You Sent Me a Letter

by Lucy Dawson

  ‘Are you all right?’ Mum says sharply.

  I nod. ‘Just feel a bit wobbly.’

  ‘Let me look at you,’ she says, but not unkindly, and tips my face gently up towards her. ‘There’s barely a mark there,’ she reassures me. ‘The photos later will be fine.’ She lets my chin go. ‘How’s your headache now? Better or worse, or about the same?’

  Is she trying to work out if I need to see a doctor or not? It’s Saturday – that means A&E and a wait of hours, especially if I say the wrong thing and wind up being given precautionary tests. I have to be at that hotel tonight. ‘A bit better.’

  ‘And your vision? It’s not blurred?’

  ‘No,’ I say truthfully.

  ‘OK,’ she says slowly. ‘So can you stand up now?’

  I take a breath and get to my feet. ‘See? I’m fine.’

  ‘Hmmm,’ she says. ‘Well, let’s get you dressed, shall we, and go from there.’

  Mum turns away from me, and I sink back down onto the bed for a moment, closing my eyes. I feel really, really sick, but then I haven’t eaten today, and that stupid treatment can’t have helped. In fact, it’s probably that, not smacking my head on the table, that’s to blame for how rough I’m feeling.

  ‘I think if I have something to…’ I begin, trailing off in horror as I look up to see Mum reaching for the top handle on my chest of drawers.

  ‘Your knickers and bras are in here, I take it?’ she says.

  ‘Mum!’

  ‘Oh, Sophie! Whatever it is, I’ll have seen it all before!’ she says, yanking it open and peering in. ‘Nothing seems to match,’ she says, puzzled, and then she actually picks up the letter, throwing it carelessly on top of the chest of drawers so she can rummage through properly.

  I almost faint on the spot. ‘Stop!’ I shout, pushing past her so I can scoop the envelope up and shove it back in the drawer. My heart is pounding so loudly I feel sure she must be able to hear it.

  Extremely surprised, she steps back and says quietly, ‘Fine, you do it. I’ll give you a moment to get dressed.’

  I lean on the closed drawer for a second once she’s gone, then wriggle into some knickers and a bra before collapsing back onto the bed for the third time, shaking slightly.

  It’s still there. It’s safe. I have to calm down.

  Mum knocks on the door and then comes back in. She’s monitoring me for sure. ‘You know, I think you do look a little thinner, actually, after that wrap.’ Her tone is deliberately light, and I see her notice I’m trembling. ‘Although God knows where Marc and Alice got that Lydia girl from. Now in a bit, we need to get going to lunch. Our table is booked for 1 p.m., and we’ve got the hairdressers at half past two. I doubt we’ll be back until five and then I thought we would all get ready to go together from here. Imogen and Alice are bridesmaids, by the way, although I’m sure you’ve realized that.’

  I sit there dumbly. We are all going to pull up together to Goldhurst Park. Everyone gathered excitedly, waiting… Oh God…

  Mum eyes me keenly. ‘Sophie, I am a bit worried about you. I know you don’t want to go to hospital and I can see why, one hundred per cent; but Marc and everyone else will understand if we need to have someone check you over. Your health is more important than anything else, even a wedding.’

  ‘I’m fine,’ I insist and smile brightly.

  ‘You promise? And you promise that you’ll tell me if you start to feel unwell?’

  ‘Mum, I’m just a bit upset at having whacked my head on my wedding day, that’s all.’ I avoid answering her. ‘Can I look at it?’

  Mum passes me a mirror. I peer at my face. There’s barely a mark.

  ‘You see?’ Mum says. ‘In years to come, when you and Marc look back on today, you’ll not even remember you bumped your head.’

  I glance down. How will I feel when I look back on all of this?

  I want Mum’s version of events – not the reality lying in wait for me.

  ‘Oh, come on!’ she says gently, but firmly. ‘You’re all right. This is going to be the happiest of days. Marc has worked so hard to make everything perfect for you, and that’s all you need – the love that has made that happen. Get dressed, and we’ll go and have a wonderful lunch – just us girls, OK?’ She pats my leg and gets up. ‘Now, Imogen is just getting the dresses out of her car to put in your spare room, so can you give it another moment or two before you come down, and don’t go in there?’ She lowers her voice. ‘Imogen may not have hidden them very well… I must say, this is all much easier logistically now you know about the wedding. Don’t be more than five minutes, though, or I’ll be sending a search party up to make sure you haven’t collapsed in a corner.’ She smiles worriedly, looking tired and older than her sixty-four years.

