‘Oh, hasn’t he told you?’ Miriam laughed. ‘Nigel, you’re so naughty, you should have confessed! He only signed up for the class because I told him the life model would be up his street!’
I laughed along, but there was something about the whole thing that made me feel uncomfortable. A mother had seen a naked woman posing in an art class and suggested her son join it just so that he could try to date her. I soon realised how it made me feel: cheap.
Maybe I should have ended things then and there, but I didn’t. And now all these years later we’re still together, though I know exactly what Morag means. My reasons for staying aren’t remotely good enough. But I want children more than anything, and if Nigel is my best chance of getting them, I’m prepared to put up with his downsides.
Chapter Six
Wednesday 22 November 2017
Fred
Fred was starting to get twitchy. It had been ages and still no word from Enid. He hoped he hadn’t been too forward, inviting her to stay, but they’d been together – apart – for a year now and he was desperate to take things forward.
Terri-Lee was dubious about the whole thing. She was a caring girl who clearly didn’t want Fred to get his heart broken but there was more to it than that.
‘I want to know what it is about this woman,’ she said as the pair of them ate breakfast down at the beach café in Secret Harbour. It was baking hot already, though windy – the umbrella shading their table kept tilting. ‘Is she pretty?’
‘She’s beautiful. Totally different to you . . . Sorry – I don’t mean that you’re not beautiful.’ He paused as the waitress passed him his flat white and Terri-Lee her healthy green juice, smiling his thanks. ‘You’re, like, supermodel gorgeous. You remind me of Scarlett Johansson.’
Terri-Lee smiled, the poor girl’s eyes full of hope.
‘I just mean Enid has a different sort of beauty. It’s not just that, though – it sounds corny, but I feel this real connection with her,’ Fred said, dashing Terri-Lee’s hopes instantly. ‘It’s crazy. So hard to explain. There’s just this bond between us that somehow seems to overcome the distance between us . . . her problems . . . my problems.’
‘I just don’t get it. You’ve never seen her. All you’ve done is exchange letters and photos and had the odd phone call. It’s like you’re living in the dark ages. I mean, the way you met – that Christmas card exchange! I’m sorry, but you have to admit – that was really tragic!’
Fred rubbed at his silver stubble and thought back to those bleak days when his mum had lost all mobility. He’d been drained – mentally and physically. Far too tired to go out and yet desperate for some sort of interaction with the outside world.
He couldn’t go online. The year before he’d found himself spending way too much time on social media sites. In the end he’d felt the soul being sucked out of him as he’d observed the seemingly perfect lives of his ‘friends’ when his own had seemed so dire. He’d had to ban himself from the internet for the sake of his sanity. So there he’d been, alone – aside from his lovely mum – and in need of some way of communicating. He’d seen a poster advertising a Christmas card exchange in Coles, one of the local supermarkets: Exchange Christmas cards with people all over the world!
It had actually turned out to be supremely expensive in postage and with very little return. After receiving thirty-five cards simply signed by the sender and with no other information, Fred had decided not to bother with the exchange again. The very last card he’d received had been from Enid.
Unlike the others, she’d given him loads of information:
Dear Fred,
I’m Enid. I’m thirty-nine and I’m sending a photo because my sister says I should as I’m ‘surprisingly attractive’. I have no idea what she means. Anyway, I’m hardly using a Christmas card exchange as a way of dating. Still, I generally do whatever Bess advises, so there you go. You can see what I look like, and that I wear dorky clothes (no, I won’t take my sister’s advice on clothes – I do have my limits). I’m an artist. I live in Jersey – a small island half an hour by plane from London. I’m an orphan, but I have my sister. I have an intense interest in woodland animals – most especially hedgehogs – and I never want children. My cat, Clifford, is like a child to me (he’s a beach cat, a British shorthair – cream not ginger! – with a lazy and friendly temperament). Most defining of all, I suppose, I have Asperger’s Syndrome.
I guess this is where it all starts and ends.
