I felt awful for some of the things I’d said, things that, in hindsight, didn’t make sense. I was angry, disappointed, yet as I lay in bed and read his words, I realised how much he’d helped me. I understood the pain he had suffered, we had bonded over those letters. We had connected in real life. I had thrown that all back in his face.
I picked up my phone and hovered over his name. Instead of calling, I sent him a text message.
I’m sorry. I’d like to talk some more about the letters, if you wish to, of course. Dani.
I placed the phone on the side of the bed and watched the screen for a while. It faded to black and stayed that way. Eventually, I turned off the bedside light and rolled to my side. I pulled the duvet up around my neck and closed my eyes. All I saw was Miller. I saw his lips as they closed in on mine. I saw the desire in his eyes, the pupils dilate, and the irises darken. I felt his heartbeat increase, and his breath on my skin. I fell asleep to Miller and his low, comforting voice in my mind.
I woke late the following morning. I stretched and rubbed at my eyes. I was warm and content to stay put, but hearing Dad speaking to someone had me climb out of bed. I grabbed a sweatshirt and my slippers and walked from the room. Dad was sitting on the chair in the hallway with the phone to his ear. He looked up at me as I walked down the stairs and he smiled. He gave me a thumbs up and mouthed the word, Christian. I smiled in return. I was pleased he’d managed to contact him, who had called whom, I didn’t know, but they were speaking, that was all that counted.
I made my way to the kitchen and poured a cup of tea, thankful the pot was still warm. It was a few minutes later that Dad appeared.
“He’s skiing, can you believe that? I tore a strip off him for not letting us know. He said he thought he’d replied to one of your messages but obviously it didn’t go through. I’m glad he’s safe, I was beginning to get very worried.”
“Did he say where he was?
“Somewhere in France. He did tell me the name, but I forget. He seemed quite upbeat, said he was enjoying himself. I asked if he’d seen Alistair but he cut me off, so I’m guessing not. He asked after you and apologised for worrying us both.”
“That’s good. I’m glad you’ve spoken to him.”
Dad sat at the table. “So, was it him?”
I nodded as I sipped my tea.
“Well, that’s a mystery solved. I bet you were pleased.”
“Far from it. In fact, I felt quite violated and deceived, which this morning, I think is a little irrational.”
“I imagine that it was a shock but you need to remember the kindness in the words, and how much you enjoyed receiving those letters. Does it matter who sent them?”
I shrugged my shoulders. “I don’t know, Dad, I just don’t feel it was right to keep up two very different personalities.”
“Did he, though. I mean, I haven’t read the letters, obviously, but from what you’ve said, and from what I’ve heard him say to you, it doesn’t seem like two personalities. Two names, sure, but not two people.”
“His real name is Lincoln Miller Copeland. He dropped the Lincoln in primary school, something to do with wanting his own identity. Would you think that advanced in primary school?”
“If I remember, you insisted on being called Sapphire for a while. You wouldn’t answer to Daniella, or Dani, or Dee as Christian called you. It was rather annoying and I don’t believe you were much older than about seven at the time.”
I laughed at the memory. Sapphire had been the name of a horse at the local riding stables that I had fallen in love with. I’d been besotted with her, until I’d fallen off and never wanted to get back on.
“I think I screwed up with Miller. We might need another builder.”
“We all screw up, he has as well. I’m sure he’s professional enough to continue his job, if you still want him to, of course.”
“God, I feel like a bloody teenager. All this angst is tiring. I’m going to shower and get dressed.”
After my shower, I lay on the bed. I thought back over the past few months and the turmoil I’d been through. I still had a long way to go before I felt I could move on with my life, there was the matter of the solicitor’s letter hanging over my head. Yet there was something inside that felt so clear and vibrant. For the past day or so, I’d felt more alive than I had in years.