  I nod, and she disappears off downstairs.

  I get dressed slowly, pulling on a pair of jeans and a checked shirt. As I’m doing up the buttons, I hear footsteps on the stairs, a swish of cellophane and hushed whispers, then a suppressed giggle as my sisters creep back out of the spare room and down stairs again. That’ll be the dresses done. Alice gives a sudden hoot of laughter at the bottom of the stairs – presumably at something Imogen has said – and the sitting room door bangs, as if they’ve whirled in and slammed it shut behind them like two naughty little kids not wanting to get caught stealing sweets.

  The happiest of days…

  I can’t think of a less apt description. While I know ultimately I have only myself to blame, like a cat playing with a mouse, Claudine is determined to have her cruel fun, no doubt relishing the fact that we both know the killer blow is about to come.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Imogen offers to drive us to lunch, and once I’ve carefully locked the front door, we make our way to her Volvo estate, which is parked on the kerb in front of the drive.

  Alice climbs in the back as I scan up and down the street anxiously, before getting in after her. There is no one obviously parked, watching us.

  ‘Ah, this is so cute!’ Alice starts fiddling with one of Evie’s toys that she’s found lying in the baby car seat, as I clip in my seat belt and peer out of the window again. The thing is, if when we start to move a car pulls out and begins to follow us, what exactly am I going to do anyway?

  ‘You all right, Soph?’ Imogen asks.

  ‘Hmmm. Fine!’ Caught off-guard, I smile widely at her reflection in the rear-view mirror. At least Mum, if not Alice too, is going to expect me to start getting more and more hyped up now, and I need to start playing my part properly. It’s hard to channel delirium, though, when I’m trying to work out exactly how Claudine is going to pull this off tonight.

  ‘This is really clever, isn’t it?’ Alice says to Imogen, looking interestedly at a mirror strapped around the headrest to her left. ‘So you can keep an eye on Evie without having to turn around?’

  ‘It’s essential,’ Imogen says, checking her side mirror. ‘I have to be able to see what she’s doing while I’m driving.’

  If I could have told Marc when it happened, I would have, but it wasn’t just about us. Suppose he’d told Lou too, and destroyed their family as well? But I shouldn’t have said that I would marry him. That is now very clear to me.

  ‘Surely all you need to be able to see is the road in front of you?’ Mum says to Imogen, getting comfy alongside her in the front. ‘Evie’s eight months old. She’s hardly going to open the door and climb out.’

  Imogen glares at her. ‘I know that. But if I can’t see her, I can’t tell if her hat’s fallen down and is covering her eyes, or something like that.’

  Mum raises an eyebrow.

  ‘What about if she’s eating a rice cake or something?’ Alice says. ‘With the mirror, you’d know if she was choking. See, Mum?’

  ‘Darling, you never, ever give a child of Evie’s age something to eat in a car,’ Mum says crushingly. ‘If she did start to choke, and Imogen saw, she couldn’t do a thing about it if she was driving. By the time she was able to safely
stop, it would probably be too late. Isn’t that right, Imogen?’

  ‘Er, yes,’ says Imogen.

  I should have broken it off. He would never have needed to know what really happened. I think about Mum furiously crashing around my house today, as if trying to catch my father out all over again. It doesn’t seem you can ever fully return to being the person you were before you were cheated on. Marc has risked so much to be with me. How could there be any way back for us after this?

  ‘You don’t ever give Evie food in the car, do you?’ Mum says slowly.

  ‘Of course not!’ Imogen starts the car hurriedly. ‘Let’s stop faffing and just go, shall we?’

  I glance behind us again as we pull away. No one is following. We reach the T-junction and Imogen turns left before going another hundred yards down the road. Still no one there… We safely reach the main road as I realize suddenly that the truth is that Marc and I were over the moment I wound up in bed with Rich. Did I know that even then? Was my saying yes to Marc’s proposal not just about guilt, but playing for time? Delaying the inevitable? I turn quickly and pretend to look out of the window, my eyes spiking with tears. I didn’t want to hurt him, or the children. I wouldn’t want that for the world. I really do love them.

