Letters to Lincoln

by Tracie Podger

  I folded the letter and placed it in the envelope, ready for leaving in the honesty box the following morning. As I climbed into bed, I thought of Miller and his strange behaviour. A little nagging doubt crossed my mind. Was he upset that I was spending time with Daniel? Maybe he felt there was a reason that I shouldn’t. Daniel had said that Miller felt he hadn’t supported him enough and curiosity was burning a hole in my mind.

  Chapter Twelve

  “I think we should get a Christmas tree,” Dad announced over breakfast.

  It’s three weeks away yet, it won’t live that long, I wrote on my pad.

  “I don’t mean right now. I’ve been using that old plastic one your mum bought years ago. Half the branches are missing; it’s a semi-bald tree stump now. There must be a tree farm, or wherever one gets a real tree from, locally.”

  There is a field of Christmas trees somewhere along the Atlantic Highway, I remember seeing it.

  “We’ll do some investigating. I know they have small ones in the garden centre, but let’s go all out this year.”

  I wasn’t sure I wanted to go ‘all out’ but I understood that Dad was trying to distract me from any negative thoughts. If it were up to me, I’d just stay in bed all day and ignore it.

  “I mean, if you want to, of course,” he added.

  If you want a real tree, we’ll get a real tree. It will be nice to spend some time to decorate it. You have decorations, I take it?

  “Somewhere, probably in the loft. I think I’ll have a look later today.” His smile was broad.

  The ringing of the telephone distracted him and I watched him walk to the hallway. I inwardly chuckled that he’d sit in that hallway on the old-fashioned telephone table and talk on the cordless phone.

  “That was Christian, he’s driving down today. He didn’t sound good at all. I think he plans on staying over for a couple of nights. I’ll have to get the spare room sorted.”

  Dad seemed flustered and I wondered if Christian had said any more in their telephone conversation.

  I’ll help, what needs doing? I wrote.

  “The bed might need a change, I can’t remember when it last was, not that anyone has slept in it for ages.”

  I placed my hand on his arm and patted my chest. I wanted him to know I’d do that. I headed upstairs to what had been Christian’s childhood bedroom. It had since been decorated many times, from memory. As I passed the linen cupboard, I grabbed some fresh bedding.

  I opened the bedroom window, just to blast a little fresh air into the otherwise stuffy room. The radiator had been left on full and the room felt very oppressive. Once I’d changed the bed linen, I closed the window and decided to give them a wipe over. I didn’t think they’d been cleaned in a while. A layer of dust covered each surface, and yet again, guilt flowed over me that I hadn’t been the best at helping around the house. I heard a bumping up the stairs and went to look. Dad was dragging the vacuum cleaner behind him, and also holding a bucket of cleaning items. I took the vacuum from him. Between us, we cleaned up the room.

  “That’s a little more welcoming,” Dad said once we’d finished.

  I didn’t have a pad close by so could only smile. Dad patted my shoulder as we left the room. I decided I’d give the other rooms a quick go over and took the cleaning bucket from Dad. I ushered him to the top of the stairs, so he’d know to go and relax and let me get on with it.

  It took me a half hour to clean the bathroom and my bedroom. I hesitated outside Dad’s bedroom door, trying to remember the last time I’d been in that room. I took a deep breath and pushed open the door. His bed was neatly made and standing proud on his bedside cabinet were photographs of him and Mum, Christian, and me. There was one photograph, a close up of my mum smiling, that was the closest to bed. I could imagine my dad wishing my mum a goodnight, just before he would reach over and turn off the lamp.

  I gave the room a vacuum, dusted, and fluffed up the cushions on the bed. The room had a familiar scent, a flowery perfume. Memories flooded my mind, I remembered my mother smelling that way. On the bedside cabinet was an old bottle of perfume, it was nearly empty and I wondered if that had belonged to my mum. Perhaps Dad sprayed it in the room to remind him of her. I made a mental note of the perfume.

  Later that afternoon, just as the sun was starting to lower, I heard the sound of a car pull onto the driveway. I looked over to Dad, who was reading his newspaper for the second time that day.

