A Letter from Sarah

by Dan Proops

  ‘You must have a lovely girlfriend.’

  ‘Yes, I do, and I s’pose you’ve got a man.’

  ‘Nope, Ms Single. That’s me.’

  ‘I’d better get going. The search goes on. There’s a lot of footwork.’

  ‘Pity. I was enjoying your company, handsome boy.’

  ‘Jesus, now you are sounding mad. I’m a lot of things but handsome is not on the list.’

  ‘Everyone’s allowed their opinions and that’s mine, so there! Give me a call any time.’

  Adam said she’d brightened up his night and she echoed the sentiment. He’d spent a few hours talking to her, then said he was tired. He made his way back to his apartment.

  In a week he’d covered a considerable distance, striking off areas he’d been to from his makeshift map. He’d been to a hundred bars and no one had recognised her, and at last he was beaten: he’d been to every possible place she might have been and Sarah had not been sighted. So the days of trudging with hope in his heart and a photo in his pocket came to an end.

  One arctic morning, Adam made his way to the frosted plains of the park. He sat at one of the tables under a pagoda looking for Travis but, after waiting for two hours in the cold, there was no sign of him. Adam went back to the park the next day and was again out of luck. After a week of spending hours in the park he thought he wouldn’t see Travis again, but he’d try once more and then leave it.

  The New York winter was unforgiving and it had snowed for a week. It was Adam’s last day in Brooklyn and the sky was a dark grey. He trudged up President Street to the park, and its open stretches of green were covered in a blanket of white. He sat alone at a table, pulled a newly bought woollen hat down to cover his ears, and waited. The creaking boughs of nearby oaks were weighed down by recent snow. Adam looked across to the woods and remembered the night of fear, the night the woods had turned against him.

  A few hours passed and he watched some people struggling through the park. He stood up and made to leave, and then he saw Travis in the distance in his black coat, a newspaper under his arm.

  Nineteen

  Travis was walking slowly, watching his step, as he trudged past. Adam saw him make his way to another pagoda on a distant hill. Sleet started falling, slowly at first, then becoming heavier. He kept his eyes on Travis, now just a blur, hidden by the whirling currents. Adam crossed his arms and prepared to approach the man who was reading his newspaper, oblivious to the cold.

  He didn’t want to lose his chance, not on his last day, and now was the time to act. He wrapped his scarf around his neck, keeping his eyes on the man in black. His hands were cold and fragments of ice fell from his gloves. The sleet had turned to snow and the day was darkening, the sky a blue-black. He managed to push himself up from the wooden bench and leant a hand on a wooden strut that supported the roof of the pagoda. Now! Go to him. What’s stopping you? His jaw was tight, his back teeth grinding, but he just sat there watching. The man in black stood up and put his newspaper inside his coat. He could just be seen through the swirling sheets of snow. Adam removed his gloves, now wet though, and rubbed his palms together, trying to generate some heat. The wind skirted across his face. He put his hands in the pockets of his coat while keeping his eyes on Travis. With an abrupt movement Adam took his hand off the strut of wood, and made his way to the man in black.

  He walked towards him, his mind devoid of thought or intention. As he approached, Travis looked up from his paper and scowled.

  ‘What now? Why’d you follow me about?’

  ‘I want you to stay away from Sarah.’

  ‘You’re a fucking loon. Weirdo Brit.’

  ‘If anything happens to her, I’ll know all about it.’

  ‘You need a shrink. You’re losing it.’

  ‘Your name’s Travis, isn’t it?’

  ‘Go fuck yourself.’

  There seemed to be surprise in the man’s eyes and genuine anger in his voice; he folded his paper, and Adam searched for something to say. He stood shivering in front of Travis, who was eyeing Adam behind misted glasses. Say something! Do something—anything. But Travis walked away and was lost to the darkness. Adam followed him to the entrance of the park, and now night had fallen. The man in black was standing at a junction, with Adam a few feet behind him. Travis wandered across President Street, then he turned around.

  ‘What do you want from me?’

