by Beth Miller
‘You weren’t to know. I’ll tell you what else Murray sent me. Bear asked him to. It came in a massive parcel – all my letters to her. Arranged chronologically, with the most recent on top.’
‘Oh, Kay.’
‘When I’m feeling stronger, I’m going to read them through. My entire adult life on record.’
‘That was thoughtful of her.’ Rose shook her head. ‘It feels unfinished, doesn’t it? So weird that the last time I saw her turned out to be the last time I will ever see her. We always think there will be more time.’ Her voice cracked on the last few words. ‘Jeez, Kay, you realised all this, even before Bear, didn’t you?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘All your carpe diem stuff, chucking your marriage in, you already realised that this could all end any second.’ Rose indicated ‘this’ by gesturing round the room, but I knew she meant ‘everything’ and not just the kitchen.
‘I feel it more keenly than ever now, though,’ I said.
‘Heavy,’ Rose said.
‘Heavy,’ I replied.
‘Oh blast, the tea!’ Rose jumped up and grabbed the pot, hastily poured us mugs of stewed-looking dark tea.
I added a lot of milk, and smirked at her. ‘Yeah, this is so much nicer than the stuff I make.’
‘Sod off. You know I left it too long.’ She looked again at the photo. ‘You really were a terrific photographer.’
‘Aw, shucks.’ I took out my phone. ‘Still am. Look at this.’
‘The Scottish Herald. What am I looking at?’
‘Edward sent them one of my Venice pictures and they chose it as their photo of the week.’
‘Oh, wow! That’s fantastic!’ Rose took a closer look. ‘It says your picture is magical.’
‘Yes, “a magical, unusual image, that reveals something new to us about this much-photographed city”. Oh mercy me, I seem to have memorised it.’
‘Well, of course, I was there first with famous photographer Kay Bright. You did my wedding photos, remember?’ Rose said.
I could still capture the pure flush of pride I’d felt when I showed Rose the wedding album I’d made for her. ‘Yeah, they turned out pretty well, didn’t they?’
‘Considerably better than the marriage.’ Rose made a face. ‘And look at this photo of us three. It really captures something about the essence of each of us.’
‘I was so intense about photography back then.’
‘You took your camera and lenses and the whole shebang to Australia that gap-year trip. Do I remember a tripod coming with us too? You hardly had any room for clothes so you had to borrow stuff off me and Bear the whole time.’
‘Ah, to be so single-minded. Before I encumbered myself with responsibilities.’ I smiled. ‘Bear lent me a blue T-shirt with a rainbow on it that trip, and I accidentally took it home with me.’
‘Was it really an accident?’
‘It suited me better than her.’
‘Well.’ Rose let out a long shuddering sigh. ‘She don’t need it now.’
We looked at each other. I still couldn’t believe it, even though I’d known it was coming. Despite having gone through it not long ago with my mum, I couldn’t take in that David and Bear were no longer in the world. People my own age. I was closer than ever to the edge myself.
‘So,’ Rose said, ‘what now?’
The sunlight, which had earlier filled the cottage kitchen with a summer gold, was starting to fade. Rose’s face was becoming less distinct, but I didn’t want to turn on the new overhead spotlights.
‘Well, tomorrow we go to Hoylake. Then when I get back I have to finish my application for the photography course. I’m going to have to buy a new camera, I can’t face asking Richard to send me my old one. And I’ve made notes for the Airbnb listing. I just need to work out how to use the website.’
‘I love your plans. It feels like you’ve made things happen so quickly. What a turnaround.’
‘Couldn’t have done it without you and Graham helping me.’
‘It was a pleasure.’ Rose leaned back in her chair. ‘I love it here. Imogen’s guys did a good job on the redecoration, don’t you think?’
‘It’s maybe a bit too much soothing grey for me, I like a bit of colour. But I can liven it up with pictures and cushions, can’t I?’
