The Missing Letters of Mrs Bright (ARC)

by Beth Miller

  ‘What would you like to do?’ he asked.

  ‘I guess, a walk along the Grand Canal towards my apartment, and then I should go to bed. I have an early flight.’

  ‘Where are you staying?’

  ‘Castello. In the Palazzo Luce Dorata.’

  ‘Ah, that’s a beautiful building. “Golden light”.’

  ‘Is that what it means?’ I had assumed it was someone’s name. ‘Well, everything in Venice is beautiful,’ I said.

  He stopped walking and turned to face me. ‘You’re quite right,’ he said, and before I could register it, his soft lips were on mine. Immediately I worried that I wouldn’t be able to remember how to do this. I hadn’t kissed anyone except Richard for three decades, and it wasn’t as if he and I had spent a lot of time lately locked in a snog. Did you move your lips, and how open should your mouth be, or…

  These thoughts evaporated in a millisecond because I stopped thinking and kissed him back. It turned out that I had muscle memories that meant that my rusty lips knew what to do without needing me to get involved.

  The kiss went on for a long time and after we broke apart, we stood looking at each other. My breathing felt a bit odd.

  He smiled. ‘Yes, everything in Venice is beautiful.’

  ‘You old corn-master,’ I said.

  ‘What is a corn-master?’

  ‘A polite term I just made up for a bullshitter.’

  ‘I’m not bullshitting, Kathleen. You are lovely.’

  ‘Well, thanks.’ The way he pronounced Kathleen – a name I’d never liked – with a hard ‘t’ in the middle instead of ‘th’, did something interesting to my insides. For the record, I was not beautiful. I was usually a five or six at best. But I had put in a good effort with my hair and make-up tonight, so call it a seven. And it was dark, and we were drunk. So maybe an eight. And he thought he was on a promise, so let’s call it a nine.

  We continued walking along the canal, and he pointed out various interesting buildings, and told me stories about the bridges we walked across. I wondered if he would kiss me again, but he didn’t.

  ‘Do you like being back here?’ I asked.

  ‘It’s a wonderful place to live, and also a terrible place. Sometimes both at the same time.’

  ‘Why terrible?’

  ‘Ah, it’s a playground for tourists, you know. It is not for the people who live here. We are pushed aside, our needs are always secondary.’

  As a tourist myself, I felt I should apologise, but it seemed a bit trite. I said, ‘Is that why you want to move to Milan?’

  ‘For my father’s sake, we need to move. But I am sad about it. It is terrible here, but of all the places I have lived, I love it here the best.’

  We reached the palazzo, and my heart, which had been thuddy all evening, ratcheted up a level. I could feel it reverberating all the way up to my throat.

  ‘Christ, I’m scared,’ I blurted.

  Luca took his arm from my shoulder and looked at me, his face gentle. ‘Why, Kay?’

  ‘Because I want to ask you in but I’m terrified.’

  ‘Am I as frightening as all that?’

  ‘Hell, yes. Well, not you personally, you’re very nice, it’s just…’

  It’s just, the last time I slept with someone who wasn’t Richard, it was David Endevane in 1988. It’s just, I am a middle-aged woman with sagging boobs and a flabby stomach, and my neck isn’t as firm as it once was and even my feet have callouses on them, there isn’t any part of my body that could reasonably be called pretty, actually my forearms aren’t too bad but I guess their interest won’t hold you for long. It’s just, I don’t know how to do sex that isn’t familiar married sex. It’s just, we need a condom but I don’t have one and I would die rather than ask if you have one, even though I always told Stella that she must insist that her boyfriend use one. It’s just, I’m not sure how old you think I am. It’s just, what if you’re a cad, or a thief, or into some stupid kink that will make me laugh?

  ‘I’m not long separated,’ I said, instead. ‘It feels like it might all be a bit soon.’

  ‘That’s completely fine, Kathleen,’ he said. ‘I had a lovely evening with you. I would hate for things to be spoiled by you being uncomfortable.’ He kissed me on the cheek, and stepped back. ‘I tuoi occhi sono come il mare.’

  ‘That sounds lovely, but for all I know, you might be telling me I have pasta sauce on my face.’