  ‘I wanna talk to you. You’re hiding something. I don’t trust you an inch.’

  ‘Fuck you, weirdo.’

  The man pushed Adam and he fell backwards, the paving stones hitting hard against his back. He propped himself on one elbow and saw the man in black disappear into the night. Adam managed to stand; his right arm and hip were wet from the fall. He made his way back to the apartment.

  Twenty

  Adam washed his face, changed into some dry clothes, and lay on his bed. Lonely in his apartment, he decided he wanted a whisky. Maybe he’d see Travis again. Maybe he’d see Sarah. He made his way back into the New York night.

  It had stopped snowing and was bitterly cold. Adam walked towards the bars replaying the incident over in his head and thought he could have done something different. Various scenarios ran though his mind: he should have followed him—he should have at least done that. As he berated himself for not doing more, he entered a bar, bought a double Jack Daniels and made his way to the back. It was dark and quiet and candles lined the bar, and then he saw Uncle Harold.

  He was in a corner in a loud check shirt: orange and blue. He was alone. After recovering from the surprise of seeing him, Adam made his way over, and Harold’s face was all brightness as he approached.

  ‘Well, if it isn’t my favourite nephew. How you doing?’

  ‘I’m fine. It’s great to see you. How long have you been in Brooklyn? It’s amazing to bump into you like this.’

  ‘I moved from Philadelphia a few months ago.’

  ‘I’m looking for Sarah. I’d love to see her.’

  ‘She’s a bit under the weather. I saw her the other night.’

  ‘So she’s really here in Brooklyn?’

  ‘Yeah, she sure is.’

  ‘Tell me about her. How is she?’

  Harold said he’d been round to her house the night before, for dinner. She was doing fine but was worried for Oliver, who wasn’t doing well. He’d been abusive to his new teacher, screaming expletives, and Sarah was disappointed as she’d hoped her son would do better in his new school. But, after a few days, there’d been a verbal warning from the headmaster saying Oliver had upset his teacher; she was young and new to teaching, having been recently employed by the school. She’d reacted badly and ended up leaving. Apart from that, Sarah was doing well, and was considering going back into teaching. Adam asked about Prospect Park.

  ‘She goes for walks there,’ said Harold. ‘She likes it.’

  ‘Is it safe?’

  ‘Course. There’s a load of people there.’

  ‘I met a guy called Travis—the man she spoke about in her letters. I’m worried about him. He’s very aggressive.’

  Harold was about to speak, stopped himself, then looked confused for a moment; he adjusted a collar, forced a smile and said:

  ‘He’s okay. Nothing wrong with him.’

  ‘I wonder about that. He was unfriendly and abusive when I met him.’

  ‘Don’t worry ’bout him. He’s all good. Look, I gotta go. Gotta meet someone. You got my number. Come over sometime.’

  ‘I’m leaving for London tomorrow. Any chance I could see Sarah before I go? I’m desperate to see her.’

  ‘Doubt it. She’s not been herself.’

  ‘Can I have her number or address?’

  ‘Been good talking with you, son. Gotta go.’

  ‘Can’t we talk for a bit longer?’

  ‘I’m late, Adam, I need to meet someone.’

  And with that, Harold stood up and bustled out of the bar. Adam sat in a corner, thinking. He won
dered why his uncle had been so evasive. He thought he’d acted strangely by just walking off and it left him perplexed, but now he knew she was really here, and for the moment after so much searching he was fed up with it all.

  Adam returned to his apartment and needed sleep. As he walked, a sharp pain formed in the nape of his neck. Back at the apartment he fell into bed, spent and exhausted. His flight was leaving early the next morning.

  Twenty - One

  Adam arrived in Earl’s Court tired and jet-lagged. He opened his front door and found Nigel in his dressing gown lying on the sofa drinking tea. It was as if he hadn’t moved, as if he’d been on the sofa the entire time Adam had been away. Nigel peered across the top of his paper, then lowered it, then lifted it and held it up in front of his face. He spoke as if he was still engrossed in the paper.

  ‘Had a good trip?’