  That might be Chris, I wrote, tapping his newspaper to get his attention.

  Dad nodded and rose. I let him open the front door and strained to hear a mumbled conversation.

  When Christian walked through to the kitchen, I wanted to gasp. His hair was a mess, those dark circles framed eyes reddened with unshed tears. His hand visibly shook. He slumped into a chair opposite me and lowered his head into his hands. Dad stood to his side with his hand on Christian’s back.

  “She’s been having an affair for two years. Two fucking years and I didn’t know a thing,” Christian said. He hadn’t looked up, but a tear dripped through his fingers and landed on the kitchen table. My heart broke for him.

  “Did she tell you that, Son?” Dad asked.

  Christian nodded his head. “I found some things, she had no choice but to confess it all. Dad, I smashed the house to pieces, I was so angry, and now I don’t know what to do.”

  “Did you hurt her?” Dad said, his voice had lowered to a whisper.

  Christian looked up sharply. “No!”

  “How have you left it with her?” Dad asked.

  “I can’t go back there. It’s finished. She’s betrayed me in the worst way.”

  Christian looked at me with such devastation in his eyes that it startled me.

  Christian, what is it? I wrote, sliding the pad across to him.

  “I need…I need an hour or two to get over the journey. I have a couple of bags in the boot.” He stood from his chair but wobbled.

  “Sit down, Son, I’ll fetch them in,” Dad said.

  I’d never seen Christian so distressed. His breathing was heavy, as if he’d just finished a run. I rose to fill a glass of water for him. He drank half of it down without taking a breath. He had kept his head bowed as I took my seat opposite him. I reached forwards to hold his hand. His grip was so tight my skin whitened. Something was very, very wrong.

  I heard Dad place a couple of bags, or possibly suitcases, by the bottom of the stairs. Christian released my hand and stood.

  “I have such a headache. I need to lay down for a little while,” he said. I nodded and watched him walk out of the kitchen.

  It was a few minutes later that Dad came back into the kitchen. He had a stricken look on his face.

  Did he say anything more? I wrote.

  Dad took the longest breath, exhaling so slowly before closing his eyes.

  “Let’s give him tonight, I think he’s going to collapse in that bed. He’s emotionally exhausted right now. Do you think I should ring Helen?”

  I don’t know. I guess she’d know he’d come here, wouldn’t she? What do you think he meant when he said he smashed the place up?

  Christian didn’t have a violent bone in his body. I remembered as children, I was the one to fight his battles because he wouldn’t. It wasn’t that he wasn’t capable, he was a fit man, a fit child back then, but he had no desire for confrontation, even if that meant taking a beating from the schoolyard bully.

  “I think he punched some doors, smashed a few ornaments, or something. He said he threw a vase across the room; it smashed the mirror on the wall. That’s not like him, Dani, not like him at all.”

  You need to sit down, let me make you a cup of tea, and we’ll wait until Chris is ready to tell us more.

  Dad sat as I stood to make the tea. I thought more about what he said about calling Helen. Once I’d made the tea, I fetched the telephone from the hallway and laid it on the table. I stared at it for a while. Would Christian feel we were not supporting him if w
e called Helen to ask if she was okay? She hadn’t made any effort with us, and thinking about it, she didn’t call Dad, ever. Christian was the one who would call.

  When did Helen last visit you? I wrote.

  “I don’t know, long before…you know? Could even have been last year. Why?”

  I’m just wondering why she’s kept her distance.

  “Because she’s been cheating on my son. Maybe, hopefully, she feels guilty enough not to want to face me,” Dad said with such vehemence in his voice.

  I’ll get dinner started, what do you fancy? I wrote, hoping that a change of subject, for the moment, might lessen some of the sadness in his eyes.

  “I don’t mind. I don’t think Christian will be up to eating much. How about some of that soup you made the other day?”

  I gave him a smile and nodded.