‘I’ll get you some pretty cushions for a house-warming gift,’ Rose said. ‘You’ll let me come and stay here whenever you don’t have lodgers, won’t you?’
‘You’re always welcome. But won’t Graham mind you popping up here all the time?’
‘Hell, no. Do you know what I like most about Graham?’
‘Is this going to be X-rated?’ I leaned forward.
‘The way he makes the most of any situation. I say, “Graham, I’m going to Kay’s for a bit,” and he goes, “Great, that’ll be nice.” Or, “Graham, I’ve got to go to the supermarket, do you want to come?” and he’ll say, “Yes, it’ll be good to hang out with you.” And if I say, “Actually on second thoughts it’ll be quicker on my own,” he’ll say, “Sure, why don’t I get started on supper while you’re gone.” It’s perfect, to be honest.’
‘Somewhat different from Tim, huh?’
‘Tim always made the least of any situation. And as Oprah Winfrey used to say, “Honey, I do not need that negative energy around me, nuh-uh.”’
I rolled my eyes like Stella would. How I wished she was here. I still hadn’t seen her since our fight in the car, and I missed her with a physical ache. I so wanted to ask her to meet, but was afraid to push her into it too soon, before she was properly ready to forgive me.
I went on quickly, before I got too maudlin, ‘Listen, thanks for coming tomorrow. I know you don’t like going back to Hoylake.’
‘I can’t let you handle Bear on your own.’ Rose scrunched up her face. ‘But it’ll be so weird. I’ve not been back there, Kay, not for years.’
‘I know.’
‘After Mum moved away, there was nothing there for me anymore.’
‘You’ve always been amazing, Rose, at moving forwards. At not looking back.’
‘Have I? That’s good. I think. Is it good?’
‘Yes. It’s admirable. We both escaped the Wirral and went to uni in London, but I never went much further. Till now. But look at you. You’ve lived in Cardiff, France, the States, then back here to Manchester, then… where?’
‘Southwold.’
‘Oh yes, do you remember your lovely house on the beach?’
‘Glorious. But so isolated. You know what I remember most about living there? You coming up every weekend after Tim left. You got me through that hellish time, and I will never forget it.’
‘I don’t think I did anything much.’
‘You only had one day off work a week, Sunday, and every Saturday night for about six months you’d faithfully drive up to Southwold. Not exactly a short journey, is it? You’d take the kids out, let me sleep, cook for me, make me laugh, wipe my tears, give me wine, clean the kitchen. Then in the early hours of Monday morning you’d drive back to London and go straight in to work.’
‘You’ve more than paid me back, Rose, given my recent shenanigans. Didn’t you come back to London after Southwold?’
‘God, yes, it was a relief to get away from Tim’s idea of an idyllic place to live. Back to London, and finally to Winchester.’
‘I need to be more like that. More like you. Not get static, stuck in a place.’
‘You’ve been doing pretty well lately, Kay. And Bryn Glas is a very nice place to be stuck.’
‘Yes, well remind me not to stay here for twenty-nine years, won’t you?’
‘I hope we get twenty-nine more years,’ Rose said, and shivered. ‘So, you don’t think you’ll get lonely here? No handsome Italian stallions coming to keep you company?’
‘Funnily enough, I heard from Luca last week.’
‘You did?’ Rose sat up straight. ‘Tell me everything.’
‘He texted to say
he’d be in the UK for a conference in September, if I’d like to meet up.’
‘And? AND?’ Rose said.
‘I said I wasn’t sure where I’d be then, and I’d let him know.’
‘What? But you will be here! You’ll be starting your course then.’
‘I know. I want to think about it.’
‘You’re being very cool, Miss Kay, I must say. Ice Queen.’
‘I know you’ll encourage me to go for it, Rose—’
‘Too right I will!’
‘And it might be wonderful to see him. But it also might tarnish the memories of that brilliant night.’
Rose nodded. ‘I get it. If he turns out to be less gorgeous than you remember.’
