The Missing Letters of Mrs Bright (ARC)
Page 18
Till next time.
Miss you.
* * *
Always, Kay
Seventeen
Kay
The sun was streaming through the windows when I woke, and I knew straight away that something was different. It’s weird, isn’t it, how you know instinctively if you’re alone or if there’s someone else in the house. Or luxury palazzo, in this case. It felt empty. Stalling, to prolong the inevitable moment when I’d have to get up and face whatever had happened, I looked at my watch. Gone ten. When had I ever slept so late?
I did a little of the one-nostril-at-a-time yoga breathing, which seemed to be the thing I turned to at moments of crisis. Then I padded downstairs in bare feet, averting my eyes from Bear’s bedroom door. When I opened the door to the kitchen, I prayed that she would be sitting at the table sipping coffee. But the room was empty. On the table were several sheets of lined A4, ripped from a pad, plus some of the fancy cream-and-marbled paper I’d bought yesterday. My name was written on the top page in Bear’s familiar handwriting. From the length of it, this was not so much a note as a manifesto.
I took another couple of one-sided breaths, then sat down and unfolded the lined paper.
‘Dearest Kay, this is my last letter to you,’ it began, and I started crying.
* * *
3 June 2018
* * *
Dearest Kay,
* * *
This is my last letter to you. I could see last night that you knew. Forgive me for running out on you. Firstly, I just don’t want to talk about it. Not with you, not with anyone. Murray says I’m in denial, though who gives a toss what he says? He’s stressed about having to step up and be Charlie’s only parent. But maybe I am in denial. I had to laugh last night when you said you’d always admired my honesty. I’ve found that when it comes to this fucking disease, honesty doesn’t work for me.
Secondly, I can’t explain how exhausted I am, right down to my bones. Chemo took it out of me completely last year, and even now, though I’m taking nothing more invasive than painkillers and steroids, I’m always very low on energy. I find stairs particularly knackering, I nearly lost it when we first got here and saw that spiral staircase, so thanks for taking the upstairs room. At home, everything I need’s been moved downstairs. My bedroom’s in the living room, and the only one who goes upstairs now is Charlie. For all I know, he’s got a crack den up there.
You might be wondering how I managed to get out this morning. First, I have bad days and good days. Or increasingly, bad days and bearable days. Today is bearable. Second, I woke really early, before four. I don’t get my best sleeps at night anymore. I am, as you saw, very into daytime naps. And third, these steroids are amazing, like a big short blast of cocaine. I don’t take them very often because of the shitty side effects, but they are good for when I need a boost.
I thought I could manage this trip without them, that the adrenaline would see me through, but I need to be at home now, where everything is set up for me. I have a ton of help there, from people who know I don’t want to talk about it. And I can sleep whenever I want, without having to explain why. That’s not a dig at you. It’s hard to explain to anyone; I’ve really struggled with how much to tell Charlie. He knows I’m ill, but not how ill.
Kay, I’m sorry I stopped writing to you. I stopped because I didn’t have anything to say. I didn’t want to talk about my illness, didn’t want to be treated differently by you, or anyone. The pity, the head-on-the-side – those things make me feel physically sick. I didn’t want to talk about my illness, but there wasn’t anything else going on. I haven’t worked in a year, sorry I lied to you about that, but I imagine you guessed. When I said I couldn’t see you at the weekend because of a school sports competition, I was actually asleep for most of the time. I haven’t done anything much in the last year except sleep, have my blood markers monitored and go to the gym for sitting-down exercises. My life has narrowed, apart from this crazy trip to Italy with you, so thank you for that.
I couldn’t believe it when you turned up in Oz. I was furious with Murray, because I thought he must have told you. When I found out he hadn’t, that you’d shown up because you were worried I hadn’t written (and, let’s be honest – I know how you love my honesty! – because you’d left Richard and were looking for a mission), I thought you’d guess straight away. And I didn’t want that. So I put on a good show, I think. After I saw you that first night, when I could barely eat, I felt so ill, there were a few days when I couldn’t get out of bed till after lunch. I thought it was the end. But then I felt better, and I thought, this will be the last time I can ever do something crazy.