  ‘It was fine.’

  ‘Any luck finding her?’

  ‘No, not really. I need my room back. I’m sleeping there tonight.

  ‘I’ll be out of there in a few days,’ said Nigel in a detached voice. ‘The bed’s good for my back.’

  Adam had to get rid of Nigel; that was a priority. He had to see the back of him. He left his things in the front room and made his way up to his father. Darius was half asleep, leaning at an awkward angle against the head of his bed. Adam said hello and waited as his father took great pains propping himself up, grunting and sighing as he did so.

  ‘Good to see you back Adam, I missed you. Did you find anything in New York?’

  ‘I met Harold. He’s seen her. She’s there Dad.’

  ‘Really? That’s amazing. Maybe I’ve got it all wrong. The letters are real then. I want it to be true, I really do.’

  Darius looked across the room, a ruminative gaze. He was smiling serenely. He turned his hand into a fist and Adam saw the sinews tighten in his forearm. He asked what Harold had said, and spoke quickly and with excitement. He wanted to know everything. Adam told him all about New York and his father listened for a while, then abruptly changed the subject and asked him if he was getting on with Nigel. Adam was surprised his father didn’t want to know more about his daughter.

  ‘Dad, I’m relieved you’re finally convinced about Sarah. It’ll probably take some time for it to sink in. But I want Nigel to leave. I can’t have him living here anymore.’

  ‘He’s been a saint. He’s been looking after me and made all my meals. Then we have nice chats about literature.’

  ‘Dad, if Nigel stays, I’m leaving. I’ll move in with Cassandra.’

  ‘And what about the letters, the letters from Sarah. You might miss them.’

  Anger regarding Nigel and his father’s obstinacy was now virulent. Adam could hardly contain himself. As he was about to vent some rage, Darius said another letter had arrived; he leant over to a bedside table and gave it to him. Adam thanked him, took the letter and went downstairs. In no uncertain terms and with authority, he told Nigel to move his things from his room. Nigel was humming and made no response.

  ‘I want your stuff out of my room. I’ll wait here.’

  ‘You sound angry. I can see you’re in a foul mood.’

  Nigel dropped the paper and eyeing Adam with a look of irritation, made his way upstairs. Fifteen minutes later, he returned and said he’d moved his belongings into his own room. Adam, relieved to avoid further confrontation, took his bags and went to his bedroom; it was a complete mess, with unwashed coffee cups on the floor and some old socks in a corner. He tidied up the best he could and left Nigel’s socks outside his room. He was relieved to be home, and would work out a way to get Nigel out of there. He’d ask Cassandra about it: she’d have the answer. He opened the letter.

  Darling Adam,

  I hear you’ve been to New York. In some way I wished we’d met, but I’m a bit angry you came to search me out.

  Adam was surprised at Sarah’s tone; it was if he’d upset her in some way, and as usual he had no way to respond. And then she went into some detail about Oliver, the incident with his teacher, the abuse she’d received and her resignation.

  So I think the school will expel him. I’m at a loss to be honest. I have no idea how to improve things. It’s becoming increasingly harder to deal with it, and he still refuses to speak to his therapist. Anyway, I wear your bracelet every day, and just wearing it makes me feel better.

  I love the detail of the inscription: Sarah and Adam Forever; how did you come up with something so beautiful? I was thinking about the day when you rescued me from the river.

  When they were in their late teens Adam and Sarah had taken walks near the Thames deep in the English countryside. Darius would rent a car and a cottage and drive out to Wiltshire, and they’d spend happy weekends there.

  Adam looked back with fondness to those times, buried in the past. He remembered the day the accident happened, but as he was recalling the event something was bothering him, and he thought for a moment trying to work out what it was. Then it came to him.

  He’d fallen into the river and she’d rescued him. How could she make such a fundamental error? Sarah had a keen memory and could remember detailed experiences they’d shared as children.

  You were strong that day Adam and showed real courage in diving into that cold water. I doubt I’d be alive if you hadn’t braved the elements.