‘Or less fun, or kind, or good at listening. I need to think for a bit longer about what I want.’ I glanced at the clock. ‘Look, it’s getting late, and we are on ash-duty tomorrow. We’re going to need a good night’s sleep if we’re to be emotionally resilient.’
Rose yawned. ‘Fine. I’ll interrogate you further about your sex life tomorrow.’ We stood up, and I put my arms round her.
‘Listen, Rose, thank you for helping me make my plans into something real.’
‘You’re welcome.’ She rested her head on my shoulder. ‘You’ve made brilliant choices.’
‘Apart from in my tea-making.’
‘Hell yes. I can’t believe that you’ll soon be here alone in charge of a box of innocent teabags.’
‘You go up, I’ll turn out the lights.’
‘Night, Kay.’
* * *
As I got ready for bed, Bear’s face was in my head, her face when we sat in the restaurant. ‘Not yet, darling. Don’t ask me anything yet.’
I hoped she knew how much I appreciated her throwing everything in to come with me to Venice. I hoped it didn’t hasten her end, though that was something I’d never know. But it had been her decision to come. I sat on the grey chair and let myself cry. For her, for me, for our friendship. For the way she’d stopped writing ahead of her death, perhaps to prepare me for the letters I would no longer receive, and for the loss of writing my own letters to her, putting my thoughts down on paper.
It was getting cold. I wrapped a blanket round my shoulders, picked up my writing pad from its home on the little embroidered stool, and under the sloping window’s picture of inky-black sky, I uncapped my pen.
* * *
19 July 2018
* * *
Dearest Bear/Ursula (I will never get used to your real name),
* * *
So you upped and died. That was hasty of you. I hope you weren’t in pain, and that there were people with you who loved you.
Rose has offered to be my correspondent now, so this will be my last letter to you. Well, of course it will, Bear, because you’re dead. Why you had to go and be dead, I don’t know. I have some of your ashes. They don’t look like you.
I told you how much I love the cottage in Wales. Well, I’m living here now. Sure, it’s remote and creaky, but it’s got a fresh lick of paint and it feels more like home than anywhere else. I love being here alone. I’ve always been around a lot of people. What with the kids and the shops, I never had much solitude, and I’ve realised that I really need it. But then, of course, sometimes I really miss noise and people.
I’ve taken a long lease on the cottage, and I’ve agreed with Imogen that I’ll put the spare room on Airbnb a few times a month. It’ll mean I can cover the rent, and it’ll be company now and then. Yes, Bear, I’ll try not to let any serial killers stay. I’ve already put a lock on my bedroom door, in case. Plus, I’m going to restore the barn, and slowly make it into a couple of bedrooms and a bathroom. I have carte blanche as long as I make it better not worse, and so they’ll be able to use that for more tenants in the future.
Thank you for your list. I’ve pretty much tackled all of it. Firstly, the photography – I am going to do something with it. Thank you so much for suggesting it. I’m kicking off with a part-time degree in photography. The university is only thirty-odd miles away. I haven’t applied yet, but they’ve told me informally that I’m likely to get a place. This time I will finish it. Degrees are considerably more expensive than they were when I flunked out last time. I’m not sure it’s the best use of Mum’s money, but the course is very practical, and there are lots of work-placement opportunities in various studios and labs. Some are in Liverpool, so I’d be going right back to where we started if I got one there. I’m hoping I’ll be able to support myself with it at some stage. More to the point, I want to spend my time doing something I love. I feel excited, reinvigorated, in a way I’ve not felt for years.
The second item on your list was Richard. You were right to tell me to check. I thought, briefly, perhaps I did want to go back to him. It wasn’t right, as it turned out. But it helped me reach the clarity I needed, and allowed me to properly move on in a way I hadn’t been able to before. We are being strangely benign towards each other, now. I think we both feel that we have given each other our freedom.