Merry Christmas Fred! From Enid.
Fred had been immediately interested. She was, as her sister said, extremely attractive, but it was more than that. There was something about her words that had really spoken to him. He could tell she must have suffered in her life and yet she seemed to have remained herself regardless; she sounded quirky and strong, and funny, too.
‘Tragic,’ he repeated now to Terri-Lee. ‘You know, Tel, I think that’s exactly what that Christmas card exchange was. Not in the way you mean, though. We probably all had our own tragedies and perhaps it was a way for us to console each other. Maybe that’s what bonded Enid and me. I’m grateful for that exchange now, anyway.’
Terri-Lee looked a bit irritated. ‘Well, just don’t come running to me when she turns up and you realise what you’ve got yourself into!’ Then she smiled, as if to sweeten her words.
Fred smiled back weakly. He looked at his watch and calculated what time it was in Jersey.
Chapter Seven
Wednesday 22 November 2017
Enid
Today was my kind of day. Cold and crisp, but not too bright. My eyes can’t handle too much brightness, but I’m equally sensitive to humidity and damp. Something about a drizzly sort of day makes me want to scratch my skin until it’s red and raw.
As soon as I’d finished breakfast I took a little time to reread some of Fred’s letters. The one he sent to me after he received my Christmas card is one of my favourites:
Dear Enid,
I can’t tell you how refreshing it was to receive your Christmas card and to find something out about the person sending it! I don’t know if you’ve found the whole exchange exercise as pointless as me . . . well, pointless until I got the card from you, that is. I don’t know whether you’re going to be interested in continuing to write, but here’s hoping.
This probably sounds insane, but as soon as I read your words I had this feeling about you. About us. I get these feelings sometimes – like an instinct. And I’ve found in life that if I follow that feeling I can’t go too wrong, so that’s what I’m doing now. Laying my heart on the line and telling you now that I’d like to get to know you. I try not to use the internet, but if you’d like to write and maybe speak on the phone sometimes then that would be awesome!
I was intrigued to hear that you have Asperger’s Syndrome. I have to admit, I didn’t actually know what this was, but I’ve been reading up and I’m guessing life has been pretty tough for you, although it sounds like your sister’s looking out for you. I’ve always wished I could have had a sibling. My parents split up over a decade ago and then my mum got sick with MS, so I’ve been caring for her at home for the last nine years (I used to be a professional cricketer but it was too much to try to carry on the job and look after Mum).
She’s gone downhill a lot recently and I’m worried she won’t last another year. This all sounds quite depressing but, although it can be a little lonely at times, I really love looking after her. Mum’s funny, really funny, in a way that I think you might be too. ‘A good laugh is sunshine in the house,’ Mum always says, quoting someone or other. Wow, it feels good to be letting off a bit of steam like this. I hope you don’t mind? I guess I’ll find out – you’ll either write back or you won’t. Enid, I hope you do.
Happy New Year! Fred.
I put the letter to one side and turned to my favourite photo of Fred. It takes an awful lot to make me feel mushy, but there’s something about the latest picture he sent me.
H
e’s standing on a beach at sunset, hands in pockets, and his intriguing tattoo is just visible. It looks as if he might have been deep in contemplation until someone shouted his name and he looked around, the photographer (who? I always wonder) catching him with his head turned and an answering kind of look on his face. He’s tall, you can see that. Tall and muscular and tanned, with cropped dark hair that’s turning grey, and silver stubble on a nice firm jaw. He’s lined around his eyes and mouth, but the lines only seem to add to the character of his face. He reminds me of an ageing black Labrador. And, again just like a Labrador, he looks kind. It’s something about his almost-smile; I’m not the best at reading expressions but even I can tell, without doubt, that he’s a good person.
I could look at that picture all day and probably would if I didn’t have other stuff I know I have to do – and there’s no chance of me ever saying, ‘Stick it, I’ll do it another day.’ If there’s one thing that keeps me together it’s routine, as well as the knowledge that the hedgehogs need me. They’re basically my life – and have been since I was six.