  Adam had not been courageous. It was she who’d saved him. He remembered the afternoon vividly. They were skipping stones along the surface of the river, and it was a miserable day with a sullen winter sky and the threat of rain. Adam had walked to the edge of the riverbank with overgrown blackberry bushes and tall bulrushes. He’d slipped on the muddied ground and fallen into the river. He was a weak swimmer and was struggling in the strong currents, then he felt Sarah’s arm around his neck as she brought him to the safety of the bulrushes.

  He sat exhausted and cold on the riverbank and Sarah fetched a blanket and made him as warm as possible. Then Darius was there, and in a rage because they’d been playing so close to the river. He’d given strict instructions for them to stay away from the water’s edge.

  You were always a strong swimmer, Adam. You were a star that day, a true hero and I’m proud of you.

  How could she get something so wrong and why had she confused memories of that day? They’d spoken about the event a week or so later. Sarah had been full of pride as she bathed in the glory of her courageous rescue.

  It was the first time there’d been a discrepancy in one of her letters. Adam re-read it and the mistake brought on some apprehension. It was a complete mystery. Everyone makes mistakes; no memory was without flaws and misgivings, but it bothered Adam as he unpacked his rucksack and put away his things. He found another of Nigel’s white socks and holding it between the tips of his fingers, went to Nigel’s room and dropped it outside his door. He called Cassandra.

  ‘She’s made an error—something about a river accident when we were young.’

  ‘I see.’

  ‘You all right? You sound a bit down.’

  ‘I’m fine, really I am.’

  They arranged to meet in Richmond the following afternoon. It was a cloudless day, the sun faint, hidden behind a film of cloud, but it was unusually mild. Adam left the Underground.

  He walked down the high street, passed a pub, and made his way to the restaurant. The sight of Cassandra had a calming effect. He bought a whisky, adjusted a sleeve of his leather jacket and sat opposite her. He ordered some food and told her about Travis and finding him in the barren tundra of Prospect Park. She listened patiently and waited for him to finish.

  ‘How’d you know this stranger was Travis?’

  ‘He was in a black coat and he was ugly—just as I’d imagined.’

  ‘Adam, you saw a guy in a black coat in a park. There must be hundreds of men who wear black coats.’

  ‘He became aggressive when I asked about Sarah, when I accused him of it all.’

  ‘No wonder he was angry. I�
��d be angry if I was approached like that.’

  ‘I know it was him. I’m certain of it.’

  Adam spoke about Sarah’s comments about the day he’d fallen into the Thames, and her mistake was analysed and vivisected, with Adam obsessing over every detail. He spoke for fifteen minutes or more. He said it was unlike her to make such a simple error. It was slowly breaking him, the obsession over Sarah, the letters, Travis, the mistake about the river, all of it. He sat holding his whisky, his right hand shaking.

  The nightmare visions would come to him again, he was sure of it. What could be worse than a mind that torments itself, a mind trying to unhinge itself? What could be worse? Nothing.

  Cassandra seemed distracted, as if she wasn’t listening. There was an unusual air to her, and Adam was frustrated with her lack of attention.

  ‘You don’t seem to be very interested.’

  ‘I am. It’s just I—’

  ‘Cassandra, what’s up? You don’t look yourself.’

  ‘Adam, I’ve got something to tell you. Something I feel bad about and I was unsure whether to tell you or not. But the guilt’s been too hard.’

  ‘What’s happened? I love you, Cassandra. I’m sure I can help.’

  She looked down at the ice melting at the bottom of her glass and Adam saw a tear form; it ran down her cheek. He knew it was the God business. Belief had left her, and she was finding it difficult. But guilt? She should be free of the tethers of guilt, and whatever pain she had to face, whatever agonies she was going through would be shared, as he’d bear the burden with her.

  Cassandra looked up from her glass and her eyes were red from tiredness or tears. Adam had not seen her like this before, but he’d faced loss for years and knew how hard it must be for her to lose her faith, to lose something that had been so dear to her. She forced a smile, a weak smile that quickly faded. And then she looked up from the table.