Dad was planning on spending the evening with Colette and I was due to meet Daniel. I didn’t feel like going to the pub, or socialising, at all. I hadn’t heard back from Miller and resigned myself to the fact he was very pissed off. I still believed I had a right to be upset and the more his silence stretched, the angrier I became. Sure, he’d done what he had with my best interests at heart, but he should have either stopped the letters or confessed when we grew closer. The thought startled me. Were we close? I guessed we were since we’d shared a kiss.
I sighed and pulled on a clean pair of jeans, then buttoned up my shirt. I ran a brush through my hair, which desperately needed a cut, and tied it back in a ponytail. I stared in the mirror. Dragging my fingertips down my cheeks did nothing to flatten the bags under my eyes, yet I’d been getting plenty of sleep. I pulled my cosmetics bag off the dresser and applied some concealer, a little foundation, mascara, and then a swipe of lip gloss. It was the most makeup I’d worn in ages.
I opened the wardrobe and scanned my footwear. I had walking boots, wellingtons, or Converse. I was sure I had some high-heeled shoes at one point and wondered if they’d ended up in storage. I could hardly remember the day I packed a suitcase and left my house. Or maybe I hadn’t packed at all. I remembered Helen helping me. In fact, it was both Christian and Helen that had packed up my house. I guessed that would put pay to finding any letters Trey had received from her. If she had any sense, she would have destroyed them.
A toot of a car horn outside brought me out of my thoughts. I walked down the stairs and pulled a thin jacket from the hook. Dad had already left to visit Colette. I locked up the door behind me and walked towards Daniel’s car.
“Hi, I’m a little late, I’m so sorry,” he said when I’d opened the door and climbed in.
“I didn’t realise the time, so no need to apologise,” I replied.
“How are you?” he asked.
“A little pissed to discover Miller was the one writing letters to me, you knew, and it was your dad I met in the cemetery that time. I’m guessing you knew he visited Anna’s grave, which is why you were so vague when I asked about her.” I decided to get it out of the way.
“Ah, yes. I imagine I owe you a huge apology. Will you let me explain when we get to the pub?”
“I’ll be interested in your explanation. I’m sorry, I still a little pissy about it all.”
“I can imagine you are.”
“Shall we go?” I asked, buckling up my seatbelt.
“Certainly, ma’am,” he replied, trying to hold back the chuckle I could hear in his voice.
“So other than being totally, and rightly, pissed off at us Copelands, how have you been?”
“Good. Christian finally rang Dad today; I was annoyed at him as well. He’s skiing in France and didn’t think to let us know. Mrs. Hampton joined us Christmas Day, I’m not sure if I told you. Anyway, Dad is visiting with her this evening. I think there’s a budding relationship starting there.”
“I think there’s been a budding relationship there for a while,” he said, laughing.
“Probably. I’m pleased for him, though. Everyone deserves a second chance at a nice relationship.”
Daniel glanced over to me. I caught sight of him from the corner of my eye, but I kept my gaze firmly on the road ahead.
“Are there any bands playing tonight?” I asked.
“No, thankfully. We’ll be able to chat in peace without the wailing. I imagine it might be quiet, which will be nice.”
We pulled into the unmade car park and Daniel reversed into the only spot that didn’t have a puddle beside it. The clouds had darkened over
head and the air felt damp.
“I think we might have a storm tonight,” Daniel said, as he left the car.
“Glad I didn’t wear heels,” I said, eyeing the muddy car park.
“I would have laid my coat down for you to walk over, if you had,” he said, laughing some more.
“You are always the gentleman, Daniel. Which will bring me to my first question when we get inside.”
“Why do I get the feeling I’m about to get a roasting, or at least an inquisition?”
“Because you are a very astute man.” I smiled and led the way to the door of the pub.
I walked straight to the bar and had my purse at the ready. I ordered a bottle of wine and two glasses; not remembering what Daniel had drunk the last time we were there. When I’d turned, Daniel had found a table in a nook with only the one bench seat. For my ‘inquisition’ I would have rather been facing him. I guessed he was thinking tactics as well.
