by Lindsey Kelk
‘I know.’ I gulped down a mouthful of cream liqueur and shuddered. ‘And that’s for four days a week. I’d have one day off to work on my photography.’
‘That’s terribly generous,’ Al said. ‘Terribly thoughtful and terribly generous. He must value you a great deal, Tess.’
‘It’s not her values he’s interested in.’ Amy picked up the brown paper gift bag, tore it open and tossed me what looked like an oddly shaped leather handbag while she scanned the note that came with it. ‘Oh, piss off, knobchops!’
‘What is it?’ Al asked.
‘What does the note say?’ Kekipi asked.
‘I’ll go and make more cocoa,’ Domenico offered.
‘It’s a camera case,’ I said, slipping the cushioned leather strap around my neck. ‘For my camera.’
It was truly beautiful. Soft brown leather with a long, cushioned neck, no obvious brand or label, just true craftsmanship. I reached out to grab my camera from the side table and slipped it inside.
‘Perfect fit,’ Al said.
‘As if it were made for me,’ I replied. ‘It’s gorgeous.’
‘My present is better,’ Amy said, shoving a piece of paper down the back of her pyjama bottoms. ‘Let’s open my presents.’
‘What does the note say?’ Kekipi asked.
‘What note?’ Amy asked, all innocence.
‘The one you’re trying to hide in your knickers,’ he replied, picking her up off the ground and shaking her. ‘Give it up, Miss Smith.’
‘This is sexual harassment!’ she yelled at Al. ‘Or short-person harassment. It’s definitely harassment of some kind.’
‘You haven’t said yes to the job, yet,’ he pointed out. ‘My hands are tied.’
‘What does it say?’ I asked, stroking my camera case. My head was swimming and I didn’t know if it was from the spiked hot chocolate, the job offer, or the incredibly thoughtful gift.
‘Oh,’ Kekipi said, his face falling. He looked up and locked his eyes on mine. ‘Let’s open Amy’s presents, shall we?’
‘What does it say?’ I demanded, still clutching the bottle of Baileys. ‘Amy!’
‘It says he loves you,’ she said, sticking her fingers down her throat. ‘Tess, I love you. I want to try. I’ll call you soon. Lame.’
‘It doesn’t say lame,’ Kekipi qualified. ‘I believe that’s her review of the note.’
‘Thanks,’ I nodded. ‘For clearing that up.’
Charlie loved me? All of a sudden I felt light-headed. What happened to being friends, just friends, again?
‘Let’s not do anything rash,’ Amy said, folding up the note into the tiniest possible square and dropping it inside a huge glass vase. ‘Let’s sit down, eat this tin of Quality Street and get back to him after dinner. You don’t want to ruin his Christmas, do you?’
‘Do you think he knows it’s been delivered?’ I asked, suddenly sweating. ‘They’ll email him, won’t they? He’ll be expecting me to call or something.’
‘There’s the time difference,’ Amy argued. ‘And you might not have been home when they delivered it. Tess, don’t do anything stupid. Sit down and eat some chocolate, you’re not thinking straight.’
‘You’re right,’ I said, standing up, my camera snugly in its case around my neck. ‘I need some fresh air.’
Without another word, I grabbed my handbag and someone’s coat from the cupboard and walked right out the door.
Christmas Day in England saw the world stand still. The shops were closed, the roads were quiet and hardly a soul left the house unless they were testing out a new bike for the first time on their way to eat more turkey and roast potatoes than could possibly be healthy. But New York did not play by the same rules. Fifth Avenue was as busy at 9 a.m. on 25 December as it was on 24 December and 23 and 22. Delivery men rode their bicycles on and off the pavement, buses mowed down the left-hand lanes of the road, while taxis honked at each other as they swerved around corners, and dozens of people, bundled up in hats, scarves and gloves, buzzed towards the park with their families, cups of coffee, and all creatures, great and small.
I joined the stream, entering the gate right next to the spot where I’d broken in two nights before. Instead of walking the tree I’d shinned up, I made a sharp right, heading for the lake. A big red padded jacket over bright blue flannel pyjamas and tan Uggs, with a camera hung around my neck, and not a single person looked my way.