I’m not going to be able to visit Hoylake with you. I only have one flight left in me, so I’m using it to go home. I’m full of energy now, false medicated energy, but energy nonetheless. I’m sorry I’m wasting it on getting to the airport. But I need to be home. That’s not to say I regret coming here, it was the most brilliant thing that has happened in this last lousy shitty year. Eating that amazing meal in that amazing restaurant was an experience I thought I wouldn’t be able to have, but now I can cross it off my list. That’s massive, and you should be proud of yourself for being there at the right time.
The A4 paper ran out here, and Bear had gone onto the creamy marbled notepaper. I paused too, to make coffee, and collect myself. I did more breathing while I waited for the machine to brew. In, two, three, four. Out, two, three, four. I sat back at the table and took a sip of coffee. OK. Here we go. I picked up the next page.
You asked if there was anything you could do for me. Yes. Four things. Another list. Brace yourself, it’s very bossy.
First, something to add to your list: please do something with your photography. I’m pretty sure you’re not going to be a famous photographer now, as you thought you might when you were fifteen. But I’d like to think you were doing something with your long-repressed creative side. You’re talented and I remember how much you used to love taking pictures.
Two, make absolutely sure you’re doing the right thing with Richard. I know you think you are, but please check. I’ve obviously been thinking a lot about ‘what it’s all about, Alfie’, ha ha, and I want you to make really sure that ending your marriage is the right thing, you’re not just doing it because you’re bored. Sorry for being blunt. Divorce is brutal. I don’t think I ever recovered from Murray leaving me. I’d have given anything not to have gone through this last year alone.
Three, tell Edward the truth about his dad. He deserves to know for sure, and maybe David deserves to be given a second chance to meet his son. Even though he didn’t behave well at the time. Look at me, being all about the forgiveness. Ugh.
Finally. I’d like a little part of me to be forever in Hoylake. In the water at West Kirby beach. I’ll get Murray to send some ashes to you – there’s no need to come out to Oz for the funeral, it’ll be family only, anyway. Will you do that? Maybe with Rose?
Phew, I didn’t think this would take so long to write. More than two hours! My hand hurts. It’s nearly six in the morning now, and the sun is coming up over the canal. It’s so gorgeous here.
Miss you.
* * *
Always, Bear
* * *
Reading our usual sign-off, minus the ‘till next time’, pushed me over the edge. For ten minutes, maybe more, I couldn’t do anything but cry; jagged, breathless, out-of-control weeping I hadn’t done since my mum died, and before that, never. If someone had come in with a gun and ordered me to stop weeping on pain of death I couldn’t have. I was absolutely depleted when it had passed. Wrung out.
I wiped my face and went into Bear’s room. It was as empty as if she had never been here, the shutters open and the bed neatly made.
Amazing to think she’d managed to get out and find a water taxi, get herself to the airport. Bad days and bearable days. I thought perhaps I should go to the airport, see if she was still there. But no; I’d be doing that f
or me, not her. She had a limited amount of time left and she was using it as she wanted. Who was I to get in the way of that?
This was becoming a habit: being upset and alone in foreign countries. I stood at Bear’s window and looked, as she might have done this morning before she left, at the Grand Canal, shimmering in the sun. Burning it into her memory, knowing she would never see it again. I thought of all the years the canal had been there, the heartache and happiness it had seen. This is a fleeting moment, I told myself. What was that George Harrison album I had in my teens? All Things Must Pass.
In other words, Man up, Kay!
I showered, dressed, and went out, to the café Bear and I had sat in yesterday. I ordered a cappuccino, got out my pen and the last sheet of creamy notepaper. My letter to Bear was as short as hers was long.