I placed the wine bucket with the bottle and glasses on the table then slid in beside him.
“Shall I pour?” he said.
“Please, I wasn’t sure what you wanted and since you bought last time, I thought it only right I did this time.”
“That’s okay, wine is fine with me. I suspect this will be much better than what we have at the church.”
“I thought only communion served wine?”
“We have Holy Communion in the Church of England, Dani. I suspect the Catholics got the better wine, though,” he said, taking a sip from his glass.
I couldn’t help but laugh. No matter how mad I was with him, he did cheer me up. He placed his glass on the table, made the sign of the cross on his chest, and then bowed his head in silent prayer.
“Right, I’ve asked the boss to look after me should you kill me. Fire away,” he said.
I rested back in my seat and twirled my glass around in my fingers.
“I think I have a right to be pissed off about all this. Yet there’s a part of me that feels bad for being pissed off.”
“Because you are the most empathic person I’ve ever met, Dani.”
“Don’t interrupt me.”
He held up in hands in surrender.
“I needed those letters. Those words were such a comfort to me; I really believe they got me through some very tough times. Now I feel cheated of them. And I can’t explain exactly what I mean. I guess the anonymity was part of the thing that helped. I didn’t know Lincoln, that Lincoln. I visualised him, and there were times I wanted to meet him, but I poured my soul out in those letters and now I feel violated because everyone knows. It’s as if the trust I had in my Lincoln has been broken.”
“Not everyone, Dani. I don’t know what’s in them, just that they were written.”
“I’m confused. In hindsight, Miller had told me some of what he’d written; I just didn’t pick up on it. And I can’t even sit here now and say ‘I had a light bulb moment.’ There was just something in the back of my mind, and when I read through the letters again, I connected some of the things he’d said. It seemed too coincidental so I confronted him. He wasn’t happy.”
I picked up my glass to take a sip.
“I want to ask you, did you have an affair with his ex-wife?”
I turned to face him, searching his eyes for the truth.
“No. Although that’s what he believes, regardless of how many times I’ve told him it’s not true. I’ll tell you exactly what happened. Miller and I fell out when we were younger. I don’t know what you know about him, but he went completely off the rails when our mum died, and I don’t blame him for that. He drank too much, smoked weed, got in with the wrong crowd. You name it; he did it. He disappeared for weeks on end, sending Dad into a frenzy. The man had lost his wife; I didn’t think it was fair to then have to put that grief aside to deal with Miller. I was wrong in my thinking at the time.”
I didn’t think my eyes could have gotten any wider.
“We tried to help him, he wasn’t having any of it. It was Dad who called the police one night when Miller had arrived in a stolen car and without a licence, drunk and stinking of weed. It was the hardest thing my dad had ever done. He cried when they arrested him, Dani. But he thought it was the only thing he could do. Of course, Miller didn’t see it that way for a very long time. Prison was the best thing that could have happened to him, though. When he was released, he disappeared for a little while, but then he came home and announced he was married. She wasn’t what we thought a suitable partner. I know that sounds terrible, but she was just as bad as him. She encouraged him to drink too much; she loved the notoriety of being with an ex-con. She was also about fifteen years older than him. He vowed to clean up his act; I guess his wife didn’t like that. She came to see me and confessed to an affair, and in hindsight, it was to cause trouble. She wasn’t religious, never attended a service, so to want to confess was strange. However, I thought she wanted some form of counselling.” Daniel chuckled sadly at the thought.
“What happened after that?” I asked.
“One day she came to the church and threw herself at me. I pushed her away but somehow her blouse got torn. And guess what happened next?”
“Miller walked in?”
“Miller walked in. Unbeknown to me, she had left him, a day or so before I think, but he took one look at the situation, came to the wrong conclusion, and freaked out. He kicked over a couple of pews and I didn’t see him again for weeks.”
“Did he ever let you explain?”