Then, Edward. Finally, years too late, we talked about David. It brought us close together, closer than we’ve been for a long time. I found an old photo of David that I took, back when we were an item. I sent one copy to Edward, and another to David’s widow, Verity. I contacted her via David’s son on Facebook. She wrote such a lovely note, said she would put the photo in a frame on the wall, that she wanted to think of him like that, not how he looked when he was ill.
The one cloud still in the sky, apart from you, dear girl – maybe you’re a star up there now? – is that things still aren’t right with Stella. I haven’t seen her for two months, and I feel so terrible about the harsh things I said. I don’t know how to make it right. But I won’t bore you with that, Bear, not now you’re dead.
So, you’ve had your funeral, just close family, in Oz. Charlie is living full-time with Murray, and they’re going to sell your house because his is bigger. Murray tells me that the proceeds from the house will go into Charlie’s college fund, so that’s good news, isn’t it?
I guess I’m scrabbling around for good news.
Tomorrow, Rose and I will make a pilgrimage to Hoylake. You wanted to go there one last time, and you will, Bear, even if in weird gritty form. The final item on your list. We’ll walk to West Kirby beach, where you wanted to drink tea, and we’ll do that in your memory.
I was thinking about that time we went there, we were fourteen or so, because we reckoned the peace and quiet would help us revise. You were mucking about on the rocks and fell in the water. Rose was nearly sick, she laughed so much. Your geography notes got ruined and I had to get my dad to photocopy mine for you. Well, we’re going to sit on that same rock, if we can find it, and put you back in the water. This time there are no exams to worry about. There’s nothing, in fact, for you to worry about, anymore.
Love you.
Miss you.
* * *
Always, Kay
* * *
I put the pen down, got into bed, and stared up at the skylight. I thought I would never get to sleep, and then it was morning, and the light was streaming in. I could hear Rose clattering around downstairs, no doubt doing something homely with the teapot, and I got up. It was not a day for lying in bed. It was a day for saying goodbye.
Letter written on 12 October 1982
Dearest Bear,
* * *
Loved your letter, thank you, it was so loooooong, I have read it six times. Thank you for the photo of your new house, it looks lovely. I’m sorry your college isn’t very good, I wish you could have stayed here and your parents have gone without you. You could have lived with me. Rose and I miss you so so so much. College is fun but it would have been so much better with you, that nice lady lecturer we saw on the open day with the plaits saw me and Rose and she remembered us and said, ‘Where’s your friend?’, meaning you. We both started crying and she gave us tissues and some chewy mints.
Anyway,
it doesn’t matter how far away you are because we will visit each other regularly, as inscribed in our lists, and we will always be friends, forever and ever, in sickness and health, till death us do part, amen. I think we might accidentally be married now, hope that’s OK with you.
Till next time.
Miss you.
* * *
Always, Kay
Twenty-Six
Kay
‘Is it here?’
‘I don’t think so, Rose. In my memory, they were right next to the sea.’
‘I know, chick, but the tide’s much further out than it was that day.’
‘How is it that there are so many damn rocks?’
Rose and I walked further along the beach, trying to identify the rock that Bear had fallen off more than three decades ago. It was tricky, because there were lots of possible rocks. And also, because it was more than three decades ago.
Apart from a few solitary dog-walkers, the beach was almost deserted. You’d think there would be some early holidaymakers, but schools hadn’t broken up yet; anyway, it had never been a particularly touristy beach. We were surrounded by water. On one side of us, the sea, far off in the distance, glinted appealingly. On the other side there was the marine lake, with its yachts bobbing about. I remembered my dad spending time there when I was young, but I realised I had no idea what he had been doing. Did he sail? Or just hang out with boating friends? There was no one I could ask, now.
‘After this,’ I said, ‘no one can die for a while.’
‘Too right,’ Rose said. ‘It’s been a rough old year for you, first your mum, and now Bear.’
‘And David.’ I hadn’t planned to tell Rose yet, but it came out, unbidden.
‘Who?’ Rose turned and looked at me.
‘David Endevane.’
‘That name rings a bell.’