* * *
3 June 2018
* * *
Dearest Bear,
* * *
Thank you for your letter. I promise I will do everything on your list. Go well, my darling.
Till next time.
Miss you. Really.
* * *
Always, Kay
* * *
I put it in an envelope, and turned my attention to the view. For five minutes, I told myself, I am going to sit here, and think about nothing but the scenery, the sun on my shoulders, and the smell of my coffee. I am alive, and I am here. I observed the dots of people on the tiny San Giorgio Maggiore island opposite, and followed the passage of several small boats and water taxis, and in this way, managed not to think about anything sad for a short, blissful time.
My coffee finished, I took out my Venice guidebook. Denial and distraction, those were my plans for today. I went everywhere, walking till I could walk no longer, then caught a vaporetto, then walked some more. There wasn’t a Tintoretto I didn’t see. I visited the Lido, and the island of Burano, and walked round the original Jewish ghetto, stopping there for a lunch of chopped liver on rye bread. I went round the Guggenheim, and four churches, lighting a candle in each one. I threaded my way through some glamorous shopping areas, and in a designer boutique I bought Stella a beautiful bag in butter-soft brown leather. I browsed the market under the Rialto Bridge, and chose some blue, fur-lined gloves for Rose.
All day, I thought about Richard. It was easier than thinking about Bear, though occasionally snippets from last night or from the letter would surface against my will. In particular, how terrible Bear said she felt when Murray left her. That really hit home. I’d thought Richard wouldn’t feel it so badly, as we were, really, already living quite separate lives. But Bear knocked that certainty out of me, and now all I could focus on was the pain he must be feeling, the pain I had inflicted on him. I felt so raw, I seemed to have lost a layer of skin, so that whenever I thought about how Richard might be feeling, I flinched with the pain myself.
I thought of Alice, calling me destructive; Bear insisting I make absolutely sure; Edward giving me the silent treatment; Stella upset and angry, telling me I was selfish. Perhaps I had really fucked up. I could no longer access so clearly the feelings I’d had when I walked out. I’d been so sure. Now, a few short weeks later, it didn’t seem quite so cut and dried. Why couldn’t I be married and still do the things I wanted, like everyone had said? Was I right to turn so many people’s lives upside down, to hurt Rich so badly, for some mirage of freedom?
Life was short. Bear was proof of that. Did I want to spend whatever time I had left in a state of upheaval, living alone, not quite part of something? Had I made a massive mistake? Bear’s words ricocheted in my head. My reasons for leaving seemed far away right now. Richard had been a good husband, hadn’t he? Didn’t I owe it to him, to myself – heck, to everyone – to make sure I had done the right thing?
I noticed a woman looking at me oddly, and realised I wasn’t sure how long I’d been standing here, in a smart clothing store, holding a pair of trousers I didn’t remember picking up. They were soft velvet, a reddish-bronze colour, and I was gripping them with the tight clutch of a crazy person. Possibly more to the point, and more the reason for the funny look, tears were rolling down my face. I put the trousers down hastily and hurried out of the shop. I walked back to the palazzo, sat on my bed, and looked at my phone for a long time before I tapped in Richard’s number.
It wasn’t just his number, of course; it was listed on my phone, under ‘Home’, but there was no way I was going to look that up. The symbolism would finish me off. It was our landline, because Richard had never owned a mobile phone. He’d been pretty resistant to me getting one, too, for unspecified reasons, and in the end I’d given money to Edward and asked him to buy one for me, so I could justify it to Richard as a gift. Thinking about this, the subterfuge, the worry of what he’d say, the arguments that followed, gave me a moment’s pause. But somehow I had already pressed the call button, made the connection, and the phone was ringing at his end, at our house. His house.
I prayed Alice wouldn’t pick up. Then I heard him say, ‘Hello?’