I loved New York.
Eventually I ran out of steam and sat down on an empty bench right by the edge of the lake, the water still and green and dotted with tiny icebergs.
I couldn’t stop wondering what my family were doing. It would be the afternoon in England now. Were they having dinner? Had they finished already? Was The Sound of Music on telly? I had promised them I’d call, I thought. I’d just give them a quick bell. They could always ignore it if they were eating.
‘Hello?’ My sister, Mel, answered the phone.
‘Merry Christmas!’ I boomed, causing a flurry of ducks to take off across the water.
‘We’re eating,’ she replied. ‘What do you want?’
‘Nice to hear from you too,’ I said, kicking a stone with my toe. ‘I just wanted to say Merry Christmas.’
‘All right,’ she said. ‘Anything else?’
‘You’re in a festive mood then,’ I sniffed. My sister was rarely the most exuberant of humans but this was impressive, even for her. ‘Cheer up, Mel, anyone would think it was Christmas.’
‘It might be Christmas in New York with all your fancy mates,’ she replied, sounding more and more like our mum every day, ‘but I’ve already had to drive forty minutes in the pissing rain with two screaming toddlers – and given that my husband is well on his way to getting shitfaced with Brian, it looks like I’ll be driving back again tonight. So, I’m not really in the Christmas spirit, no.’
‘Fair,’ I replied. ‘Is Mum there?’
‘Mum,’ she bellowed. ‘It’s Tess.’
‘Tell her I’m eating,’ she shouted back.
‘She’s eating,’ Mel relayed. ‘Can I go now?’
‘Yeah,’ I said, deflating as I spoke. At least Charlie was right about one thing, Christmas Day at my mum’s house would have been about as much fun as elective surgery. ‘I suppose.’
‘Liz wants to know, when are you coming home?’ she asked, speaking for our younger sister. ‘You know she’s up the duff again?’
‘I didn’t, actually,’ I replied. ‘When did she announce that bombshell?’
Liz had always wanted a thousand children. It wasn’t a huge surprise that she was on her second before she had turned twenty-four.
‘She saved it for today, didn’t she?’ Mel muttered. ‘You know how she likes an audience. I thought she might have texted you.’
‘Thankfully not,’ I said, slightly annoyed that she hadn’t. Oh, the contrariness of sisterhood. ‘And I’m not sure when I’ll be up. Some time in January, I should think?’
‘Well, you’ve got a load of post here,’ she said. ‘Nothing that exciting from the looks of it, but there’s a whole bloody bagful.’
‘There shouldn’t be,’ I said, frowning. I’d asked Mum to shout if anything important turned up. She had yet to shout. ‘Can you see it? What’s it say?’
‘I’m not your bloody secretary, Tess,’ she snorted, although the sound of shuffling plastic bag suggested she wasn’t quite so offended. ‘I’m not opening fifty bloody letters and reading them all to you.’
‘I know,’ I said, even as I heard her tearing into an envelope. ‘Dear Miss Brookes, blah blah blah, your smear test is overdue.’
‘Thanks.’ That would have been nice to know.
‘Dear Miss Brookes, if you move your credit card balance to us—’
‘Next,’ I said. ‘We don’t need to talk about my credit card balance right now. But hang on to that one.’
‘Yes, sir,’ she replied. ‘Ooh, this one’s handwritten. Tess, this is my fourth let
ter. I know by now you’re not going to reply but I’m still going to write—’ She fell silent, but I could hear her breathing as the paper rustled.
Every atom of breath was knocked out of me.
‘I don’t know who this bloke is,’ Mel said. ‘But he sounds like a right tart. Got a massive hard-on for you, hasn’t he? Who writes letters these days? And I really did not need to know what you were getting up to under a waterfall in Hawaii. Really, Tess, anyone could have seen you.’
‘How many more letters are there?’ I asked, still struggling to breathe. ‘What does the postmark say? Why didn’t Mum tell me about them?’
‘There’s about fifty,’ she said. ‘At least. And I don’t know, I’m not her keeper. You can’t see the postmark, can you? They’ve got the redirect sticker on them. Can I go and finish my dinner now?’
