by PH Morris
“Right, well, enjoy your domestic goddess duties, and I will text you later to let you know if I’m working or if I will be back today” He leaned forward to kiss me on the forehead and then grabbed his bag and was out the door with a cheerio, which he never said, so I knew he was struggling too, and before the door clicked in the frame, he stopped it with his hand, leant back in and said, “Lock the door.”
I rolled my eyes at him. “Yes, dad,” I called, and dutifully locked up, and then heard him snigger from the other side, so I just yelled at him playfully, “Oh, bog off, fussy pants!” He chucked again, and I heard his trolley case trundle off down the corridor.
Turning on my heels I took in the apartment and made a mental plan. Living room, bedrooms, kitchen and bathrooms. Yes, that would work. It may have sounded backwards but I had a plan. I fired a quick text off to Kat to invite her and Greg for tea, and then put a compilation selection on my phone which was a list of upbeat especially chosen songs which I had pulled together after I had broken up with Mark, to stop the melancholy taking root.
So, I got to work, still in my PJs. All dirty cups and plates from the living room and the bedrooms were dumped in the sink. Then, throwing the windows open in the living room, I got to grips with dusting and wiping any and every surface, plumping cushions and hoovering. I decided to give the windows a miss as they were huge, and if I started one, they would irritate me if I couldn’t finish them all.
Into the bedrooms, where I stripped the beds, changed the bedding and then dusted and hoovered again.
Armed with handfuls of bedding, I dumped them near the washer and went into David’s bathroom, armed with my cleaning spray and bleach, and gave everything a good clean. It all smelled lovely and fresh. As I was walking back into the living room, armed with towels for the wash, I heard a banging on the door. I nearly jumped a mile in the air.
Shit, shit, shit, who was it? I dropped the towels on the floor and slowly walked towards the door. I would need to get a spyhole installed in this door.
Clearing my throat as quietly as possible, just before I could speak the banging continued. Well, I was not opening that door; whoever it was would have to knock the thing down. But based on the heavy hand of the person knocking, it was a distinct possibility.
I grabbed my phone and turned the music down. “Who is it?” I managed to shout out in the most confident voice I could create.
“I have a delivery for Miss Cartwright,” said the disconnected voice from the other side of the door.
“I’m sorry, but I’m not accepting any parcels. I am refusing delivery!” I yelled.
“It isn’t a parcel, it’s a letter, and I need a signature!” he shouted back.
“Oh, right.” Think, think, think. There was a long pause.
“Listen, if you don’t want to open the door, that’s fine; I can slide the letter and the page you need to sign under the door.” He must have either thought I was naked or a nutjob with agoraphobia or something.
“Okay?” I kind of agreed. I stepped back as an official-looking letter slid under the door towards me, and I just stared at it for a minute before picking it up with my finger and thumb on one of the corners.
Next under the door came a piece of A4, which had curled up at one end, presumably because it had been attached to some clipboard.
“Do you have a pen?!” he yelled.
“Yes, yes, I do, thanks!” Not sure he could fit a pen under the door anyway.
I put the offending letter on the worktop and then searched a couple of drawers and found a pen. Finding my name in a list of others, I signed dutifully, walked back to the door and slid the page under again.
“Thanks a lot!” he shouted. “I have been trying to deliver that for a couple of weeks, so now I can get paid!”
“Okay,” was all I could manage. I stood near the door, listening until I heard his footsteps retreat, and waited, not sure if I was waiting for him to bang on the door and to have ‘fake walked away’. I was jumpy, and my mind was running riot.
Clutching the pen tighter than was necessary I slowly walked into the kitchen and stared at the letter. The letter looked official, and the envelope and the franking stamp both indicated that the letter was from Bell and Struthers. Deciding to leave the letter alone as if it were radioactive, I grabbed my laptop and moved it away from the envelope before starting it up. I typed the name in the search engine, and up popped a genuine-looking site of a firm of solicitors with several UK offices, one in Manchester. I knew that no one would be there, but I dialled the office number and got, as expected, the out of hours reply, advising me that the opening hours of the office were 9am on Monday. I googled them some more to see if there was anything negative, and it seemed legit. But I would wait until Monday at 9am, then I would ring and find out if they were real, and then find out if someone had sent me a letter – so, basically, I didn’t need to open it.
At risk of developing a headache through overthinking, I decided I needed a break, and I had a cup of tea and almost half a packet of Hobnobs before I chastised myself for comfort eating and put the packet away. I had received a text from Kat to say she and Greg would love to come over and, after an exchange of messages, agreed on take-away and 6pm.
