by Jo Watson
“They’re amazing letters,” Mike added.
“It’s not just the letters, though,” Ash said, and Emelia nodded.
“It’s not?” I asked.
“This whole story!” She threw her arms in the air. “What . . . WHAT are the chances? That you, living over five hours away, in the city, find a bag at a shop, get stuck in a lift, find these letters, find this town, come here and accidentally check into the very hotel that used to be the home of the person in the letters, and then you find her diary. It’s as if this was meant to happen. There is no other explanation for it. It’s as if Gran is reaching out from beyond the grave and making this all happen.”
“You don’t really believe that, do you?” Mike asked.
“How else do you explain it all?” Ash looked at her brother. “The alternative is that this is all some massive coincidence. No.” She shook her head. “I don’t believe that.” She turned and pointed her finger at me. “You were meant to find these. You were meant to come here, find us and tell this story.” She sat back in the chair and exhaled, and then tears came to her eyes. Emelia put her hand on her shoulder and squeezed.
“How did her bag get to Jo’burg?” Mike asked.
“I took some of her things to the charity shop in town, including the bag,” Ash said.
“Someone must have bought it and then decided they didn’t like it,” I added. “They must have taken it to the shop I went to.”
“I can’t believe this whole thing.” Ash put her elbows on the table and rested her head on her arms for a while. “I knew it, though.”
“Knew what?” I asked.
“I knew there was something about you.” She looked up at me. “Besides, I knew a cat couldn’t crap in a toilet and flush it!”
“What?” Mike asked.
I hung my head a little as Mike looked over at me.
“Didn’t you know? She pretended to have a cat, when she checked in. Told me she had trained it to use the toilet, that’s why she didn’t have a litter box with her.”
Emelia burst out laughing. “I can see why you’re a writer,” she said.
Ash smiled at me. “I should have seen it. You didn’t seem like a cat person.” She looked at me for the longest time, as if deciding whether or not to like me again. I guess she decided that she did, because she gave me another smile.
“Do you know how sad this is?” She held a letter up. “Do you know how awful this is, that they were not allowed to love each other because of the color of their skin? Gran went through her whole life loving someone that she could never be with . . . right up until the day she died. She loved him until her last breath, in this house.” Her words spilled into the room and the profound weight of them made us all silent. “Do you think she ever loved Grandpa?” Ash looked up at Mike.
“I’m sure she loved him in some way. They had children together and shared a whole life together.”
“I guess there are different kinds of love,” Ash offered. “But I don’t think she loved him like she loved this guy from the letters.”
I shook my head. “I don’t think many people get to love like that.” I pulled one of the letters towards me and felt compelled to read it out loud.
3 January, 1949
Dear Edith,
I still remember the first time I met you. It was just after three o’clock—I remember this because the church clock had just struck. The sky was overcast, it looked like it was going to storm and I remember thinking that there was a strange energy in the sky. You know, the kind of energy the sky gets just before a lightning storm, as if everything in it feels alive, as if everything is standing to attention, waiting for something great to happen. There is an anticipation in the air, a kind of invisible fire that you can feel, but you can’t see. And I remember thinking that I was waiting for something to happen, waiting for something special, but I didn’t know what it was.
I looked around, and at first I didn’t see anything, but then you appeared. You were running, as if you were late for something. I didn’t know what you were running towards, but I remember thinking that it had to be important. I watched you closely when you came to the fork in the road. You looked down the left fork and then you looked up the hill. I knew what you were thinking: short cut up and over the hill, or take the long way. I smiled; I knew which way you were going to choose before you did, because I could see what kind of person you were. You were going to take the short cut up the hill. It’s harder, there is a fence to climb over and a steep slope, but I could see you were an adventure seeker. Most people take the easy way, but not you. And I was right, because suddenly you were running up the hill. I watched you carefully. I could see you weren’t a runner. You were out of breath and covered in sweat, and this made me smile. Because someone as unfit as you should probably take the easy way, but you didn’t! I liked that a lot. I admired it and it made me think that you were different from any of the other girls around town. But then you tried to climb over that fence! To be honest, I didn’t think you were going to make it. But you were so determined. I watched you struggle up it and slip a few times, but you never gave up. I remember thinking to myself that this was what I’d been waiting for. For some strange reason, I had been there at that exact moment because I was waiting for you. I didn’t really understand that thought at first, but, looking back on it now, looking back on that moment a year later, I know what it all means.
You slipped and fell—remember that? You fell on your back and, for a moment, you couldn’t breathe. You’d winded yourself and you looked so panicked, and that’s when I ran up to you. Do you remember what I said to you then, when I took your hands in mine? I told you to be calm, be patient and the air would come. You would be able to breathe soon, you just had to hold on for a second longer and the air would come.
Well, that was a total lie. I know that, now. Because, when you’re not with me, I cannot breathe. I wait patiently and I try to be calm, just like I told you to be, but it doesn’t work. When you’re not here with me, I feel like I’m drowning. I go through my day trying to gasp for air that never comes. It’s only when I’m finally with you, when we can sneak away together, that I can breathe again. It’s only in those quiet moments with you—in the willow, under the stage, in the cove—that I get to breathe again. So, like swimming under water, I take as many deep breaths as I can with you, because I never know when I’m going to be able to come back up to the surface again . . .