  ‘You sure you’re all right, Sophie?’ Imogen asks. ‘Got enough leg room?’

  ‘Uhh hmm,’ I manage. ‘Plenty, thanks.’

  So, ironically, Claudine is right: this wedding shouldn’t be happening. But does it really have to implode so publically, and painfully? There’s got to be a way I can spare us all that, at least?

  ‘It’s very spacious, this car, isn’t it?’ Mum says admiringly.

  ‘Very!’ Imogen agrees. ‘Although I still struggle with it not having a handbrake – just a button instead! I can’t say I don’t miss my Audi, though.’ Her smile starts to fade slightly. ‘I mean, this is a much heavier, safer option – you can’t go far wrong with it. It’s got loads of space… and it’s very practical and reliable. But I really did enjoy nipping around in the A3…’ No one says anything and she stares out of the windscreen and adds more quietly, ‘But there you go. Things change…’

  ‘Jesus wept,’ Alice exclaims. ‘Remind me to start hiring you lot out to funerals, won’t you? Put the bloody radio on, Gen. We’re supposed to be celebrating!’ She turns to me. ‘So what do you want your fortieth year to bring you, Soph?’

  ‘In fact, it’s her forty-first,’ Mum corrects.

  Alice rolls her eyes. ‘You know what I mean – don’t be so pedantic.’

  I clear my throat. ‘I don’t know, really.’

  ‘I expect you and Marc will get married, won’t you, depending on his divorce finally coming through?’

  ‘Maybe,’ I say gamely.

  ‘Where do you think you’ll do it?’ she asks innocently. ‘Here, or abroad?’

  ‘Well, I don’t know. We both want our families there, so not abroad, I shouldn’t think.’

  ‘Really? Interesting,’ she murmurs. ‘Then again, beach weddings are lovely – and everyone either gets married in some dreary hotel or in a marquee in the pissing rain in this country. I think you should tell Marc you want to go to somewhere like Barbados.’

  Don’t overdo it, Al. I shoot her a warning glance and she grins wickedly back. ‘Can Gen and I be bridesmaids when you do get married?’

  ‘No,’ I say firmly. ‘You can’t.’

  She narrows her eyes at me. ‘What sort of dress will you get, do you think?’

  She’s really starting to push her luck.

  ‘I don’t know.’ I pretend to muse. ‘Depends on what sort of do it is. Nothing too tight, or tarty.’

  ‘White, or do you think you’re a bit old for that? What do you think about coloured dresses—’

  Imogen swerves slightly.

  ‘You’d probably look really nice in a—’

  ‘Alice,’ interrupts Mum sharply. ‘Do you have anything to eat in your bag?’

  ‘Er, yeah, I think so. Some mints. Why?’

  ‘Put some in your mouth and stop talking, please.’

  ‘Oh my God! Listen!’ says Imogen suddenly, and turns the radio up. ‘It’s Granny and Grandpa’s song!’

  Alice finally falls quiet. ‘I haven’t heard this in ages…’

  We all listen carefully to Nat King Cole’s voice, promising to be near each time we call, and simply asking for our love, for ever, in return.

  ‘Not since her funeral, in fact,’ whispers Alice.

  ‘Don’t you think that’s bizarre that it should come on now, while we’re all in the car together like this?’ exclaims Imogen. ‘It’s a sign! She’s wishing you a day full of happiness and love, Sophie.’

  It’s such a lovely thing to say that I loosen my seat belt so I can sit forward and squeeze her shoulder, before looking at Mum, who is staring furiously out of the passenger window. I reach for her hand. She takes it very tightly in hers, without looking around.

  ‘She was so proud of you – her girls.’ Her voice is slightly choked. ‘Imogen’s right – I’m sure she’s thinking of you today, Sophie.’

  I kiss Mum’s hand briefly and let it go, before sitting back. The painful sense of our loss and the empty space, as strong as the day my grandmother died, is tangible; yet somehow made just about bearable by the warmth and love I feel at hearing the music that instantly makes me remember just what it was like to have her standing in a room, right next to me. I can practically smell her perfume and feel the softness of her hands. She had particularly elegant fingers, my grandmother.