I wasn’t sure I had the energy to finish the flat, but if I didn’t it would bug the life out of me, so with a lot less effort than before I whizzed around with the hoover and only really had my bathroom to finish, which I always did last on account of the cleaning making me hot and sweaty, and not in a good way, and you had to get in the shower to properly clean it, so my idea was naked shower cleaning. I had canvassed opinion a few years ago and found it was somewhat of an underground idea that was more popular than first thought.
I finished the cleaning and then washed and conditioned my hair, shaved my legs and thoroughly scrubbed everywhere. If I could be bothered, I might add a layer of fake tan, but I was often put off by the smell of digestive-biscuits-sicked-up-by-a-baby… well, that’s what I thought it smelled like, not that a baby had ever sicked up on me, digestives or otherwise.
With towels wrapped around me and my head, I stepped out of the shower, ritually picked up my phone and noticed a missed call followed by a text from Alistair.
‘Just called you, but no answer. I just wanted to say that I am really looking forward to seeing you tomorrow. Where did you decide on to meet? Al’
I texted back: ‘Sorry, was in shower. Me too. There’s a great bar called The Bull. Google it and let me know if it’s ok. And I will see you tomorrow. Is 12 still ok?’
He didn’t text back straightaway, but a few minutes later he replied:
‘Got it, looks easy to find, 12 is good. Al’.
I could see he was typing again, and I waited eagerly to see what he would send.
‘What are you doing tonight? Anything nice?’
I smiled and replied, ‘My crazy friend Kat and her bloke are coming around for eats and drinks later.’
He replied, ‘That’s good. Well, have fun, and I will see you tomorrow.’
‘I will thanks M x.’
‘Al x’ was his reply.
I was grinning like a Cheshire cat; the thoughts of the nefarious envelope had almost gone from my mind.
I shoved on my dressing gown, dried my hair, put a little bit of make-up on and then quickly got dressed, all in good time for Kat’s arrival. The flat smelled fresh and looked bright and clean… well, apart from those windows. I really should speak to David about a window cleaner.
I had a bit of time to kill and plonked myself down on the oversized sofa and flipped on the TV. It was a lot of sport, given that it was Saturday, but I managed to find a repeat of an old 80s’ movie that I had seen a million times before. I watched it absentmindedly, knowing exactly where the plot was going. My parents were big fans of film and music and my taste was eclectic. I loved the old songs and m
ovies from the 50’s and 60’s which was a little unusual for my age. I turned up the TV, but the apartment seemed overly large and quiet, I knew I was just a bit on edge.
I found a chilled bottle of wine in the fridge courtesy of Auntie D and replaced it with a warm one from the cupboard. Pouring myself a glass, I leant back on the units and took in the expanse of the room, and out of the corner of my eye I could see the offending letter. I took a sip of wine and continued to glare at it.
Suddenly feeling brave, I walked towards the letter and placed my glass at the side of it. Sod it – I picked it up and, grabbing a knife from the drawer, slit the envelope open in a quick slice. I was afraid of a letter? Whatever it was, it was important, given that the courier had said how long he’d been trying to deliver it.
I peered into the envelope, half expecting something sinister to fall out. But of course, it was just a perfectly folded letter from the solicitors.
I opened the tri-fold document and started to read.
‘Dear Miss Cartwright
We have been asked to contact you in relation to the last will of Mr Colin Hunting who has named you as a beneficiary in his estate.
Please contact our office so that we can arrange to meet with you. It is important that we verify your identity and would ask you to bring along your passport as well as your birth certificate.
If you have any questions regarding this letter, please contact the above number.
Yours sincerely
Robert Fox
Partner
What the hell did that all mean? Who the chuff was Colin Hunting?
Wait a minute; Hunting was my birth father’s surname. Not my birth mother, because they never married. Her name was White.
But he wasn’t Colin; but it must be a family connection. Why on earth would he be leaving me anything in his will? I didn’t even know he existed and, to be honest, I wanted nothing to do with any of them. So, I had a choice: either ignore the whole thing and have nothing to do with any of them or go to the solicitors and find out what it’s all about.
I jumped at the buzzer near the door; I shelved my thoughts and pushed the button.
“Hi, Chica, let us in,” came Kate’s sing-song voice.
I pushed the button for a few seconds and didn’t open the door till I heard Kat and Greg having an argument in the hallway. I couldn’t make out the subject, and I heard Greg laugh; it appeared he was pulling her leg or had got the better of her.
I heard her tell him to shut up, and I opened the door to their smiling faces; Greg’s eyes were shining with amusement.
“Hi, you guys.” I opened my arms in greeting and both stepped into the apartment, giving me hugs.