  ‘I enjoy speaking English very much, but sometimes it is too English. Italian is the language of romance. I told you that your eyes were like the sea.’

  ‘Murky and polluted?’

  He laughed. ‘Have a safe flight tomorrow. It was wonderful to meet you.’ He turned and began to walk away, as he had done in the café. If this was a clever psychological technique, it was highly effective.

  ‘Luca,’ I called, ‘hang on a minute.’

  He stopped, and waited. ‘Yes, Kay?’

  ‘Please do come in,’ I said.

  Well, why the fuck not. Life is short.

  Isn’t it, Bear?

  Twenty

  Stella

  I got up late, and staggered down to the kitchen to discover Gran was whipping up a world-class Sunday brunch.

  ‘Ooh that smells lovely, Gran. I’m starving.’

  She gave me one of her looks. ‘And what time did you arrive here last night, young woman?’

  ‘Late. Dad was still up. Has Newland appeared yet?’

  ‘Can I assume that Newland is the slumbering form on the sofa, who almost gave me a coronary when I went in to tidy up?’

  ‘Oops!’

  ‘I must say, he has nice manners. My small scream roused him, and he said, “Hello, you must be Stella’s grandmother,” introduced himself, then went back to sleep.’

  I laughed. ‘He is extremely polite.’

  ‘Is he your new beau?’

  ‘We’ve only just met. I really like him, but I’m not going to rush into anything so soon after Theo.’

  ‘Very wise. Well, do let him know that there are pancakes and bacon awaiting him.’

  I went into the living room and stood quietly for a moment, looking down at the sleeping Newland. He looked utterly gorgeous, all mussed brown hair and long dark lashes, one hand under his cheek. I said his name, and his eyes flickered open. He gave me a beaming smile. ‘Hello, Star.’

  I fought back an urge to tell him how handsome he was, and mumbled, ‘Hello, Keeper,’ instead.

  He wriggled into a sitting position, still covered by the duvet, but I caught a glimpse of shoulder and realised – be still my heart – that he wasn’t wearing a top. What else wasn’t he wearing? All at once it seemed silly to keep him at a chaste arms’ length, silly and self-defeating. I leaned down to kiss him, lost my nerve halfway, and bizarrely blew a puff of air onto his face instead.

  ‘What was that?’ he said.

  ‘You looked hot,’ I said, blushing like a peony. ‘Not hot-hot, I meant warm. Though you looked hot-hot as well.’ Oh God! Shut up, Stella!

  He grinned. ‘Well, I’m much cooler now, thanks.’

  ‘Um, Gran’s doing us a big breakfast.’ I went over to the door.

  He said, ‘I’ll be there in a minute.’

  I turned back briefly and caught a glimpse of him throwing off the duvet. I don’t think he saw that I saw, but now I knew exactly what he wasn’t wearing, and had to take a moment once I was outside the door, to stand quietly and wait for the heat to leave my face.

  * * *

  A few minutes later he appeared in the kitchen fully dressed, and won Gran over instantly with his keen appetite for her cooking.

  ‘These are the best pancakes I’ve ever had,’ he said, eating a fourth one.

  ‘Shall I tell you the secret ingredient?’ she said. ‘You’ll have to promise never to reveal it.’

  ‘I swear on my life,’ Newland said.

  ‘How come you’ve never told me, Gran?’ I said.

  ‘You never a
sked, dear heart.’

  ‘Nor did he!’

  Gran ignored me. To Newland, she whispered loudly, ‘Mayonnaise.’

  ‘I’d never have guessed,’ he said.

  ‘Makes them fluffy,’ Gran said with satisfaction.

  Seeing as she was in a confiding mood, I said, ‘Where was Dad last night? He was out very late.’

  Gran frowned, and indicated with the minutest shift of her eyebrows that cooking secrets were one thing, but it wasn’t appropriate to discuss family matters in front of Newland when she didn’t know him from Adam, nice as he seemed. My grandmother’s semaphore was impressive enough to get her a job at MI5.

  Mind you, Newland was no slouch at decoding signals either. ‘I can go into the living room while you talk,’ he said.

  ‘No!’ I said, surprising myself with my own vehemence. I know people sometimes push you around. ‘I want to be able to decide when and what I talk about, and in front of whom.’