“No. Well, sort of. When I caught up with him, I tried hard to tell him what had happened. I mean, come on, I’m a vicar! I don’t doubt there are some very dodgy vicars out there, but I’m not one of them. Anyway, we did manage to chat and a lot of things came out. Miller felt he hadn’t been supported enough when Mum died. And he wasn’t, if the truth were known. He’s the youngest and I guess I concentrated on Dad, who had broken down. Miller got left on the outside.”
“I imagine that was hard for him,” I said.
“It was. Don’t get me wrong, he doesn’t use Mum’s death as an excuse for his behaviour, he’s totally able to accept it was all him.”
“Tell me about his last wife,” I asked.
“That was a very sad state of affairs. Annabelle was just what Miller needed a long time ago. She was a free spirit but sensible at the same time, I don’t know if that makes any sense. She loved the sea. She was going to move to Australia to take up a position as a marine biologist, but she fell in love instead.”
“In the letters, there’s something about him blaming himself for her not doing that,” I said.
“He did, maybe he still does. Miller is so closed, you know more about how he feels than I do. He didn’t want to go with her so she gave up her dream job. He also got very angry when she discovered she had a tumour. She didn’t tell him at first, her reasoning was that Miller isn’t always the best at handling bad news; I guess you’ve witnessed that. She wanted all the facts before she told him. He found out and flipped. I think, and this is just my opinion, he never dealt with Mum’s death and now his wife was about to die of the same thing. He couldn’t deal with it. Annabelle died quite quickly, which is a blessing, and he went off the rails again.”
“He drank a lot, I understand.”
“Yes. It worried Dad and me for a while, we thought he might fall back so far he couldn’t claw his way back out, but he did. He threw himself into work, built Dad a bungalow and closed down, emotionally.”
“And now?”
“Now he seems to be in turmoil again,” Daniel said.
“And that’s my fault.”
“Not necessarily. It’s Miller’s fault for not being able to deal with his emotions. Which brings me straight to the letters. I found one on his table; it had your name, and his, on the front. I’m sorry, Dani, but what could I do? He’s my brother and I’m not going to betray him, no matter what he thinks about me. I tried to encourage him to tell you but I think, by then, he was in too deep
. He’s always had a soft spot for you and when you came back, I think he thought he could save you while you were, without knowing, saving him.”
“Does your dad know about the letters?”
“I doubt it. He moved into the home a little while ago. He has early onset dementia and he knows. He wanted to get everything sorted while he was still able to make the decisions.”
“Why is Miller always on edge when I talk about you, or when he sees me with you?”
“I guess he thinks I might tell you about the letters.”
“What would he say if we were in a relationship?” I asked.
Daniel laughed and patted my knee. “As much as I’d be very flattered, and I know you’re not inviting a relationship, but I’d be more interested in your brother, if you know what I mean.”
“You’re not!”
“I am. Hence the fact I’m single. It’s not the done thing, publically, within the church, to be gay.”
“Bullshit,” I said, laughing.
“I know, half the vicars I know are gay but we’re just not allowed to be in public,” he said with a wink.
“Does Miller know?”
“It’s not something I’ve ever sat down and openly talked about with him. Like I said, we don’t have the closest of relationships anymore, and that saddens me, to be honest.”
“Could you get that closeness back?”
“That’s up to him. I tried and after so many pushbacks, I gave up. Not very Christian of me, was it?”
“Not really. You’re supposed to love your flock, flaws and all, didn’t you say that once?”
“Ah, I say a lot, I need to learn to take my own advice someday. Now, as much as this wine is okay, it’s a bit too girly for me, and I have a butch reputation to fake. Mind if I get a beer?”
I watched Daniel walk to the bar. I was glad he’d told me what he had. It had also saddened me further. Daniel led a life of lies; Miller led a life of lies. Yet they couldn’t find a way to connect, even through those lies.
Letters to Lincoln Page 22