Hedgehogs are, in my opinion, the most amazing creatures in the world, followed closely by cats. They eat as much as possible in October, then hibernate throughout the winter, and I always like to provide a place for them to nest each year. I have everything they need in the shed at the bottom of the garden, including dry food and water. I don’t keep them captive, though – my primary school teacher taught me to treat them as visitors and always allow them to wander off when they’re ready. Sometimes I find this hard, especially when I’ve helped the autumn juveniles – babies born late in the year. I have one I’m taking care of at the moment, as well as an autumn orphan, born very recently. I’m busy keeping them warm and fattening them up before they’re ready to hibernate.
Hedgehogs are loners, too, and only hook up with others for the purpose of mating. This is something I’ve identified with all my adult life, though for ‘mating’ read ‘protected sex’ in my case. Though I’ve begun to wonder whether my relationship with Fred might blossom further than anything I’ve ever known before. That thought really, really scares me.
So, after checking the hedgehogs and replenishing their food and drink supplies, I gave Clifford a bit of fuss before I made a start on my work for the day in what used to be the dining room and is now my studio. I was half an hour into a particularly taxing painting of a sausage dog (the owner wants me to capture her cheerful yet thoughtful nature. I entirely understand this desire, but it’s quite tricky to achieve) when I heard the house telephone ringing.
I decided to ignore it. I usually take that approach with the phone, so much so that Bess can’t understand why I have one. The answer is so that I can make a call if there’s an emergency and my mobile phone’s battery is flat, which it usually is.
Five minutes later the ringing began again. I sighed and abandoned my brushes. I made it to the phone on the ninth ring.
‘Yes?’ I said. Bess tells me off for answering the phone like that, but sometimes I forget myself.
There was a small pause. ‘Enid! You’re there! I’m so sorry to hound you. It’s Fred.’
‘Fred? But we didn’t arrange to speak today, did we?’ I felt conflicting emotions: joy at hearing his voice, mingled with fear – if we hadn’t arranged to speak, did that mean he was calling with bad news? Had he changed his mind about Christmas?
‘No, I’m sorry . . . I just . . . I just wanted to check that you received my letter. The one asking you here for Christmas? I’m so sorry if I’ve put you in a difficult position. I wasn’t going to call, but I’ve been thinking all day that maybe you don’t know how to reply without offending me. It was probably crazy of me to ask! Please don’t worry about upsetting me. I completely understand if you don’t want to come . . . If you can’t come . . .’ Fred tailed off.
I relaxed. ‘Fred, don’t worry. I mean, I did deliberate about it for a little while. But only because I’m going to have to be brave about the journey and being away from home. I sent my reply on Friday; it should be with you soon. I said yes!’
‘You did? No way! Oh, I’m stoked. I really thought you’d say no . . . All this waiting for a reply . . . It’s driven me nuts. I feel like such a saddo, calling you up like this. Not exactly cool.’
‘Just as well I’m the most uncool person you’re likely to come across then,’ I told him, smiling.
There was a small pause, then: ‘Enid, can I ask you a question?’ Fred’s voice was suddenly more serious.
‘Go ahead.’
‘Why?’ he asked simply.
‘Why what?’ I said, confused.
‘When I know what it’s going to cost you in terms of stepping out of your comfort zone, let alone the actual cost of the ticket. I’m so happy that you are, but why are you prepared to do that to come and visit me?’
‘Because I remember that first Christmas after my mum and dad died,’ I told him. ‘But not just that.’ I paused, trying to think how to phrase what I wanted to say. ‘Fred, unlike anyone I’ve ever met before, you get me. You really get me. I still don’t know why, but you do.’
‘I’ve got to admit, there was a time when I probably wouldn’t have, but I guess sometimes circumstances change us for the better. Do you want to know why I’m crazy about you?’
‘Go on,’ I told him. We were always straightforward with each other, but I was surprised – nicely surprised – by his candour.