  Christian didn’t come down for dinner. I’d taken a tray up to him, but he was sleeping so soundly I decided to leave him alone. If he woke later, he could always reheat the soup. Dad seemed to be on edge for most of the evening, deciding to retire to bed earlier than normal. He gave me a kiss to the top of my head and told me not to stay up too late. I settled on the sofa with the television on low, not really watching a movie that I’d joined halfway through. My mind was on Christian.

  I believed Dad was right in his reasoning for Helen keeping her distance. She’d certainly kept that distance from me since Trey and Hannah’s deaths. We’d assumed it was because she hadn’t wanted to upset me with the birth of Alistair, but I wasn’t so sure anymore. I pondered on what Christian would do with regards to Alistair. Being in Cornwall was a long way from London. The more I thought about it, what would he do with regards to work? He’d have to return to London at some point.

  I switched off the television and made my way to the kitchen. I let Lucy out for a last pee while I waited for the kettle to boil. A camomile tea would settle my brain from its overactivity.

  It was as I crossed the upstairs hallway, heading to my bedroom, that I heard a sob. I paused beside Christian’s door and closed my eyes. My hand hesitated over the handle until eventually, I pulled away. As much as I was longing to comfort him, I knew what it felt like to feel utter devastation and the need to be alone at times. The decision left me very unsettled for the rest of the night, though.

  Chapter Thirteen

  I was standing at the back door sipping on my tea when I heard the shuffle of feet behind me. I turned to see Christian looking worse than he had when he’d arrived.

  I raised my mug in the hopes he’d understand I was offering to make him some tea. He didn’t reply, just simply nodded. He sat at the kitchen table and let his head fall back a little, looking up at the ceiling. His sigh echoed around the quiet room.

  “Take a walk with me, when we’ve had our tea,” he said, his voice sounded so pained.

  I nodded and gave him a small smile.

  I placed his cup in front of him and wrapped my arm around his shoulders. With one hand, he held onto me. He didn’t speak while he drank and he didn’t let go of me, either. Once he placed his empty cup back on the table, he stood. I gathered my coat and scarf from the back of the door, and while I waited for him to retrieve his, I checked my pocket for my pad and pencil.

  Christian walked back into the kitchen and kept his eyes lowered until he reached the door.

  “I guess Lucy doesn't do walks anymore, does she?” he said, looking over at her curled form in front of the boiler.

  I shook my head, not knowing if he could see me or not.

  Christian opened the back door and we stepped out into the chilly morning. We walked around the side of the garden and through the gate. We turned left. Had we gone the other way, we would have ended up at the bench, and perhaps, we could have sat and talked for a while. Instead we headed towards the church.

  Christian didn’t speak for a while, I heard him take in long deep breaths; perhaps he thought the nippy air would clear his thoughts. Eventually we came to the small stone wall that circled the cemetery. Christian stopped walking and rested on the wall.

  “I know who she was having an affair with,” he said, not looking at me, but staring out into the distance.

  He didn’t wait for me to find my pad to reply. “I found a photo she’d sent, it was old, that’s how it all started. The receiver had a nickname and I didn’t twig at first. She admitted the affair right off, said it was a one off thing, the usual shit one says when caught out. But then, the other day, I found some letters hidden in the bottom of the closet in the spare bedroom. I was trying to find some old trainers that I used to wear for the gym, they were more comfortable than my new ones.”

  He paused, as if wanting to check himself.

  “Anyway, I found some letters, signed off with a nickname and then it hit me. I knew the name. I confronted her with the letters; the dates went back two years, Dani. Two fucking years they’d been screwing. I asked her if Alistair was mine.” At that point, he looked at me with tears coursing down his cheeks.

  “She said, no. I’m not sure how she can prove it, unless she’s already had Alistair tested. I flipped, I tore the letters and threw them on the fire, and she fucking had the gall to cry and try to retrieve them from the embers. I know why, of course. It’s all she has of him, I guess.”

  My mind wasn’t keeping up with the speed he was speaking, but a sinking feeling began to form in my stomach. I placed my hand on his arm and squeezed, I wanted him to look at me. He did, and I wished he hadn’t.

