An Impossible Thing Called Love

by Belinda Missen

  It appeared I had a queue. That almost never happened. Trevor was keen to offload his filing while requesting a follow-up on some results that were late, and the Royal Mail delivery girl looked like she had one thousand other places to be. She probably did. An overstuffed parcel landed on the counter with a heavy thud. My name had been scribbled in giant black marker, smiley faces all around it and flowers in the corner. Frankie had obviously overseen this delivery. If Mum had sent it, the handwriting would have been in a swirling regal font that suggested discipline by cane at early primary school.

  The moment everyone had been sent on their way, the scissors were out, and I was tearing at that packing tape like a rabid five-year-old on a sugar high at a birthday party. There were more than a dozen packets of sweet biscuits, an offering of Savoury Shapes, Caramello Koalas, and it looked like she’d bought out the local supermarket of Cadbury Dairy Milk. But the real gold was hidden in an envelope that was slipped between the biscuits.

  Digital photos were fun and instant, but I still loved the look and feel of printed photos, the kind made in a dark room with pungent chemicals. Just as I was earmarking a few to put in frames at home, I felt the grip of one hand on my waist and spotted another making like an octopus as it dug through my parcel. Two packets of biscuits and a block of chocolate were quickly confiscated.

  ‘Thanks, sweetie.’ William made a show of kissing me on the cheek.

  ‘But they’re mine,’ I complained. ‘Will, don’t do that.’

  ‘You love me, remember that.’ He pointed his stolen stash at me as he retreated to his office. He turned his attention to his elderly patient. ‘She loves me.’

  Pam swung on her chair, completely scandalised and mouth popped open.

  ‘Pam, you look like a sideshow clown,’ I laughed.

  ‘Really? Because I don’t see anyone putting balls in my mouth.’ She turned away. ‘Shame, really.’

  I shrunk down on my chair, behind my parcel and laughed. One of the most perfect things I’d ever see was watching Pam try and compose herself enough to answer her next call.

  The second she was free, she turned her attention back to me, face twisted up in confusion. ‘You know, someone’s very handsy with you today.’

  ‘You should try sleeping with him,’ I mumbled, rifling through the parcel. ‘It’s like sleeping with a face hugger. I had a finger in my mouth the other morning.’

  Oh shit.

  I was sure I could hear Josh’s Clown Song alarm in the background as her face dropped again. ‘What did you just say?’

  Double shit.

  ‘I think I might have said that I’m sure sleeping with him would be like sleeping with a face hugger?’

  ‘You did not say that at all.’ Slowly, her face turned from one of shock to that of someone who was sure they’d just won the office gossip jackpot. ‘Oh my God, Emmy, what is that even like?’

  I gave her a sideways glance.

  ‘Oh, come on,’ she whispered. ‘Please? It’s only you, me, and a hundred contagious patients.’

  ‘It’s … good?’ I laughed, trying to hide my face. I was so, so embarrassed.

  Armed with her newfound knowledge, Pam wasn’t letting the subject go anytime soon. I was questioned up and down the afternoon. Was he a good lover? Great. Does he know what he’s doing? Absolutely. How did we even happen? Long story, trust me. Every time William appeared, she roared with laughter, which only left him confused and checking to see if his fly was undone or hair was unusually unruly. Try as I might to change subjects, she wasn’t letting go. Before my big mouth got me into even more trouble, I slipped away to the break room to tear open a fresh packet of biscuits.

  Because the universe likes to sometimes back me up, and not always leave me outside in the cold, I returned to my desk to find Angela tapping bright red manicured nails on my desk. There was an immediate panic, as if me being happy was wrong, and I hoped it didn’t wear on my face.

  ‘Hello.’ I smiled. ‘Are you after William?’

  ‘He’s so hard to catch sometimes.’ She smiled. ‘You don’t know where he was all weekend, do you, Emily?’

  Again, with the name. Also, I felt a smug satisfaction in knowing we’d barely left my bed all weekend, but I was not about to say that out loud.

  ‘Me? No. Your guess is as good as mine.’ I pushed my parcel to the side of my desk and made like I had a pile of work to do.