‘A million reasons, but one of them is that you’re funny, like my mum – you don’t even know it half the time. And because I love your honesty, Enid. Dad turned out to be such a bullshitter – all my life he used to go on about family being the most important thing and then he ran off with his secretary. He was such a great motivator and talker and speech-giver, but I doubt now whether he meant much of what he used to say at all. I love that you say what you mean. There’s no room for doubt. And another thing,’ Fred added. ‘You get me too.’
Chapter Eight
Thursday 23 November 2017
Bess
As always, I had mixed feelings about seeing Nigel at the weekend, particularly after his behaviour the Saturday before, but today my mind was taken off the prospect of Nigel by a dramatic incident at the college.
I managed to take the bus in, the gritting lorries having worked overnight. I was keen to make it there – otherwise I don’t get paid. I can’t afford days off, especially with Christmas coming up. And there’s more snow forecast so who knows how marooned we’ll become.
It’s a strange thing being a life model. I really have no problem at all with nudity and, contrary to what everyone always thinks, I don’t feel embarrassed or cold or bored when I’m sitting. I just feel peaceful. I guess it’s a kind of meditation. Today, though, I was struggling to find that peace. One of the students – a dweeb of a man wearing his anorak indoors – was busy eating a packed (late) lunch while he painted, and the rustling of tin foil and crisp packet made me as irritated as Enid gets about such things. Perhaps she’s rubbing off on me.
When the clock hands reached four thirty I was relieved to stand up, easing the tension, and shrug on my robe. Then, just as I was about to head through to Morag’s office to change, I saw the anorak dweeb suddenly slide off his chair, landing with a thump on the floor. The rest of the students stared in horror, though nobody rushed to the man’s side. Arty types clearly aren’t too good with medical crises. I’m not either, but I ran through to Morag’s office, knowing she’s trained in First Aid, only to find Harry Harrison sitting at her desk.
‘Harry, quick!’ I gasped. ‘There’s a man, he’s collapsed!’ Harry leapt up from the chair and hurried through to the classroom with me. He crouched down and instantly moved the dweeb so that his legs were elevated.
‘I think he’s having an anaphylactic shock,’ Harry said, calmly assessing the situation while taking the man’s pulse. ‘Did you see him eat any nuts or anything?’
‘He was eating a packed lunch. I don’t kno
w what was in it!’
‘Bess, run through to Morag’s office. There’s a First Aid kit under her desk. With any luck there’ll be an EpiPen in there. Quick, go!’
I scurried back through, finding the kit but not knowing what an EpiPen looked like. I took the whole bag through for Harry. He seized it off me, immediately finding the EpiPen and administering it to the lifeless-looking man. Almost instantly, the man’s colour started to come back and he began to murmur.
‘It’s okay,’ Harry reassured him. ‘You had a shock. Are you allergic to anything?’
‘Nuts,’ the man whispered. ‘My wife always has peanut butter sandwiches. She must have used her knife when she made my ham one for me this morning . . . The dreaded cross-contamination . . .’
Harry and I exchanged an amused glance, despite our shock, both of us clearly wondering whether the woman had done so accidentally or not.
‘Could one of you make yourselves useful and call an ambulance?’ Harry said to the other gawping students. ‘You’re okay,’ he said to the dweeb. ‘But we’ll need to get you checked over.’
‘Are you happy to stay with him until the ambulance gets here?’ I asked him. ‘Only, I just need to change.’
Harry looked at my slightly gaping gown, as if only just realising the state of undress I was in, his cheeks blushing slightly. ‘Of course!’ he smiled. ‘I’ll come and find you . . .’
By the time I’d changed, Morag had appeared, eyes bright with curiosity.
‘What’s happened?’ she asked. ‘I just saw an ambulance arriving!’
‘Some poor guy in my life class had an anaphylactic shock! That’s what I do to people! Harry saved the day, though – he was amazing.’
The door to the office creaked open and we both turned to see Harry standing there, ruffling his fair hair.
The Christmas Forest Page 3