair doing this morning, but as usual, she came back chuntering because she’d had a slightly darker colour put on and still can’t decide if it looks better or worse – at least it’s not green. Do you remember that little episode?
KYHD
Luvya, Mumndad. Xxx
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Subject: Arsonist
Date: 10 June
Dear, Mrs Cartwright
I’ve had a letter from my father with a throwaway line stating that the arsonist at the school is a child in foster care. Was it Oliver? If it was (and I hope and pray it wasn’t) can you please let me know what the situation is and if there is anything I can do to help him.
Best wishes,
Rosie
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Subject: Re: Arsonist
Date: 11 June
Dear, Rosie
I’m sorry you heard the news from your father, but I’m afraid he is correct, Oliver did, sadly, set fire to the school. He was seen in the school grounds on the night of the fire and when challenged, admitted he set his classroom on fire. I believe he put a match to his year group’s creative homework. He has been suspended from school pending investigation and is in the care of social services. I’m afraid I cannot facilitate your continued correspondence with Oliver, but if it is any consolation, his letters to you opened a window regarding how he felt about his situation and this will act in his favour.
Take good care.
Best wishes, Angela
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Subject: Re: Re: Arsonist
Date: 11 June
Dear, Angela
Thank you for letting me know. What will happen regarding his new adoptive parents – will the adoption still go ahead?
Best wishes,
Rosie
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Arsonist
Date: 11 June
Dear, Rosie
I believe Oliver will not be adopted at this time.
Best wishes,
Angela
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Subject: For Fuck’s Sake!
Date: 12 June
Hi, Aggie
Josh doesn’t want me back. I don’t want to write about it. Also, it seems that Oliver, the boy at Midhope Primary I’ve been writing to, is the school arsonist. I’m gutted. And it’s so frustrating because I genuinely don’t belie
ve he’s a bad kid, but he’s had a shit start to life. He was just pulling his life together, too. I was hoping he would be my, ‘make a positive change to someone’s life’ person, but in actual fact it looks like that person will be my brother who needs some money to get home. I’ve saved quite a bit being away with the Army so I’m going to give it to Simon. I know he’ll pay be back as soon as he can.
Poor Oliver, though, and what a mess we can get our lives into within just a few moments of recklessness. The old me would want to rock in a corner. But not anymore. I’ve had a day of hard, devastating knocks, but I’m alive. We did yet another repatriation ceremony an hour ago and I thought I was going to vomit. As per the Chief of Staff’s instruction, I played the Last Post on the violin while six coffins were carried onto an aircraft draped in union flags. Then, thinking of us, I played La Vie en Rose.
And from somewhere, finally, I cried.
Today, as clichéd as it sounds, I finally found Life in Rosie Hughes, and I felt ashamed that it’s taken a war to appreciate the preciousness of my own life. I’ll come home and fight for my future – I owe that to the people who haven’t made it home. I’ll pull myself back bigger and better than ever before. I may not be able to see my future self in a particular setting or doing a particular job, but she’ll be a warm, gentle, confident woman, and if I get that right, surely the rest should follow?
Love, Rosie
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
CC: [email protected]
Subject: That Fateful Day
Date: 14 June
Hello, you two.
I’m managing to sit up a little easier today, so I thought I write to let you know what happened on ‘that fateful day’. I’m able to sort of type with both hands now (shhh, don’t tell Isabella).
Where to begin:
It was a gloomy spring day consisting of only one season – winter. We were all taking shelter in the café. Even Moses had been driven inside by the force of the wind and icy rain. The radio was on and I was huddled in front of the wood-burner reading Moby Dick out loud (it soothes Moses … don’t ask). Anya was cleansing her chakras laying across a table next to the window in a meditative trance, and Isabella, who had moved the chairs and tables to the edge of the café to provide a little elbow room, was teaching Moses how to Argentine tango while I read aloud (I’d taught her some moves during a tango workshop I ran the week before).
Dear Rosie Hughes Page 19