  ‘Is he in today?’ she asked.

  ‘I’ll just call him.’ I picked up the handset and dialled his extension.

  ‘Hey you,’ he answered. ‘I’m with a patient.’

  ‘Dr Scott, your … Angela is here to see you.’

  ‘That all sounds very formal. I’m almost done here, I’ll be out in a moment.’

  Despite asking her to take a seat, she insisted on hanging around reception. She tried to drag Pam into a discussion about the weekend, but Pam had slipped from eager anticipation into complete shock trying to compute my news, while recognising that Angela was standing in front of me.

  ‘You didn’t go anywhere at all?’ Angela directed her question at me again.

  ‘No.’ I shook my head. ‘Just stayed home.’

  ‘Well, sometimes that’s best, isn’t it?’ Angela looked towards William’s office as he appeared. ‘Keeps you out of trouble.’

  Even though I had done nothing wrong, guilt crawled up my spine and sat upon my shoulder. I was driving along a highway, and she was a police car hot on my tail. It was enough to make me want to run, far away and as fast as I could. To do just that, I grabbed an armful of filing and disappeared to the data room.

  Try as he might, William couldn’t get rid of her unless she got her private audience. For all her smiles and warm politeness, it wasn’t my first glimpse of a woman who was prone to belligerence. With a low voice, she stood at the desk and demanded she be allowed to air her newest grievances. William marched her straight out the front door. As she shifted through, in perfect slow-motion, she glared at me in a way that said she knew, and that her questions earlier were only the tip of the iceberg.

  I turned to find Pam watching me. ‘What?’

  ‘Oh, Emmy,’ she said.

  Oh, Emmy, indeed.

  Chapter 29

  William scuffed across the floorboards in his socks, two glasses hanging between his fingers, and a bottle of wine under his arm. This was the type of couple we’d become. Sitting at home with a hot pizza and a bottle of wine had taken the place of getting dressed and heading out. I hadn’t moved in, but it was almost a little comical that I took thrill in unlocking the door with my own set of keys, while William emptied the letterbox and brought rubbish bins in.

  ‘I have to tell you something funny.’ I held the two glasses up as he poured drinks.

  ‘Go for it.’

  ‘Pam knows.’

  ‘I know.’ He grinned. ‘She’s so proud of herself for finding out, too. She sent me an email this afternoon just before I left saying, “Hey boyfriend, your girlfriend has just left the building”. I popped out of the office to look at her and she just about fell over laughing.’

  I tucked my feet up under me and watched him get comfortable. ‘What else did she say?’

  William shook his head. ‘Nothing, really, which is a surprise. She’s all very cat that got the cream about it though.’

  ‘You mean she hasn’t gone and told everyone?’ I twirled his hair through my fingers.

  ‘No,’ he said. ‘At least not yet.’

  ‘Miracle of miracles.’

  It had never been a conscious decision to not tell anyone at work, it was just something that happened naturally, so we never bothered. It wasn’t as if we could or would run about holding hands anyway, so if it wasn’t interfering with our jobs. It just kind of slid into the background. We were happy, wasn’t that enough?

  ‘We could just tell them.’ William looked at me. ‘What do you think?’

  I shrugged. ‘Up to you. It’s not going to change anyt
hing, is it?’

  ‘I shouldn’t think so.’

  ‘Oh, and I did something else today.’ I crossed my legs and just about propped myself up on my knees.

  William offered me the box of pizza and changed the television channel again. Now, instead of rugby, we were listening to some of the most fantastic shit from the Eighties. It was the television equivalent of getting stuck in a 2 a.m. YouTube rabbit hole. Sequins met Michael Bolton mullets, and Michael Jackson was still king of the world.

  ‘What did you do?’

  ‘Firstly, I signed a permanent contract.’

  ‘Hey, cheers!’ He tapped his glass against mine. ‘I had a meeting about that last week. ‘“What do you think, William? The board thinks we should keep her on, how do you find her?”’

  ‘She snores after too many carbohydrates and stomps about the house in the middle of the night, but otherwise, yes,’ I laughed.

  ‘I didn’t quite say that.’ He smiled. ‘And what was second?’