‘From Nick?’ I asked. The lake seemed to pull away from me and I gripped the splintered wood of the bench with my free hand. ‘There are fifty letters from Nick?’
‘Oh no, there’s maybe ten, twelve with the same handwriting,’ she said, her voice breezy. ‘Are you in some sort of trouble? Is he a stalker?’
‘What’s going on?’ Mum shouted.
‘Tess has got a stalker,’ Mel replied.
‘She’s such a drama queen,’ Liz screeched. ‘She can’t have a stalker, I’m having a baby.’
‘Mel, I’m really sorry to be a pain but could you just open a couple, and take a picture, and send them?’ I pleaded. ‘I know, you want to finish your dinner but this is really important. You don’t have to do all of them right now but I really need to see those letters. Please?’
‘You’re right, I don’t have to do anything,’ she snipped. ‘But my sprouts will be cold by now anyway. The only thing worse than Mum’s sprouts are Mum’s sprouts when they’re cold.’
‘I can hear you!’ our mother shrieked in the background.
‘I’m sending them and then I’m deleting them,’ Mel said, the sound of tearing paper ripping down the line. I wanted to tell her to be more careful with the envelopes, but I also wanted her not to burn them before I could read them. ‘I do not want this on my phone, I do not want to have to explain it to Darren.’
My phone buzzed against my ear with incoming texts and I looked up at the sky, all soft white and dove grey, promising snow and I was too scared to open the images. I was also scared about my roaming bill.
‘There, have you got them?’ she asked.
‘I have, thank you,’ I said.
‘Mum!’ a thin voice wailed down the line. ‘I need a wee!’
‘I’m coming!’ she shouted. ‘I’ve got to go. She won’t let anyone else take her to the toilet at the moment; it’s driving me mental and I haven’t brought a spare pair of pants. I’ll send the rest later.’
My hands were shaking so much I could barely hold my phone. ‘Everything’s OK, Mel, it’s all fine. Don’t worry about it. Send them whenever you can. I’ll talk to you later. Love you.’
‘Well, now I know something’s up,’ she muttered. ‘Go and have a drink, for Christ’s sake.’
She hung up and I cradled my phone in my palm and, one by one, tapped on the four images in my sister’s texts.
Dear Tess,
This is my fourth letter. I know by now you’re not going to reply but I’m still going to write. I was in Tulum this week (that’s in Mexico) and you would have loved it.
‘I knew where Tulum is,’ I mumbled. ‘Sort of.’
I trekked out to visit the Mayan ruins and it was so beautiful. I completed my scuba diving training as well and I can officially teach now. I’ve been thinking of spending some time in Australia next year – I’ve got a buddy who has a dive school over there – but I’m not sure. Anything that keeps me moving. Anything that keeps me busy.
Call me, I love you.
The next note must have been sent later. It was a plain piece of paper with something stuck to the page. When I zoomed in, I saw it was an entrance ticket to the duomo in Milan. He had kept the ticket from our visit. At the bottom of the page, there were the same five words.
Call me, I love you.
The next was the second or third in our one-sided conversation. My nose prickled and my eyes stung as I read, not able to stop myself from wondering what might have happened if I’d received just a single one of his notes.
Tess,
I don’t know if you received my first letter, if you’re ignoring me or just taking your time. Maybe you’re trying to torture me. God knows I deserve it but I can’t take it.
I’m leaving New York for the summer. I had planned to come to London, I had hoped I’d be able to see you, but all this waiting to hear from you is too much for me. I’ll let you know where I land. I’m thinking Mexico, maybe Central America, nowhere I won’t be able to get back to you. If you want me to. I hope that you do.
Call me, I love you.
The last note was just that, the last note.
Tess,
It’s been almost five months now. Do you know that? Do you know how long it’s been? Five months since we were in Milano, five months since I fell in love with you, five months since I ruined everything. Either you don’t know or you don’t care. Either way, I can’t keep writing these letters. I’m not even sure if you’ll receive this – the post in Venezuela is not famous for its speedy or reliable service. I’m headed back to New York soon, I’ve got some work to do and I promised my family I’d visit England over Christmas. I need to start my life again. Without you in it, whether I like it or not.
I love you.