You, me, forever.
I slowly lowered the letter to the table again.
“That’s . . . that’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever heard.” Ash was wiping away a flood of tears now. “I had no idea Gran was so in love with someone else.”
“It’s terrible they couldn’t be together,” Emelia said, and then she looked down at Ash. “In a way, that could be us. If we had been born in another time, or in another country, or to another family. Can you imagine that? Not being able to be together?” She laid her hand on Ash’s shoulder. “I mean, how dare someone tell you who you’re allowed to love? Especially the government,” she continued.
“This story has to be told.” Ash stood up suddenly. “Gran would have wanted that. It was basically her final wish.”
I looked up at Mike; he seemed like he was somewhere else, that he wasn’t present in this room. His body was here, but his mind was elsewhere. And then, without a word, he reached down and started gathering up all the letters and the diary from the table.
“What are you doing?” I asked, as he walked towards the door.
“Some investigating,” he said, exiting the room.
“Shame, this seems to really have affected him,” Emelia said, when he was out of earshot.
“They were really close,” Ash said.
“Becca!” Mike called out loudly, sticking his head back around the door.
“Yes?” I jumped.
“You better not go anywhere.”
“I won’t,” I said.
“Don’t
worry. She can hang with us. We’ll keep an eye on her,” Ash said.
He nodded, and his head disappeared again.
“Hey!” Ash said. Her whole tone and demeanor had changed, now. “Didn’t you guys meet for the first time on a fence, too?”
“What?” My jaw dropped open and I looked at her.
She smiled at me—a strange smile, as if it held a secret—and then she looked over at her partner Emelia and the two exchanged some kind of a look.
My heart started thumping a soundtrack in my chest, and the blood rushing past my ears created an orchestra of accompanying sounds, until I had a full-blown concerto playing in my head, making me feel rather dizzy.
CHAPTER 54
I was woken up by the frantic knock on the door. I’d been so exhausted after my sleepless night with Mike that I’d fallen into bed at seven and had slept deeper than I had in years. But I’d dreamed the same dream over and over again, playing in a loop, like a stuck record.
In the dream, I was the girl in a hurry, trying to climb the fence—not unlike real life. And Mike was the man who came to my rescue. Each time the dream reached a certain point, it stopped, and started again. It stopped at the moment that he held my hands, looked into my eyes and told me to breathe. And then, when I did finally breathe, I inhaled deeply and the smell of night jasmine filled my lungs and Mike leaned towards me and lowered his lips to mine and we were just about to kiss and then . . .
I am the girl climbing the fence again.
“Becca. Becca!” The knock on the door continued and I thought I heard Mike’s voice. And, when I didn’t answer immediately, he burst through the door.
“WHAT?!” I sat up in my bed.
“Oh,” he said flatly, looking at me in the bed. “I thought you might have disappeared.”
“No. I’m here,” I said. “I promised I wouldn’t go anywhere.” I tried to smile at him, but he didn’t smile back.
“You’ve made some promises in the past that you broke.”
Oh God, he was still so mad at me. I’d hurt him so much, and, in the process, I’d hurt myself, too, more than I can describe.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered, looking down at the duvet on the bed.
“Doesn’t matter. Come to the library. I have something to show you. Ash and Emelia are already there.”
“Okay.” I climbed out of the bed and Mike immediately averted his gaze. I looked down and realized that I’d gone to sleep in an oversized T-shirt and panties, nothing else. And, during the night, the T-shirt had clearly become bunched in my panties and now I was fully on view.
I turned around quickly and immediately realized that I’d just made the situation worse, since my ass was now fully on display. And, by the feel of it, one of the sides of my panties had magically disappeared into the crack (as they do, sometimes) and now I was half-mooning him. I quickly reached around and pulled the panties back out. God, this was truly undignified. I heard him clear his throat awkwardly; I knew he’d seen.
“Library,” he said loudly, and then I heard him scuttle out of the room. “There’s coffee there,” he muttered. I turned around just in time to see his hand pull the door closed. Only the night before last, that hand had been all over my body, and now it was very clear that that hand, and the man attached to it, wanted nothing to do with me.
I walked into the room and gaped. I couldn’t believe what I saw. Mike had made photocopies of all the letters and diary entries, and had stuck them up on the walls in what looked like a timeline of events. In between them all, he’d stuck up other things, too: handwritten notes, photocopies of what looked like architectural plans, actual photos of people, newspaper articles. Some of these had bits of colored wool pinned to them, linking them to diary entries or letters. It was a spider’s web of information.
“You . . . you’ve created a serial-killer wall!” I exclaimed, looking at Mike.
Ash laughed. “You’re right. This is a serial-killer wall. They all have these.”
“They do.” I nodded.
“Hey, if you were a serial killer, what would your MO be?” she suddenly asked me.
“What do you mean?” I replied.
“Like . . . would you stick your dead victims’ bodies to the ceiling with chewing gum, or would you cut off all their toenails and use them to make sandpaper, or would you pluck their eyelashes out and stuff a pillow with them?”