  Anger laced his face, but not just anger. Was it pity? Was it disbelief, even? Because I was sure disbelief reflected back at him from mine. I stared at him for the longest moment, waiting. He opened his mouth to speak; the words didn’t come. He closed his eyes and I watched the teardrop roll so gently down his chapped cheeks. Cheeks already so tear-stained the skin was red and sore.

  “Trey is the father of Alistair,” he said.

  I don’t think I moved, my body froze, other than my heart, which pounded so hard I could hear a pulse in my ears.

  “I didn’t want to tell you but it’s going to come out. I’m divorcing her, she admitted it, I fucking…”

  A scream bounced off the walls and the trees that lined it. It echoed back from the expanse of space to one side of me, where the cliff ended and the sea raged beneath it. My vision clouded. I saw Christian stand straight but that was all. I felt hands on my arms but I twisted myself free. The scream continued and it confused me. I wasn’t sure where it was coming from, initially. It was only when my throat became so sore, and my mouth dry, that I realised it was from me.

  “No,” I shouted, surprising myself. “No. No. No.”

  “Dani, please. I’m so sorry. I have all the evidence; she admitted it. I found photographs.”

  He hadn’t mentioned photographs before. I believed every word he’d told me, then.

  I ran into the cemetery and fell to my knees in front of Trey’s grave. I pounded on it with my fists, I scratched at his name until my fingernails broke and bled. Blood smeared, giving me the satisfaction that his name was being obliterated from the white marble.

  “You fucking piece of shit. How could you? How could you be buried with my daughter after what you’d done?” Despite realising it had been me that screamed, my tone of voice shocked me.

  I clawed at the earth under the headstone. I didn’t want my baby in the ground with him. I dug up the plants I’d laid and threw them across the way. All the time I cursed and shouted at him.

  I fell back on my arse and kicked at the headstone, smearing earth over his name. That was until Hannah’s name caught my eye. I reached forwards, trying to clean the mess I’d made over her precious name. I pulled the sleeve of my jacket over my hand and rubbed as hard as I could. Then I attacked the earth again. I grabbed handfuls of earth and threw them. I pulled at the grass that had grown trying to…In fact, I wasn’t sure what I was trying to do.

  Arms reached around from behind and by the strength, I
knew them not to belong to Christian. I was lifted from the ground and hauled backwards. I fought. I didn’t want to stop my digging. I screamed some more and dug my nails into my captor. I kicked backwards satisfied at the grunt as I caught a shinbone.

  “It’s okay, I’ve got you,” I heard. I recognised the voice but not why Miller was trying to stop what I was doing.

  “Let me go!” I shouted.

  “No, trust me, Dani, please?” It was a pleading that I wanted to obey but just couldn’t.

  “Get him away from my daughter!” I screamed, my voice becoming so hoarse from excessive use after so long of silence.

  “Dani, I’m going to set you down now, and I want you to look at me, okay?”

  Miller lowered me so my feet touched the ground; he turned me, still holding on as tight as he could. I stared into his face, one as grief-stricken as I imagined mine to be.

  “Breathe, Dani.”

  I gasped for air, and then the sobbing came. I collapsed against his chest; thankful he was holding me up. I didn’t want to fall on the grave of a traitor. I didn’t want to be that close to him.

  Miller wrapped his arms around me so tightly I couldn’t move. He rested his chin on top of my head and I could hear him whisper but not make out the words.

  We stayed that way for what felt like ages. Eventually, exhaustion overwhelmed me and I passed out.

  I heard myself crying, sobbing, but my body felt so heavy and my eyelids remained firmly closed. I knew I was being carried, I could feel Miller’s chest under my cheek. I could hear voices, Christian and Miller, and another that was distant. I was jolted as Miller jogged along, I assumed. I knew I was back home, the gate gave a familiar creak and then it was warm.

  I was laid on a bed, mine by the lavender scent I’d place on the pillow to aid sleep. I curled into a ball. I felt my boots being removed. My jacket was tugged from my body and a comforter was placed over me.