Working here has been a real eye opener regarding human behaviour. You would think the customers would rush to the roaring fire on entering, but they don’t, they edge their way towards it, like they’re cautious that it might breathe out a dragon’s breath. But once enveloped within the heat, that first wave of comfort is tangible. The next wave of comfort is the tea pot, and the wave after that (the biggest goffer of all) is Anya’s stew. Dessert is literally the ‘icing on the cake’ (I’m mixing my metaphors now, but you know what I mean), and as the last little crumb is dabbed off the plate with a moist fingertip, it’s like the crashing sea of their emotional angst has finally rested on the shore – calm and sated. And so, by the time my customers walk out of the door, their souls have been cleansed by a tsunami of warmth, carbohydrates and sugar - it’s lovely. The occasional gluten/sugar free lost soul appears, but we cater for that so they are sated (but never in quite the same way, I think). Anya pops in and out, but likes to maintain a mysterious air about her (it doesn’t pay for a fortune teller to overhear details of her clients lives in the cafe – that would be cheating).
Isabella is on the mend – did I tell you she’s staying with me? If not, get the details from Polly. She’s taken to walking the beach every morning with Anya’s cat (what that cat doesn’t know isn’t worth knowing). I keep an eye on her from the window to make sure she isn’t sitting on a rock – rocking (a melancholic habit I banned on her first day). As Anya and Isabella are often absent, I’m the café’s host, and I don’t mind in the least. You would never in all your life believe the things people talk about over coffee and cake, and what else can I do but eavesdrop? Many visitors make their way to the end of the road alone, kind of on mini-pilgrimages, which makes for interesting conversations, because if they want to talk, I’m all ears. Bizarrely, my pineapple upside down cake in particular seems to loosen the tongue of the lone traveller – what’s that all about? Is pineapple a lip-loosener? Tell GCHQ! Anya believes all this listening is good for my spiritual development. I’ve always been a first-rate eavesdropper, but in conversation, I’m usually the natterer. But here in Appledart, perhaps because of the stillness of the hamlet and the easy-going nature of my lifestyle, I don’t need to chatter anymore; I don’t feel the need to monopolise every conversation to entertain, and I pass my days with my elbow resting on the counter and my right cheek resting on my hand, just listening – I know, you don’t need to say a word: I’m experiencing my own transformational growth (but as I told you, life is formulaic).
The big news (and Polly may have told you this already) is that Nathan Browne (as in, the Nathan Browne who publishes Browne’s Culinary Almanac etc.) is making his own journey to the end of the road in the very near future. I emailed Casey and suggested we put him off, but she says he may never come back if we don’t let him in now. I sought guidance from Anya, but unfortunately, the Tarot and the angels proved fruitless, and Anya simply sighed and said, ‘There are greater energies at work here’. So I’ve decided to relax, let it all happen and make sure the Café is as awesome as possible by the time he arrives.
What else? Oh, I now regularly ride a horse. The reason is a practical one. I need to streamline the café’s outgoings because at the moment we pay the landlord at the pub to deliver our fresh produce. Casey didn’t have this cost to bear because her partner, Shep, took his little boat across to Mallaig to buy provisions once a week, but we don’t have that luxury because, although I’m not adverse to cranking up the boat, I have never mastered the art of parallel parking. And if I can’t park a car, what chance do I have of parking a boat? Horses are easy to park. All they need is a slap on the arse and a sugar cube and they’re happy (aren’t we all?). Ishmael saddles up Jekyll (with additional saddle bags) and I ride to Morir and back a few times a week. I love it. Travelling on horseback is fitting for the place.
So, to surmise, I’m now a Wild Highlander (it suits my hair) and although I sound a tad conceited, it seems I was born to ride – it’s so easy - and other than smelling like a stable yard, it’s a lovely trip out. My little jaunt eats into my writing time, but isn’t fresh air exactly what I needed?
Write soon,
Aggie
Bluey
From: Polly
To: Mr Butterworth
Date: 29 March
Dear, Mr Butterworth
Thank you for your letter, it was kind of you to write.
I work in the army headquarters so I’m not sure my experience of war can even begin to compare to yours. There is a lot of pressure (not so much for me, but for my colleagues) but no direct combat.
We’re in Iraq now. Crossing the border was a surreal experience. We travelled by truck in one big convoy and crossed the desert at night. We made camp in the early hours and slept for a short time by the trucks while soldiers kept watch around us. After a couple of hours of sleep we made tracks and crossed the border early the next morning. Crossing the border was an uneventful evolution and not at all what I expected. We drove onto the deserted Bagdad highway and headed north, and before we knew it, we were in Iraq – no gun battle, no hassle, nothing. The only Iraqis we came across were children who ran along the sides of the trucks. The Americans threw sweets and water onto the road for them.
When I first arrived in theatre I felt like a fish out of water. What was a Royal Naval officer doing on the battlefield? But now I realise I’m an equal out here. I’m one of Her Majesties forces. No one forced me to sign on the dotted line, and as the days have past I’ve come to accept my life here and respect my colleagues (they irritated me at first, but I think that was about my own insecurities rather than their behaviour).
