Dear Magnificent May,
I know that’s a silly way to start a letter, but it’s true. You are magnificent. Especially your smile. It lights up my day, seeing you. There are things I wish I could say, but somehow the words escape me. So I decided to attempt writing you a letter, so I don’t stumble over my words. I just have to be careful not to make too many mistakes that need crossing out, so if there are, it is only because I want to make sure the words I use are the best I can think of.
I’m now thinking this is perhaps not the most romantic of love letters. I could scrunch it up and start again, but I won’t. It will have to do. And it is only the first letter, I will send another, but for now I just wanted to express how amazing I think you are. I mean magnificent, of course.
When I see you I wonder what you are thinking … it looks like you have a lot of thoughts going on in your head. Am I correct? I would be crazy to think that I could be one of those thoughts, but a man can only dream.
I have a lot of thoughts in my head too. Too many to count. Too many to hold me within the confines of this small town … one day they will take me far and wide, I’m sure. My curiosity will fuel my adventures.
It would be a dream come true, to have an adventure with you.
Bye for now,
Me.
Ahhh … an adventure with Jacques Chevalier? I wondered what such an adventure would entail. His eyes seemed to hold many secrets I wished to uncover. I would not let on that I knew it was him. I would not smile any differently, I would let him continue his letter writing for as long as he wished. There were other eligible men in town, many had moved here after the war with their families to be in a calmer, more peaceful environment near the ocean, as we had. Tarrin’s Bay was a good place to start. Someone had commented the other day, due to all the new residents, that it was like the Town of New Beginnings. I liked that. Apparently the region’s newspaper had caught on and not long after a headline saying those exact words had graced the front page.
Although it sounded like Jacques didn’t wish it to be his new beginning. He wanted to explore far-off places by the sounds of what he’d written in the letter. He didn’t catch me for the travelling type.
I placed the letter inside the book I was reading. Every time I would open those tattered pages and breathe in that indescribable yet unmistakable book scent, I’d remember the thrill of receiving my first love letter.
My love affair with books became representative of my love affair with memories … ‘It’s hard to find the words to do it justice,’ May said. ‘The memories are so vivid, yet words cannot describe them in their full glory.’
‘It’s okay, Grandma, what you’ve told me has given me a great understanding of that day you got the letter.’ May yawned. Olivia pressed stop on the recorder. ‘Maybe we can chat again tomorrow, if you feel up to it.’
‘Oh yes, indeed. I need to tell you about that big wide grin I flashed.’
‘To Jacques? Instead of the demure smile?’
May smiled softly, her blue eyes twinkling despite their fatigue. ‘A storyteller does not give away all their secrets at once, Miss Olivia. A fellow booklover should know that.’ She winked.
Olivia kissed her grandma’s forehead, her soft and delicate paper-thin skin a reminder of her fragility. ‘You get some rest now.’
Diana tiptoed in. ‘She asleep?’
‘Almost,’ Olivia whispered.
‘Okay, might head off now and come back tomorrow.’
‘Mum, I can come on my own sometimes if you want to spend some time with Peter. Mia’s been great while Grandma and I had a bit of a chat.’ She eyed her daughter who was still drawing.
‘Maybe we’ll do shifts then,’ she said. ‘And I asked the nurse about doing a more intensive neuro exam on her, to check where her mind is at.’
‘Mum.’ Olivia grabbed her bag and led her mother away from May’s bed. ‘I think her mind is fine.’
‘But she seems to get confused.’
‘She’s remembering her past, that’s all. They say that can happen when an older person starts to prepare for their impending …’
‘Don’t say it.’ Her mother grasped her arm.
‘Anyway, she told me about the time when she first started interacting with Grandpa. It was really sweet. Did you know they used to smile at each other through his father’s shop window?’
‘Huh? Well no, but that doesn’t explain why she keeps yapping on about this imaginary William fellow.’
Olivia smiled. ‘Mum, I don’t think he is a figment of her imagination. And there was a letter. Maybe she did get a bit confused, thinking it was here, but I think it’s just the lines of her past and present becoming blurred.’
‘She told you who William was?’
