The Tillerman's Gift
Page 17
CHAPTER 15
Bertie Birman was excited when he moved some cartons and found the old green shoe box beneath what used to be the mail sorting counter.
“Brilliant!” he exclaimed as he lifted the box out from the place where it had lain undiscovered, or ignored, for forty years. However, as careful as he was in carrying it to the table for better light, the brittle cardboard, shocked at being disturbed after so long, gave way at just about every fold spilling its contents over the floor. Letters, probably about thirty, Bertie estimated, scattered at his feet. As he gathered them up he noticed all but one were addressed, in the same handwriting, to Miss Theresa Newell. The odd-one-out was addressed, in a different script, to The New Postmaster.
“Brilliant!” he said again out loud, as he looked around for a bag to stow his find.
Tess sat outside the café in the sunshine sipping water and watching a very excited Bertie Birman hurrying towards her.
“I’m sorry I’m late, Tess,” Bertie apologised, mopping his face with his handkerchief.
“Don’t worry, I was a little late myself.” Bertie thirstily downed the glass of water offered by Tess.
“I found it!” he exclaimed, wiping his mouth with his sleeve.
“Found what?”
“The mystery box I told you about.” Bertie placed the plastic shopping bag on the table.
“Hardly a box, Bertie.”
“Well it was before it disintegrated in my hands. Letters, Tess. Letters for you!”
Tess reached for the bag and took out a letter. Although quite old, the envelope was still white from having been kept in the dark for so long. As she read her own name and address in the familiar handwriting she felt her heart begin to race and her head begin to spin.
“Some water – here have some water.” Bertie held a glass up to Tess who took a few sips.
She reached again into the bag and took out a handful of letters. All addressed to her, all in Fudge’s handwriting. Tess picked up the bag.
“I’m sorry, Bertie. I hope you don’t mind if we postpone our lunch.”
“Of course not, Tess.” Bertie stood. “I’ll order you a tea and leave you to it, shall I?”
Tess stared at the letters and didn’t respond.
“Brilliant,” said Bertie.
The first letter that Tess read that afternoon had her questioning every kind memory she had of her father. He had listened silently, sometimes placing a consoling hand on her shoulder, as she cried about not having heard from Fudge. I’m here, he would assure her. You don’t really need him anyway, he would say. He’s probably found someone else by now. Some fathers would disown a daughter who had a child out of wedlock but I’ll look after you and little Ali. He’s only a mechanic, Theresa. You know you can do so much better than that. The trite and emotionless expressions he would use to excuse what Tess could now see as her father’s own unforgiveable actions were endless.
May 15th, 1970
Dear Mr Pettigrew,
Congratulations on your appointment as the new Postmaster of Clowder Bay. I trust you will find everything in order and that you, your good wife and family enjoy your time here as much as my daughter and I have. In a separate letter I have left detailed instructions that should assist in facilitating a smooth and trouble-free transition.
On an unrelated matter, and in this I earnestly seek your discretion and understanding as a parent yourself, you will find beneath the sorting counter a cardboard box containing a few letters addressed to my daughter, Theresa. They are from a Mr Charles McFudgen, currently serving in the armed forces. These communications are unwelcome and unsolicited, and both Theresa and I would very much appreciate it if you would continue to file any further correspondence from this ‘gentleman’ in this same way. I shall, in due course, send an instruction regarding the disposal of these most offensive items.
Please be assured that in my new position I will take every opportunity to speak favourably of you to others in authority.
Yours faithfully,
Albert J Newell
Tess’s hand was shaking. She wanted to reach up into heaven, no, down into hell, grab her father by the throat and make him justify the overwhelming feeling of rejection that she had lived with for so long.
February 30th, 1970
Dear Tess,
Please write. I hope everything is alright with you.
Well, it’s happening. The regiment is being deployed to Vietnam. I feel so undertrained. With luck I won’t see any action for a while.
May30th, 1970
Dear Tess,
I don’t think you understand how much it would mean to know that you are still thinking of me. I love you so much. I can’t bear to watch the other boys reading their mail. I have to go for a walk. But then I see your face in everything, the trees, the clouds, even the afternoon storms.
Please write.
December 18th, 1970
Dear Tess,
I hope this reaches you in time for Christmas. The chaplain has set up a nativity scene in the chapel. I see the baby and think how someday we might have a little one of our own. I hope you still feel that way too.
I don’t know what you’re feeling. Please, please write to me.
January 22rd, 1972
Darling Tess,
You can’t possibly imagine how heartbroken I was to receive the letter from your father telling me that you no longer want to be ‘harassed’ by my letters. In a way it brought me some relief. At least I know that you are alive and well.
I don’t know what to think. I can’t accept that things could change so much between us. Anyway whether it’s your wish or your father’s it seems the best thing for me to do is to try and forget you, knowing how impossible that will be.
We’re all being pulled out of Vietnam so I’ll be returning to Australia in a month. Please write to let me know once and for all if you will be there to meet me. I wish with all my heart that you will be.
Love ALWAYS
Fudge
All that afternoon Tess wandered Clowder Bay reading the letters from Fudge. She knew now why she never received them. And every letter she wrote she had given to her father to post. He did, after all, work at the head office of the national postal organisation. Did he read them before he callously threw them away with the other rubbish? He couldn’t have or else he would know the pain that not hearing from Fudge was causing her. No father would be a party to that.
Sunset found her walking on the sand, her stomach a tight, nauseous knot and her head a vortex of confused and conflicting emotions colliding randomly until she collapsed, emotionally and physically exhausted.
Unbeknown to Tess, Bertie’s concern had him following her at an unobtrusive distance throughout the afternoon. Within a minute he was crouching beside her, calling for an ambulance.