I do understand your concerns regarding the justification for the war, but right now, the whys and wherefores are not relevant to me. I’m here and I have a job to do. The Royal Marines had a terrible time on the Al Faw Peninsula, but they have done incredibly well, and I’m beyond proud of them - I’m proud of all of us. We were sent to the desert ill-equipped and, in my opinion, unprepared, but we’ve made it happen. All I know is, for now, I have to remain focussed and wear my uniform with pride.
Take care of yourself, Mr Butterworth, and say hello to Mrs Butterworth for me.
Best wishes,
Polly Fletcher
Bluey
From: Gethyn
To: Aggie
Date: 30 March
Dear, Aggie
It’s two am and I’ve just walked back into the HQ tent after stepping outside for a moment to get some air. There’s no moon tonight. Just for a second, I was able to sit, take in the stars and pretend that war wasn’t raging around me, that it didn’t exist. I’ve never meditated before, and I don’t believe I intended to tonight, but it was like I had lifted out of my own body, and just for a moment, I wanted to wander into the desert, drift away and never look back. But I knew if I started walking, even after a few paces, without the moon’s guiding light, I would never find my way back to the safety of the tents. I stepped back inside, picked up a blank bluey and wondered who I’d like most to write to at this moment of peace, and it was you.
I wonder if Bush and Blair know how frightening war really is? A jet passed over HQ earlier today. I thought it was an Iraqi jet and I can tell you, just for a moment, until I realised it was one of our own, I was petrified – my emotions were certainly in my gut at that moment! There’s something beyond frightening about being on the receiving end of an attack from the air. If I was an Iraqi woman, holding a child in my arms and waiting to see where the bombs were going to fall, I don’t believe I could cope with such an ordeal and I hope, more than anything I have ever hoped in my life, that this war is for good reason, because if it isn’t (and we are yet to find the promised WMD) then in years to come I’m not sure I’ll be able to rationalise in my mind what we’re doing here, or maybe I’m being overly-sentimental. Maybe the horrible truth is, when I get home, I’ll be so busy with my easy western lifestyle, that other than the occasional pang of guilt –
the occasional flashback - I will have forgotten all about it.
But enough of my melancholy. You said your writing isn’t going well. Surely more happy endings are in the pipeline? As your newest and biggest fan, I do hope so.
G
Bluey
From: Polly
To: Aggie
Date: 31 March
Oh, Aggie.
Why is the value of something – someone - so much greater when you don’t have it, than when you do? I spent the last year absolutely sure that separating from Josh was the right thing for my future (and for his) but now I miss him like hell and can’t ever imagine being with another man. Fuck, I’ve messed up. I’ve not mentioned this before – and please don’t be upset that I haven’t told you - but one of the reasons our marriage broke down was because my baby, Angelica, died. After three previous failed IVF attempts, the pregnancy was a disaster. I developed pre-eclampsia at thirty weeks and was hospitalised because my blood pressure sky-rocketed. My whole body blew up with fluid retention. The hospital staff hoped to keep me stable for as long as possible, but at thirty-six weeks, my body packed in and I developed eclampsia and started to fit. They rushed me to theatre and delivered the baby. Tragically, she died three hours after delivery. Josh was with her but I was in intensive care fighting for my own life. I was pumped with magnesium and Lord knows what else and had a blood transfusion. I never held her while she was alive, which haunts me to this day. When I was stable enough to hear the news, they told me she had gone and rested her in my arms. The only name we could think of was Angelica. When you wrote about feeling a gaping hole in your heart in the shape of your mum, I realised it was the perfect way to describe how I feel about my baby. I don’t want to let go of the balloon she rests in, but maybe here in Iraq, finally, I will.
Anyway, I don’t want to think about that right now. I’m alive and that’s more than can be said for the poor people who we repatriated today. What’s worrying though (and I haven’t even admitted this to Gethyn) is I seem to have lost my capacity to display emotion and I’ve been this way for some time. Standing in line earlier today with my colleagues, paying our silent respects to five soldiers laying in coffins covered in union jacks, I didn’t shed a tear. One young soldier standing further down the line collapsed, but I felt numb. Am I a monster? Fuck it, I don’t want to write about it either.
So anyway, what’s the latest news on the school this week? What are your thoughts on the possible closure? Should we push to have the school rebuilt or not? Dad wants my opinion but I’m not sure what my opinion is. It’s so difficult to decide sometimes isn’t it, whether it’s best to just let something go, or to cling onto it for dear life.
Love, Pol x
Bluey
From: Gethyn
To: Aggie
Date: 31 March
Hi, Aggie
It’s the witching hour again and I can’t sleep. We move further into Badlands every now and again, but I’m not worried as this brave young warrior called Polly says she’ll protect me (she’s suddenly turned into Lara Croft and I honestly think she would kick a bit of Iraqi arse, too). She wanted to chirp me up, so she read me your Be Careful What You Wish For letter, the one where you attempted to conjure up your dream man in the moonlight (please don’t be cross with her). As ever, your letter forced a smile to cross my lips, but it also got me thinking about you (Oh God, here he goes again with the lecturing bollocks …).