‘Not quite, just that he’d written her a letter, and she told me what she remembered of it. We’re going to chat again tomorrow, so she can tell me more.’
‘As long as you’re not indulging her illusions.’
‘Mum, you should have seen the way she was smiling as she spoke about the past.’ Olivia’s eyes glanced to her grandma, her eyes now closed and her chest rising slowly and rhythmically. ‘I think, illusion or not, it is good for her. And who knows what new information I’ll hear to include in my book.’
Diana rubbed her daughter’s arm. ‘Yes, you’re right. If she’s happy, that’s the main thing.
Yes. Her grandmother deserved the happiest of happy endings. Come to think if it, so did she herself. Somehow, it was time to start hoping for, or creating, a few memories of her own.
Chapter 6
Joel took one more look around the room to check that everything was ready. Tuesday night had arrived so quickly. All places had been booked, and he was glad Olivia had decided to make time to do the course.
He sat on the edge of the desk in the community hall and tapped his feet on the floor, and his fingers either side of his hips on the desk. Quiet. Stillness. Except for the faint hum of the ocean behind the building. The overhead fluorescent lights made him blink a few times, and he wished there was a dimmer switch. Artificial light was always too bright for him. And it reminded him of the sharp intrusion of light waking him up in hospital, when before he’d had only the company of stars and moonlight.
The door creaked open. A well-built man entered, he closed the door behind him and offered a brief smile. ‘Hey, how’s it goin’?’
‘Hey mate, come on in. I’m Joel.’ He met him halfway and held out his hand. ‘Welcome to the course.’
‘Zac,’ he replied, withdrawing his hand after a brief shake then sliding his hands into his pockets.
‘So have you started writing a book?’
‘Not exactly. Poems, mostly. But they’ll be included.’
‘Yeah? So what’s your book about? What’s your story?’ Joel caught a glimpse of a tattoo poking out from under the top of his shirt, noticed his cautious stance; a calm yet alert posture. Maybe he was another adventurer, but he didn’t have that jumpiness, that fidgety nature that he himself embodied.
‘My time in Afghanistan. But mostly the time after that.’
‘Oh wow, I bet you have some intense stories to tell.’
‘You could say that.’
‘And so it focuses on your transition back to …’
‘Civilisation? The land of the living?’ He chuckled. ‘Yeah. But the transition took longer than I thought, I was lost for a long time.’ His eyes widened suddenly and he snapped his fingers. ‘Oh!’ He plucked his phone from his pocket and thumbed in something. ‘Lost in Transition. Potential title.’
Joel gave a nod. ‘Huh. Cool. I like it.’
‘Although it may not convey the true theme of the story. Hmm. I’ll think on it.’
‘We’ll be going through the importance of titles during the course.’ Joel leant on one of the tables. ‘So, what’s the true theme of the story? What happened during your transition, can I ask?’
Zac’s chest rose high with an intake of b
reath. On his exhalation, it seemed he was about to speak when the door creaked open again and he turned his head to look.
‘Good evening, gentlemen.’ A man about mid-sixties tipped and then removed his black velvet beret as he entered. ‘Mr Gregory Donovan, here to unveil my masterpiece with the help of one esteemed author.’ He held out his hand to Joel, and he shook it firmly.
‘Nice to meet you, Mr Donovan,’ Joel said with a grin. He could already tell this man would add some life and colour to the class.
‘Call me Gregory. Actually, just Greg will be dandy, thank you.’
‘Greg it is.’
Greg turned to Zac and offered his hand also. Joel noticed that Zac had waited for him to initiate an introduction. After they had finished their introductions, Zac took a step back, his hands back in his pockets.
‘The lovely young Miss Chevalier recommended your course to me last week,’ Greg said. ‘Went into Mrs May’s to buy a thriller and update her on my latest shenanigans, came out with a brochure and a book idea. Smart girl, that Olivia.’
‘Indeed. And she’ll be joining us tonight as well.’
‘Yes, she mentioned. I think it’s great she’s honouring her grandmother in this way. May is as much a part of my history as she is hers.’