  If she’s up there aware of what’s going on, she’s not going to be happy with me right now. I lean my head back on the headrest and look out the window.

  Which is when I notice a white transit van sitting in Imogen’s right side mirror.

  It’s about two car lengths behind us, and something makes me lift my head up and peer at the reflection more closely. I can’t see the driver, just the wing. I look around quickly to gauge where exactly we are on the bypass. We’re about half a mile away from the next junction.

  ‘Are we coming off here?’ I ask.

  ‘I can’t tell you that,’ Imogen says playfully. ‘You’ll have to wait and see! God, I’m so hungry! I might even have a pudding today… And don’t say I ought not to, Mum, because I want one.’

  ‘I wasn’t going to say anything,’ Mum replies archly.

  I watch carefully as we approach the junction that leads to the popular industrial estate where most Saturday drivers will be going in search of sofas or computers or DIY tools. Certainly somewhere a white van might be heading.

  It doesn’t turn off.

  I shift forward in my seat. ‘Do you think you could put your foot down a bit?’ I try to keep my voice steady.

  Gen looks in the mirror at me in surprise. ‘Why?’

  ‘Just feeling a bit ropey.’

  She pulls a worried face. ‘You’re not going to be sick, are you?’

  ‘Can you just hurry up?’

  She does as I ask, and we surge forward. She’s right: for a heavy car, it’s still quite powerful. We overtake a couple of estates and a Berlingo van. I glance in the mirror. The van is nowhere to be seen, and I start to exhale slowly. But then, right at the last moment, as we begin to slow on the approach to our turn-off, it slips back into view and resumes its former position.

  It’s following us.

  Mum turns to face me. ‘Is your headache worse?’

  My mouth has gone dry and I struggle to think straight. What should I do? Let Gen carry on to the restaurant? At least it will be busy there, with lots of people around…

  ‘Sophie?’ persists Mum. ‘Talk to me, please!’

  ‘I’m fine,’ I manage. ‘Just a bit queasy.’

  ‘Look, I’d rather just stop for a minute if you’re going to vom,’ Imogen says bossily, taking the exit slip road, then driving up the hill and onto a long, leafy road lined with neat, set-back houses. ‘I’ll just pull in here for a second.
’

  ‘No!’ I exclaim in fear, as I see the van appear behind us once more. Gen swerves slightly and Mum frowns. ‘Sorry.’ I try to smile. ‘I mean – can you just keep going. Please?’

  ‘OK, OK…’ Imogen, needled, falls silent. Mum continues to survey me for a moment longer, then slowly turns back in her seat. I deliberately avoid meeting Alice’s quizzical gaze, concentrating only on the traffic in front of us. Mercifully it’s unusually clear, and we sail straight into the centre of town, towards the same car park that we always choose.

  ‘Go to the bottom level,’ Mum says, just as she always does. ‘There’ll be plenty of spaces down there.’

  We slow to approach the barrier and, swallowing, I can’t help but look in Imogen’s wing mirror. The van is now right up behind us, practically touching the bumper. I inhale sharply and hold my breath. All I can see is headlights, nothing else.

  Gen opens her window, sticks her arm out, swipes the ticket and pulls away. I loosen my seat belt and slide forward so I can look in her rear-view mirror. The barrier comes down behind us, in front of the white bonnet, but because we’re driving into comparative darkness, I can’t make out the driver’s face properly. Only as Imogen turns the corner to take us onto the lower level do I think I get a flash of a man’s face in glasses.

  It’s him. It has to be.

  The others start to argue over which space to select, Imogen insisting she can’t get in one that Alice tells her is wide enough for a bus. My hands start to sweat. I wait for him to pull slowly down behind us. What’s he going to do – park too? Get out and follow us? But I haven’t done anything wrong! I haven’t said a thing!

  To my surprise, however, the next car down, as Gen begins to slowly back into a space, is a red mini, followed by a BMW.

  ‘Sophie? I said, “Have you got any change?”’

  I turn back to realize we have stopped, and they are all staring at me, waiting.

  I shake my head and there’s a pause before Alice says slowly, ‘Yeah, I think we probably just need to get her something to eat.’ She turns and opens her door.