In one of my earlier letters, I said the heart was not the correct imagery for love. On reflection, perhaps I was wrong. To explain …
The thing about the heart is that it does not have to think about beating, it just does it, from the first beat until the very last. Since I wrote my first letter to you, I’ve come to realise that, like that very first heartbeat, love is not something a person can manufacture artificially, it starts in a single moment. And once it has begun, true love will not stop until the heart dies. So you were right, the heart is the correct symbol for love, after all.
And so, in my random round-a-bout way, the thing I wanted to say to you is this: please believe me when I say you do not need to conjure up a man or read any self-help books. Everything you’ll ever need to know about life is already inside of you – inside your heart. I confess, more of your books have been sent out to me, and three of your novels in particular touched me deeply. When I Let You Go, But That’s Not What I Meant (hilarious) and Here You Come Again were all fabulous books, and I realise to my horror and embarrassment that you absolutely did not require a pompous lecture from yours truly about the merits of the romantic novel. However, despite all of the above, perhaps one day in the future, just for me, you could try your hand at a different kind of love story – perhaps one that doesn’t focus on the white knight?
Anyway, I’ll sign off there, but please don’t worry about being single in a world of couples, because I promise you this, Agatha Braithwaite, your soul mate will appear by your side one day, and it will almost certainly be on the day you least expect him to pitch up.
G
Bluey
From: Polly
To: Aggie
Date: 1 April
Dear, Aggie
I’m so desperately tired tonight, I’m not sure how much sense this will make. I can hear the shelling of Basra. It’s become normal, I’m afraid. The scud attacks that plagued us last week are less frequent now as we are too close to the enemy for them to range on us. Special Forces are on the hunt in the western desert for scuds and WMD. They won’t find the WMD. That’s not what this is about, not really. The biggest threat to British troops now is from local suicide attackers – I suppose there’s not much else can they do. The Army don’t annoy me anymore. Has this fish found water? I seem to be coping better than some of the staff – is this because they’re taking naps tablets, or is it because I have a true friend and am able to laugh and dance with him, even on the worst days. Or is it because, as a woman, there is actually less pressure on me? I arrived full of self-pity and spent the first few weeks here moaning, as you well know (sorry). But having been stripped naked of all preconceptions and previous persona, I feel like I’ve been able to get as close to a new beginning as possible. I don’t need a baby to live anymore, I’ve given birth to myself. I am enough, in me, myself.
Dad is right, if you just keep smiling, life is easier, whatever it throws your way. I think my smiles are becoming contagious. I’ve noticed others smiling back at me – finally! - and their shoulders seem to relax a little. Just maybe I have had a purpose here, after all.
With love,
Polly
‘E’ Bluey
From: Aggie
To: Gethyn
Date: 6 April
Dear, Gethyn
I’m so very touched the person you chose to write to at the moment you felt lost in the desert was me and I’m genuinely honoured to know that my books have given you light relief during a difficult time.
I’ve not managed to write one word written this week. Maybe the title – My Foolish Heart - is wrong. I was listening to a 70’s CD this morning and had the idea that all my future titles should be taken as inspiration from Bee Gee songs. For example, How Deep Is Your Love, could be an erotic novel about a gigolo deep sea diver with an ‘impressive instrument’ who entices women into his under-water world … OK, it’s terrible.
Anyhoo, I’m a little miffed with Polly for sharing my letter with you *sniffs, irritated*. Some bits of information are strictly for girls’ eyes only. On balance, though, I’m glad she did read it to you, because your words have given me the confidence to keep going. However … I’m afraid I do not share your optimism regarding the materialisation of my soul mate. But if Mr Right does pitch up, I hope he gives me a little prior notice, or at least enough time to jump out of my PJs, put a comb through my hair and ditch my Disney slippers!
I was awake last night at the witching hour too. I tried to write, but nothing came. I’m a quarter way through my latest novel and despit
e your words of encouragement, although the will is there, the way is not. Some people believe that writing is inspired, in the truest, biblical sense of the word, and that any creative process is channelled via another source. If this is the case, the deep well containing my source of inspiration has dried up, and I’m not even sure I want the water to start flowing again. I love my new life of interaction, and the thought of sitting alone, writing, hour after hour, fills me with absolute dread. Truth is, I had become too lonely to be alone anymore. Keep smiling,
Aggie
‘E’ Bluey
From: Aggie
To: Polly
Date: 8 April
Oh, Polly
I’m so sorry about the loss of your baby. I wish I could wave a magic wand and take all the pain away. I’m not going to try to give you words of wisdom, because you will have heard them all before, but I am sorry. It’s perhaps easier for me than for you to be childless because I’ve never yearned to have a child, it’s just something that I thought I’d get around to, one day, if I met the right partner. I suppose to sum up, I won’t sweat it if I’m never a mum, but if I fall in love, and if we decide we would like to start a family, then yes, I’ll go for it. Anyway, if you ever want to talk about it, or scream at someone, or just go out one night and get totally wrecked – I’m there for you.
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