‘Oh?’ Joel wondered just how much Mrs May had impacted the lives of other locals.
‘When my kids were young they would join her Saturday story time in the store, and they loved it. Still, to this day, they remember how much they enjoyed it and how Mrs May took them to a magical world with their imaginations.’
‘She does sound like an amazing person.’
The door opened again. ‘Thank you,’ said a middle-aged woman, as a teenager or young man, perhaps around nineteen or twenty, held the door open for her, then followed her in, his gait favouring his left side.
‘Hello, and welcome,’ said Joel.
‘Awesome to meet you, bro.’ The young guy took his hand and gave him one of those special trendy handshakes that were more like a grab. He was surprised he didn’t clap a hand on his back. ‘Dylan.’
‘Hey, Dylan, awesome to meet you too.’ He shifted his focus to the woman who was holding onto her bag’s shoulder strap for dear life. ‘And you must be Maribella?’
She nodded. ‘How did you know?’
‘You’re one of only two women in tonight’s class, and I already know what the other one looks like.’ He recalled Olivia’s cute face and her cautious, almost fearful eyes. ‘In stark contrast to my Wednesday night class, which has only three men.’
‘Maybe I booked in for the wrong night then, hey?’ said Dylan with a laugh. He then turned to Maribella. ‘Oh, no offence, I mean I just thought maybe the other class might have some girls my age. Not that you’re old or anything. Just. Ah crap, sorry.’ He shook his head. Maribella waved away his concerns with her hand. ‘See? This is why I need a course. I need to learn how to say things right.’
‘Or write things right,’ Joel suggested.
‘Yeah, that.’ He sat on the edge of one of the small desks.
Two more people came in, a thirty-something man in a business suit, and a man about a decade older, in relaxed clothing that suggested he was about ready for bed.
After a few introductions and a bit of small talk, he gave everyone a sticky nametag and got them to write their name on it, and encouraged everyone to grab a desk. Dylan literally grabbed one, his hands gripping the edges. ‘Sorry, man, couldn’t resist.’ He chuckled and so did Joel. Maybe he would also add some life and colour to this group.
Joel made his way to the whiteboard, repositioned it, and switched on his projector, the light shining brighter than the fluorescents.
‘Want me to …’ Mr Donovan, Greg, said, gesturing to the main light switch.
‘That’d be great, mate.’
‘I know where everything is in here, been to hundreds of community events over the years, even put on a few myself.’
‘Well, if I have any issues I know who to call on for help.’
‘Anything you need, buddy, anything at all, I’m happy to help.’
Joel nodded with a smile.
The door creaked. ‘Sorry I’m late!’ Olivia bustled in with a laptop bag over her shoulder, underneath a handbag, her body tilting to the side. ‘Good intentions, but …’ She shrugged, then her cheeks went pink as she glanced at all the faces eyeing her. She nodded at Dylan, gave a small wave to Zac, and a big smile to Greg. Small town indeed.
‘No problem, we were just about to get started actually. Mr Donovan here, was—’
‘Greg,’ he corrected.
‘Greg, was telling us about all the events he’s been to in here.’
‘Been talking your ear off, has he?’ She winked in Greg’s direction. ‘How are you doing, Mr Donovan?’
‘Fine and dandy, my dear. Fine and dandy.’
Joel stepped forward. ‘Hang on, let me get this straight … I’ve just met you and I can call you Greg, but Olivia has to call you Mr Donovan?’
The old man chuckled. ‘I’ve tried, but she refuses to call me anything else.’
Olivia shrugged again. ‘He used to teach at my school when I was a teenager. I can’t think of him as any other name except Mr Donovan.’
‘Ah, gotcha.’ Joel angled his head, his gaze still on her. ‘Maybe I should have you all call me Mr Foster.’
Dylan laughed, a sharp, short explosion. ‘Sure thing, Mr Foster.’
Joel shrugged. ‘Sorry, couldn’t resist.’ They exchanged a smile. Dylan reminded Joel of himself when he was younger. Loved joking around, milking every class at school for all the fun he could have with it.