“Ash!” Mike exclaimed.
“I’m just asking, cos she’s a writer and I bet she would come up with a good one.”
“My not morbid girlfriend,” Emelia said, handing me a cup of coffee with a smile. “I don’t know how you like it; there’s milk and sugar there.”
I liked Emelia. She was uber-cool—one of those androgynous-looking women who have the guts to cut their hair short and dye it blue, who have the guts to get a nose ring and a tattoo on their neck.
“So?” Ash asked again. “Your MO?”
“I’d probably kill them with millions of tiny paper cuts,” I said.
“Oooh, that’s good.” Ash raised her coffee mug at me in a toast and we both took a sip.
“Right, now that we’ve finished murdering people, can we get on with this?” Mike interrupted.
“Nothing like the smell of coffee and murder in the morning.” Emelia sat down on one of the brown leather couches and I joined her. It was cold and I cradled the warm cup between my hands.
“So,” Mike said, walking up to the wall. “I’ve put all the letters into a timeline, and slotted the diary entries in between. Becca, you were looking for another bunch of letters that were put into her favorite book, Pride and Prejudice ?” He looked at me and I nodded. “Well, look at the plans of the house and the date of the letter.” I stood up and walked over to his wall, reading the dates on the letters and plans.
“The library in the house hadn’t been built yet?” I asked, looking up at him.
He nodded. “Exactly. So she wouldn’t have hidden the letters here.”
“But where, then?” I asked.
He pointed to a newspaper article and I read the headline aloud. “Willow Bay’s library is renovated.” I stopped and thought for a while. “You think she put all the letters in a public library?”
“That makes sense. She wanted him to find them, right? She wouldn’t have stashed them here, inside the house, if she was expecting him to come and get them,” Emelia added.
“Sure, I guess. But there’s no way that they would still be there now. How many people have taken Pride and Prejudice out since then?” I asked.
“But maybe they’re not in a book. Maybe it’s not that obvious. Maybe there is a panel in the shelf. She wouldn’t have just put them inside the book,” Mike offered up.
“Maybe it’s not in the library at all. Maybe she had a secret hiding spot for the book,” Ash added.
“Where?” Mike asked.
“Under the stage at the town hall,” I blurted out.
“Did you see anything there, under the stage?” Mike asked.
“You’ve been under the stage at the town hall?” Ash asked, looking confused. “But your cat was fake; why would you go there if you . . . WAIT!” Her eyes widened. “Were you the one who stole the cat and cut—?” She burst out laughing before she could finish her sentence. “Oh my God, it was you, wasn’t it? I drew you!” Her laughter grew and I gripped the sides of my coffee mug even tighter. “Wow. You really get around!” Ash exclaimed.
“Yeah, she does.” Mike cut her off in a gruff, stern voice. “And it’s not funny; they might not have the Persian parade here again because of what Becca did, and that would be bad for tourism. Well, they won’t have it here unless the infamous catnapper is apprehended, which puts me in a very difficult situation, being as I’m actually harboring the catnapper here, in my house.” His tone was harsh.
God, he really was angry with me. This wasn’t something that was going to blow over very easily. Maybe it would never blow over. Maybe I had really ruined this thing betw
een us, permanently. Maybe the most I could hope for after this was for him to be able to look me in the eye again. Maybe, maybe, maybe . . . Too many maybes. I felt sick. My stomach knotted as the strong black coffee hit it.
“You okay?” Emelia asked. I hadn’t realized I wasn’t hiding my feelings.
“Just coffee on an empty stomach, making me feel a bit—”
“OH! Hang on!” She jumped up. “That reminds me.” She raced out of the room and I looked after her.
“She’s got something in the oven. She’s a baker,” Ash said.
“Really?” My stomach immediately growed at the idea of baked goods.
“She’s very good. I always say I fell in love with her the second I tasted her muffin,” Ash said, and then burst out laughing again.
“Ash! God!” Mike shook his head and smiled.
I also laughed, but Mike quickly ended it.
“So, did you find anything under the stage?” he asked, in a loud, very formal manner.
“No. I couldn’t get into the room; it’s been boarded up,” I said.
“You couldn’t? You couldn’t—?” He cut himself off and then shook his head. “Seriously? You didn’t get in, after all the trouble you caused? After all that, you didn’t get what you came for?”
I shook my head. “No.”
Ash laughed again. “Did you see that drawing of you? The one I did?”
“Yes.” I smiled.
“Don’t you think it looked a little like that guy from The Rocky Horror Picture Show ?” she asked.
“YES!” I said immediately. “That’s exactly what I thought when I saw it.” We laughed together for a moment before Mike cut us off again.
“I’m glad you guys find this so amusing. Half the town is demanding that I arrest the cat-maiming person, and those people at the eco estate—who I managed to talk out of pressing charges against you by telling them you weren’t sane—would also love to see you charged with something!”
“Oh, chill!” Ash stood up, walked over to her brother and looked at the wall behind him, giving his shoulder a hard squeeze. “At least she isn’t a serial killer.”