  ‘I booked my flight home.’

  His face twitched a little, and I suspect he was trying not to look confused.

  ‘What?’ I asked. ‘What’s wrong?’

  ‘You didn’t think to ask me if I wanted to come?’ Suddenly, he was more interested in staring at his pizza than at me.

  ‘Did you want to come?’ I asked.

  ‘It’s a bit late now.’

  ‘Not exactly,’ I said. ‘I’m sorry, I just didn’t think it would be something you would be interested in so soon.’

  ‘What, after all our letters where we talked about it? You thought I wouldn’t be interested?’

  ‘So, book a ticket and come with me. I’m sure there are seats left. We could sit together,’ I said. ‘Why does this need to be an argument?’

  ‘I’m not arguing, Emmy, I’m just saying that it would have been nice, as your boyfriend, for you to talk to me about what you were planning. That way, we might be able to do something together.’

  ‘Did Brian approve your leave?’ I asked.

  ‘No.’

  ‘So, you can’t come anyway.’

  ‘I’m just saying, it would have been nice to have been asked.’

  I reached across and touched his forearm. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t think.’

  I wasn’t saying that simply because that was what he wanted to hear. He was genuinely right. We were together, this was a real, living, breathing thing, and I should have told him first. I waited for him to take the empty pizza box out to the bin before I snuggled into him on the couch.

  ‘I’m sorry.’ I pressed a kiss into his shoulder. ‘You sure you couldn’t convince Brian?’

  ‘I tried,’ he said quietly. ‘What are you doing while you’re over there?’

  ‘A whole lot of nothing.’ I looked up at him. ‘I’m getting off the plane and spending two weeks at my parents’ house doing nothing. Maybe eating copious amounts of seafood over the Christmas period, but otherwise, I’m sleeping.’

  ‘Next time, hey?’ he said. ‘We should probably sit down a few months out and plan anyway.’

  ‘Yes, otherwise you’ll be stuck at home with my family. I promise next time.’

  ‘Speaking of family, what else did they send you?’ he asked.

  ‘The usual, biscuits, lollies, snacks, photos. You know about the biscuits, because you stole some.’

  ‘But they’re just so good.’ He gave me a sideways glance. ‘Emily.’

  ‘Don’t you start.’ I gave him a playful tap.

  ‘She’s just being spiteful, you know that, right?’

  ‘You know, after Angela arrived today, I kind of forgot about my parcel. I didn’t even bring it home, so I’ll have to remember to grab it tomorrow.’

  * * *

  There were two letters in the box. One from Frankie, in which she poured her heart out onto the page like I never thought possible. She was great at the phone chats, but I’d never seen her write anything down in her life. It was a whole different side to look at her as a completely doting, over the rainbow mother, even if she was struggling and completely overwhelmed at times. After work, I’d purchased some small photo frames. New photos of Aaron littered my bookshelf and one of the bedside tables.

  The second envelope was an old letter from William. It was already open. I figured Frankie must have found it in the back of a drawer when she took my bedroom and decided to send it to me. That was lovely of her. I sat down on the bed and unfolded the thin paper.

  13th June 2012

  Dear Emmy,

  I’ve thought about you a lot lately. The truth is, I miss you. I know that sounds ridiculous, I know. I’ve been playing those words over in my head the fortnight, and I can’t shake it. I moved onto the next phase of training at a new job, and forgot to take your email address with me. Sorry, my fault.

  I’m going to put my phone number at the bottom of this letter. Please call. I need help, advice, support. Something. I just want to hear your voice. Tell me I’m wrong, tell me I’m right. Either way, please call. I want to hear your voice.

  Yours,

  Will

  I wasn’t sure if I believed what I was holding onto. It looked like a letter, and it was in the same type of blue envelope William had always used. The date stamp said June 2012. There was no way Frankie could have possibly found it at home. A quick text to Frankie confirmed she had no idea. The only envelope she put in there was hers. No more, and no less. When William didn’t answer his phone, I left for the gym. I could talk to him about it later. Surely there was an easy explanation. Maybe Frankie was mistaken.

  I picked up my gym bag and walked out the door.