My stomach knotted at the sound of his voice, as familiar to me as my own, yet also now exotic and unknowable. Did he sound anxious? Upset? Harassed?
As well as mobile phones, he was also resistant to any fancy landline add-ons such as call recognition, so until I spoke, he wouldn’t know it was me. I could hang up, and give this all more thought. But then I said, ‘Hi, Richard.’
‘Jesus! Kay!’
‘Sorry, it’s, er, sorry if this is…’
‘It’s great to hear from you!’
‘It is?’ I hadn’t expected that.
‘Yes! Where are you? You sound far away. I hope this isn’t costing you a fortune.’
I laughed. It was so adorably Richard that his first concern should be my phone bill.
‘It’s fine. A drop in the ocean compared to how much everything else costs here. I’m in Venice.’
‘Wow, Venice! Is it amazing?’
‘Absolutely breathtaking. How’s everything there, Richard?’
‘Good. The shops are running smoothly. Anthony’s back, thankfully, and he’s the manager at Quiller Queen now, with Mum his assistant. They’re a tour de force, those two.’
‘That’s great.’ A familiar dull ache of boredom started to wash over me, and I shook my head to try and dislodge it. Was this an awful mistake? Phoning him, wondering if I should be thinking of trying again – Bear was wrong, surely.
‘Mum’s enjoying staying here, and feeding me. It’s good for her to look after someone, you know what she’s like.’
I did, indeed. How she would love taking command of my kitchen, putting all the herbs into alphabetical order, clearing away the appliances she had so often told me were a waste of space. ‘A clear counter, Kay, is the first step to becoming a decent cook.’ Alice had been in constant despair that I had never taken even that first step.
‘Sorry about all that Anthony business, Kay,’ Richard said abruptly.
‘Oh gosh, that’s…’
‘Think I lost my mind! I’m awfully embarrassed now. Thank goodness he was able to forgive me.’
‘Yes, that’s really good…’
‘Are you all right, Kay? Enjoying your travels? Feeling happier?’
‘I’m not sure, Richard. That’s why I’m phoning, you see…’ I took a breath. I’d started this, so I ought to finish. Mistake or not, I was knee-deep in now. I’d tell him that his original idea for me to take a few weeks’ break and then for us try again, was a good one. Perhaps he would consider couples’ counselling. But before I could say anything, he started speaking again, and I remembered that he never was very good at listening.
‘I hope you are happy, Kay, because I wanted to tell you that I am so, so sorry I made it so difficult for you to leave.’
‘Well, that’s all…’
‘It was a shock, you see.’
‘Of course it was. I…’
‘But you were completely right.’
‘I was? But I…’
‘Oh! That’s great that you feel better about things…’
‘More than better. I’m a new man, thanks to you. You were right! Rip the sticking plaster off in one go. Ouch, super painful, but then you start to realise, hey, it’s not so bad. I’m healing every day.’
What was this? Healing? This wasn’t the man I had known.
‘You sound in a good place, Richard,’ I said. ‘That’s amazing. As for me…’
‘I’m in a terrific place. Kay, I hope you won’t mind if I tell you that I’ve met someone. It’s very early days, of course, we’ve only been out a couple of times, but it makes me remember our courting days, you and me before the babies, that lovely feeling of wanting to be with someone every second of the day. Oh listen to me, I’m babbling.’
It became more difficult, all at once, to hear what he was saying. Something about what a gift I’d given him… his freedom… who would have thought that at nearly sixty he’d find… so compatible… did I want to collect my things from the house… I must be needing them… ready to clear that space and move on… she’d persuaded him to get a mobile phone… he’d have to give me the number… she’d been under his nose all this time, would never have realised if… she was so good for him… she was making him take a week off to go to Paris.
The mention of Paris snapped me out of it.
‘I’m so sorry, Richard, I seem to have lost the connection, I can’t hear you. I’m going to hang up now and try you later.’ I pressed ‘end’ and turned off the phone.