  ‘Liking your use of “whom” there,’ Newland said.

  ‘She had a decent education, you know,’ Gran said, who never minded me speaking up for myself. ‘Even if it was in a state comprehensive.’

  ‘So come on, Gran, spill.’

  My grandmother picked delicately at her own small plate of pancakes. ‘I believe he was out with a lady, and that is all I know.’

  ‘No way!’ I said. ‘Isn’t it incredibly, insanely, way too soon for that?’

  Gran put down her fork. ‘You’ll know how much I hate saying this, Stella,’ she said, ‘because you’re aware of my feelings about amateur psychology. And indeed, professional psychology. But I think it’s good for your father to do something positive, take a bit of control, in a world which seems somewhat out of control.’

  ‘Wow, Gran, you sound very modern when you talk like that.’

  ‘Oh dear, do I? How ghastly.’

  ‘When my father left, four years ago,’ Newland said, ‘my mother emptied every cupboard and drawer in the house, cleaned absolutely everything. It took her weeks to do the whole house like that. She went off sick from work and spent her time cleaning. Like you say, it’s something about what you can control. It’s good to let them get on with it, I think. Who knows how they’re feeling?’

  Gran and I looked at Newland.

  ‘You’re a thoughtful young fellow, aren’t you?’ Gran said.

  ‘He’s a librarian,’ I said.

  ‘A libertarian, did you say?’

  I laughed.

  Newland pushed his empty plate away. ‘That was outstanding,’ he said, ‘and us libertarians know our carbohydrates.’

  ‘Gran used to cook for the royal family,’ I said, continuing my new series of delivering awkward despatches about people’s jobs.

  ‘You must have some amazing stories,’ Newland said.

  ‘I signed a non-disclosure agreement,’ Gran replied, haughtily.

  ‘Gran, talking of cooking,’ I said, ‘I’ve quit the Sri Lankan business.’

  ‘I’m glad to hear it.’

  ‘You are?’

  ‘I couldn’t understand why you and your friend with the irritating name, Tabby, was it?’

  ‘Gabby.’

  ‘Why you and Gabby were offering Sri Lankan food. You didn’t have any connection to it, after all. It lacked authenticity.’

  I stared at her. ‘Wow, that’s exactly what I’ve been thinking.’

  ‘Having tasted your food,’ she continued, ‘I was forced to conclude that you both made up for your lack of knowledge with a surfeit of coriander leaves.’

  ‘I’ve left my house as well,’ I said, thinking I might as well tell her everything in one go. ‘Can I stay here for a bit?’

  ‘Of course,’ Gran said. ‘I’ll need someone to drive me to the supermarket this afternoon, in that case.’

  ‘I will,’ Newland said.

  ‘There’s a good chap.’

  * * *

  Once Newland had gone off with Gran, I went up to my room, intending to do some clearing out. I didn’t want Newland to see how thoroughly my childhood was preserved here; it wasn’t even as if I was particularly sentimental. I started putting aside old clothes and toys for the charity shop, and it was going well till I pulled out a box full of photos from my cupboard. I’ll have a quick look, I told myself, and an hour later I was still sitting on the floor going through them. I couldn’t believe how many there were of Nita and me. Before university she’d been my closest friend, and I couldn’t remember now why we’d drifted apart. She came to see me a few times when I was in my first year, but she seemed uncomfortable and out of place, and I didn’t always have time to catch up with her when I came back to see Mum and Dad.

  I heard the front door slam, and went downstairs to find Newland and Gran back from the shops, chatting like old friends.

  In the evening Gran cooked us shepherd’s pie, and Dad and Newland chatted about working with the ‘great British public’, as Newland called them, or ‘the great unwashed’ as Dad preferred. How well Newland slotted in to my life; in one day he was more comfortable with my family than Theo had managed in years.

  After dinner, I suggested to him that we go out for a drink. ‘I can show you the pub where I had my first legal drink, and the one where I had my first underage drink, and the one where I threw up in someone’s handbag.’

  ‘That’s one hell of a guided tour,’ Newland said. ‘Bring it on.’