No ‘call me’. He’d given up. The letter was dated mid-November but redirected from London to my mum’s house on the twentieth of December. The day I’d left for New York. I closed each of the pictures, saving them to the phone’s memory and uploading them to the Cloud forever and ever, safe in a bunker full of memories somewhere I would never know. I skipped through to Nick’s number as quickly as I could and pressed call. This time it didn’t matter that I didn’t know what to say to him, all he needed to know was that I’d read the letters. But it didn’t even ring; it didn’t even connect to his voicemail. There was nothing on the line.
‘Maybe he’s still flying,’ I told myself, my face wet and my skin stinging. ‘Or his battery could be dead. Or his phone might not work in England.’
Or maybe he blocked your number, the voice in my head suggested. Maybe he thought you’d been ignoring his beautiful, heartfelt letters and then showed up on his doorstep, didn’t even mention them and now he never wants to speak to you again.
At the bottom of my handbag, a little rubber duck eyed me with disappointment.
I remembered chucking him in there before I left for New York. I should have left him in Amy’s bathroom with Pete the Pooper.
‘Nope,’ I said, fingering the supple leather of the camera case and looking at the glitter pressed into the lines on the palms of my hands. It was from Charlie’s Christmas card. He had branded me with sparkles, all the way across the ocean.
‘Remember when all I wanted was this?’ I asked, as he nestled in between my passport and an open packet of tissues. ‘The unconditional love of Charlie Wilder and all the After Eights I could eat?’
He shifted and gave me a judgemental quack.
‘Thanks for being so supportive,’ I told him as I watched two joggers running around the opposite side of the lake. Who went running on Christmas Day? Weirdos.
Said the woman sitting on a park bench talking to a plastic duck.
‘He’s gone back to England for God knows how long,’ I whispered. ‘I don’t even know how to get hold of him.’
The duck stared at me, his painted-on eyes full of judgement.
‘You know, you’re not helping,’ I shouted, picking him up and hurling him into the lake. He disappeared into the water for a moment before popping up to the surface and bobbing around a few feet from the edge.
I watched, hands pressed to my mouth as he floated awa
y, bobbing along past three cigarette butts and an empty coffee cup.
‘Oh God.’ I clapped my hand against my forehead, pushed my hair away from my face and shoved my phone back inside my bag. I couldn’t leave him in there. Who else would insult me when I was all alone? ‘Hold on, I’m coming.’
The water wasn’t deep and he wasn’t far away. Gritting my teeth, I crouched down on my knees at the edge of the lake, stretching out over the water and trying to reach him, but his neon-yellow tail wobbled away, an inch from my fingertips.
‘Nope, that’s not going to do it,’ he said, sailing further away.
‘Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck!’ I pushed myself up off the floor, picking tiny stones out of the palms of my hands. Tiny stones and glitter. ‘Fuck fuck fuckity fuck.’
It was no ‘Rudolph, the Red Nosed Reindeer’ but it was quite catchy.
I tiptoed into the water, an inch or so lapping around the soles of my boots, and swiped at the surface as he drifted farther away.
‘Fine!’ I said, marching right out into the lake until I was up to my knees. ‘Fine! I’ll get wet through and catch a cold and die. Then will you be happy?’
‘I wouldn’t say happy,’ someone said behind me. ‘But it’s pretty funny.’
Standing by the bench, clad in her blue fake fur, giant sunglasses obscuring her face, two steaming coffees in one hand and filming me on her phone with the other, was Amy.
‘No, don’t stop,’ she said. ‘I’m getting some really good stuff here.’
‘I want that played at my funeral,’ I scooped up the rubber duck, shoved him in my pocket and waded back out of the water. ‘How did you know where I was?’
‘I always know where you are,’ Amy replied, holding out her hand to beckon me back to dry land. ‘That and you put the Find Your Friends app on our phones remember?’
It was useful for those times when Amy woke up halfway across the city and had left her credit card behind a bar, which used to happen roughly once a month but now I thought about it, I couldn’t remember the last time I’d had to send an Uber on a quest around London to find her.
‘Are you going to come out of there or should I join you?’ she asked as I pocketed the duck. ‘Looks chilly.’