‘Back in my day,’ said Greg …
‘Ah, stop right there,’ said Olivia, her hand in the air. ‘Joel, I mean, Mr Foster,’ she said in a fake serious tone, ‘Sorry to interrupt, but as soon as you hear him say “back in my day”, you either have to stop him in his tracks or prepare to settle in for a long conversational adventure.’
‘Hmm,’ said Joel, rubbing the stubble on his jaw. ‘Personally, I’m one for adventure. But we do have to get this class rolling so those who need to leave at the allocated finish time can get home to their families. However, I’d be more than happy for a chinwag after the class if anyone wishes to discuss anything further.’
‘If I can stay awake,’ said Greg, ‘you’ve got yourself a deal.’ He nodded.
Joel logged into his laptop and launched the slideshow. ‘Just a few happy snaps from my adventures, to give you some background of where I’ve been, where I’ve come from, and what I went through.’ The pictures faded in and out, much like his consciousness had done that challenging day, and then the next, until he’d promised himself he’d take one more breath. But that one became another, and another, until every breath was potentially his last. But that single mantra—one more breath—was what had kept him going. If he could take one more, then he could take another, and that was how he’d gotten through it. The pictures of him in hospital appeared on screen too, and he spoke a bit about his recovery. ‘So in a nutshell, that is how a seemingly ordinary person’s life and travels can become a story. Not that you have to go through a life-threatening situation to have a story to tell. I don’t recommend that if you can help it.’
Some of the class chuckled.
‘So before we get into the nitty-gritty of how to write your story, if you feel comfortable sharing with the group what you will be writing about, that would be great. Nothing detailed, just a few words.’ He looked purposefully at Greg.
‘Don’t you worry, Mr Foster.’
‘Joel.’
‘Joel, I promise to keep it to three minutes maximum.’ He winked.
‘Three minutes?’
‘Yes, that way we will be done in around twenty-four minutes.’
‘Around twenty-four?’ asked Olivia. ‘I don’t recall in our mathematics lessons being allowed to answer questions with the word “around” … we had to be exact.’
‘Ah yes, you are correct. In that case, we would have …’ He appeared to calculate in his head. ‘How about you tell me, Olivia? What is the answer?’
Olivia sighed. ‘Oops, what did I get myself into?’
‘Maths wasn’t my forte either,’ Joel said.
She widened her eyes. ‘I didn’t say it wasn’t my forte.’
‘Neither did I.’
‘You said either, meaning that as well as not being yours, it also wasn’t the person’s you were speaking to.’
‘And let me guess, English was one of your best subjects?’ he asked.
She sat up straight. ‘Of course.’ She smiled, then cleared her throat. ‘Mr Foster.’
He wanted to continue this banter but needed to get on with the class. He was surprised that her usual slightly shy demeanour had somehow disappeared tonight, and was replaced with an unusual slightly goody-two-shoes confidence.
‘I’ll start,’ Zac spoke. Interesting … Joel hadn’t expected him to want to initiate the book summaries. But their chat had been interrupted earlier when Greg had arrived.
He glanced at Olivia. ‘Olivia already knows about my book, but if I don’t go first and get it over with I may not get the words out. I’m still getting used to speaking openly about it.’
‘Go ahead,’ said Joel, sitting on the edge of his desk again.
‘Long story short. Ex-soldier, served in Afghanistan. Lost a best mate. Came home and drank too much. Recovering alcoholic now. Also recovering from agoraphobia.’
Wow. That made sense.
‘So I hope to be able to help others going through addictions, or mental illness, or those who’ve served their country.’
Greg clapped, and Dylan joined in, soon others were giving him a round of applause.
Zac lowered his gaze with a bashful smile and held up his hand to halt any further applause.
Joel glanced at Olivia, who hadn’t clapped for Zac, but assumed she already knew his story. ‘Olivia?’
‘Well, some of you probably already know by now that I’m writing about Mrs May—my grandmother who set up the bookstore I now run. So it’s a bit different in that I’m writing on behalf of someone else.’ She tucked a chunk of caramel-tinted hair behind her hair, and her small earring glimmered.
Memories of May Page 5