  ‘Stella, how revolting!’ Gran said. ‘Go on, you two. Have fun.’

  I thought about taking Newland’s arm as we walked down the road, but bottled it.

  ‘They seem nice,’ he said.

  ‘Mmm. They’re both on quite weird form at the moment. You did very well.’

  ‘They must have been used to seeing you with Theo, so even though I’m not officially your boyfriend it must be odd to see you with another guy.’

  I shivered deliciously at the word ‘boyfriend’.

  ‘Actually, Theo didn’t visit me here that often,’ I said. ‘When I moved back after university, he only came once or twice.’ As I steered Newland into the Three Horseshoes it occurred to me that perhaps Theo was so distant back then because he was already seeing other people. Maybe even Gabby. It was easy to name my feeling at that: hurt pride. Nothing more fatal.

  ‘Wow, a proper old-school boozer,’ Newland said admiringly. ‘Horse brasses and everything. I’m guessing this is your first-underage-drink venue.’

  ‘Good catch.’

  The pub was exactly the same as when sixteen-year-old me and Nita had taken advantage of the lax bar staff, who barely glanced at our fake IDs. Same red carpet, same plates and unfunny framed cartoons filling the walls, and what looked exactly like the same old blokes sitting at the bar. I ordered two halves of the local beer and we clinked glasses.

  ‘It’s so weird you being here,’ I said. ‘My teenage world and my current world are colliding.’

  Newland grinned and took a sip of his drink. ‘This is pretty nice beer. I’ll have to take you round my own memory lane in St Albans some time.’

  ‘Do you go back much?’

  ‘Well, Mum’s still there. Not as often as I should. It’s all a bit painful.’

  ‘She still not over the divorce?’

  ‘They’re not even divorced yet.’

  ‘How come?’

  ‘When Dad left, Mum was so angry she refused to agree to a divorce. He has to wait till they’ve been separated for five years and it’s only been four.’

  ‘Blimey. That’s quite a grudge.’

  ‘To be fair, it was a pretty messy break-up. He saved up twenty-five years of irritation and gave it to her all in one go. Oh, and then he went off with her friend.’

  ‘Jesus. I’m starting to think I got off lightly with my parents’ split.’

  ‘It’s like that woman running the group said. Martine. As adults, we’re expected to quickly get over our parents separating, be grown-up and supportive. But that means we don’t really always add
ress how we feel about it, as their children.’

  ‘Do you think I haven’t addressed how I feel?’

  ‘I don’t think you can have done yet, Stella. No one could have, it’s still so recent. I think you’re pushing your feelings away, to protect yourself. I get it totally, I did the same for months.’

  ‘I did have a horrible row with my mum. And a cry at the group.’

  ‘Those are good starts.’

  ‘Ready for the next pub?’

  ‘Sure,’ he said, and chugged down the last of his beer.

  We went out into the evening, and to my delight, he took my hand.

  I said, ‘I told Gabby that she did me a favour by sleeping with Theo.’

  ‘How so?’

  ‘It showed what he was really like, and it meant I got out of a bad relationship.’ I squeezed his hand. In my head, I added, And I met you.

  ‘You don’t have to rush into anything with me,’ Newland said, as if he had heard the unspoken words. ‘I’m really happy to wait.’

  I didn’t reply, but steered him down an alleyway.

  ‘I’m liking these little byways you’re taking me on,’ Newland said. ‘Wow, there’s a pub hidden down here!’

  ‘This is where I had my first legal drink,’ I said, and pushed open the door to the King’s Head.

  ‘This is more like it,’ Newland said, looking round the modern pub, with its wooden tables and floor. ‘Let’s stay here. I don’t need to see the pub where you threw up into someone’s handbag.’

  As I’d expected, Nita was behind the bar, serving a group of young men. God, she worked hard, and always had; her aunt’s café during the day, her parents’ chip shop in the early evening, and the King’s Head at night.

  ‘Hey, Stella! Good to see you.’

  ‘Newland, this is Nita, my oldest friend.’

  Newland shook Nita’s hand, and she winked at me. ‘A gentleman, huh? Nice change of pace for you.’

  ‘Shurrup,’ I said, as if we were still at school. ‘I’m showing him our old hangouts.’