  * * *

  I kept an eye out as class filled up. The usual suspects rolled in, almost at the same time every week. I was glad for the sight of Caroline, who shuffled quickly over to our corner. Away from the prying eyes of the world, we spread out little pile of bits about us like a picnic.

  ‘I didn’t think you’d be here today,’ she whispered.

  I looked at her, confused. ‘Why not?’

  ‘Because we have company.’

  My head spun about like a spinning top. Arriving like a float in a civic parade was Angela, her posse trailing behind her. Heads were held high, and smirks were set on each face like a membership card. I knew I caught her eye as I looked away. As quickly as I tried to turn away, I didn’t need a chiropractor trying to set my neck back in place later on.

  She was silent. It was the first time she’d turned up to class and not had an op-ed about William, or her hard knock life. She did her open-leg rocker with the rest of us, and only bothered to chance a look at me as we stretched out into a position subtly known as a birthing squat. I thought that was hilariously fitting and had a giggle.

  ‘What’s funny, Emily?’ Angela’s voice shot across the classroom. Somebody tried to quieten her, but good luck with that.

  ‘Me? I’m not laughing at anything,’ I said. ‘Dust allergies.’

  Now, it was Caroline’s turn. She snorted and collapsed flat on her back. I shot her a ‘please help me’ look, and she quickly got to her feet again. Our instructor floated about the room in his sea of zen and happy feelings.

  ‘Shame you’re not allergic to other people’s husbands, Emily.’

  I straightened up, and secretly cursed the creak in my knee. Already? This was happening already? I wasn’t even close to thirty. Angela was still posed perfectly, watching me from the corner of her eye.

  ‘You mean the husband you tricked into marrying you? Or the one whose mail you hid?’ The words tumbled out before I could take them back. A seed of doubt that had threaded its way into my mind as I’d sat looking at the letter that couldn’t possibly be true.

  Judging by the look on her face, I’d hit jackpot.

  ‘Oh.’ Her voice was filled with glee. ‘You got my letter, did you?’

  ‘Yeah, I got it.’

  ‘What letter?’ Caroline swapped sides.

  ‘She used to write lo
ve letters to my husband.’ Angela cackled. ‘My Lovely William. Yeah, well, he was mine. I got rid of you once, Emily, I can do it again.’

  Caroline stretched her arm over her head. ‘If you’re going to insult her, at least get her name right, you oversized twat.’

  ‘Ladies, enough.’ Our instructor looked between the three of us as if we’d committed the greatest sin of all, talking in class.

  Angela collected herself only long enough to look at me properly. ‘Would you like to continue this outside?’

  ‘Fuck yes, I would.’

  ‘Shit yeah, me, too.’ Caroline was hot on my tail and then, because everyone loves a good fight, half the class followed us out into the reception area. Only the instructor and a handful of students were left behind, wondering what an earth had just happened to our tranquil pilates class.

  I felt like an extra in some pokey mid-Nineties teen movie when two girls have a scrag fight and pull hair over some guy who turns out to not be so great anyway, when the ten-years-later highlight reel showed there was no pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. It was just six screaming kids and a family van with enough fingerprints on the windows to make it look like privacy glass.

  ‘Alright, spit it out.’ I tried to stuff my hands in my pockets, only to realise my pants didn’t have pockets, so I folded my arms across my chest instead.

  ‘Don’t get defensive with me…’ She paused. ‘Emmy.’

  ‘I’m not defensive. I just don’t have pockets.’

  ‘You need pockets.’ A voice came from behind me.

  I shook my head. ‘I haven’t got all night.’

  ‘You stole my husband.’

  ‘Nope.’ I shook my head.

  ‘You lied and manipulated and took him from me.’ She shifted nervously.

  ‘Funny you should mention lies and manipulation.’ My mouth twitched into a smile. ‘Didn’t he marry you because you were supposedly pregnant?’

  ‘Not supposedly. I was.’

  ‘That’s not what your doctor said though, is it?’ I asked. ‘And your own “husband” is a doctor, so he was going to figure it out in the end.’

  And the posse was shook. Mouth after mouth dropped open, gaping little fish on the back end of a sea trawler.