Kat put her coat on the nearest chair and spied the letter; it was short enough to read in a quick glance, and she frowned, but didn’t comment.
Turning around, she handed over a bottle of prosecco.
“Thanks, Kat,” I smiled.
“You okay, Mel?” She replicated her frown, and I knew she meant the letter.
“Yes and no.” I walked over to the letter, picked it up and handed it to her.
“Hunting? Isn’t that your birth dad’s surname?”
“Yeah,” I responded, “but his name was Mike, not Colin; could be his dad or uncle or brother, I literally have no idea. To be honest, Kat, I’m getting really scared with all the dodgy crap that’s coming through my door: the parcels, the letters and now this; I feel like I want to run away.”
I told her about the run-in, or not, with the delivery guy, and she picked up the letter again and turned it over in her hand.
“Have you checked if these guys are legit? You never know, Mel, they may be fake,” she shrugged.
“Yeah, I googled them; they seem real.”
“So, what are you going to do, Mel?” asked Greg from behind me.
“Well, I don’t know. They never gave me anything apart from giving me up, so I’m pretty sure it will be a rotten egg, but I am curious.”
“Well,” Greg mused, “I guess you could find out what it is, and then there’s nothing forcing you to accept it if it’s something you don’t want, or it upsets you.”
“I can go with you, if you want,” offered Kat.
“Yeah, I would like that, Kat, thanks, but can we talk about something else?”
“Sure,” Kate smiled sympathetically, and rubbed my back to comfort me. “Tell me all about Alistair.”
I smiled a genuine smile and told them about the plans for tomorrow. We drank wine, and Greg popped out to the local take-away and got us some pizzas, and we joked about our early years and the fun we’d got up to. Greg smiled and shook his head; he had heard it all before.
I received a text from David saying he wasn’t going to be back until tomorrow afternoon.
Kate went into instant big sister mode, even though I was a few months older, offering to stay over. But she also knew I would never agree to that; I couldn’t stand to be mollycoddled, and since I had left Mark a few months ago I had hardened a little more.
“Thanks, Kat, that’s lovely of you, but I’m going to be fine. There’s a buzzer on the front door, so people can’t get in, and I won’t answer the door after you leave. I will be fine, honest.”
“Wait a minute,” Kat was thinking, “how did the courier get in if you didn’t buzz him in?”
“Someone must have let him in,” I suggested. “There are always people coming and going in the daytime, and he’d been trying to deliver the letter for weeks, so he must have been persistent. Kat, I will be fine, honestly.” I tried to put as much reassurance in my voice as I could.
We kissed goodbye sometime after eleven, and she wouldn’t leave until I promised I would call her if there were anything untoward. I locked and double bolted the door, walked into the kitchen and put the pizza boxes near the bin. Dumping the glasses in the sink, I walked through the apartment, turning off lights, then I grabbed my phone and charger and headed to my room.
I was a bit tuned in as I shut the door to my room and lost my balance a bit and bumped into the side wall and giggled at my clumsiness. In my recklessness, I didn’t even think twice, and I was already dialling Alistair’s number.
He didn’t answer, and it went to voicemail. I was just leaving a message when the call waiting appeared on my phone, so I switched over to answer.
“Hey, did you call?” a sleepy gruff voice answered.
“Oh hi, it’s me,” I slurred.
“No way, Sherlock, I didn’t know,” he joked, sounding a little more awake. “What’s up?”
“Oh, I’m just on my own here and David is away, so wanted to speak to you.” Oh god, I sounded desperate.
“If this is a booty call, I can’t get there until tomorrow, and you sound like you’ve had a few so the buzz will have worn off by the time I get there and you’ll probably be snoring,” he chuckled.
Oh god, I was desperate and didn’t know what to say.
“Mel? I’m joking. We need to work on my sense of humour, I think.”
“Oh yeah, right, sorry. I’m just not used to being on my own in the flat so wanted to talk to someone.”
“Well, in that case, I am your man,” he sounded sincere.
Over the next hour, I told him more about me than I had ever done; somehow it was easier talking on the phone and the alcohol had loosened my lips. He didn’t say much apart from the odd mmm. I told him about the mystery parcels, the hate mail and a little bit about my adoption. I didn’t taint the conversation with talking about my birth family. That was locked away.
I even had a little cry and, at the end of god only knows how long, he said five simple words: “Thank you for telling me,” he sighed and went on, “Mel, I don’t know what to say. You have had the toughest of lives for someone so young and I feel so humbled that you felt you could tell me. I am als
o in awe of your strength of character and determination. I’m sorry I can’t be there, right now, to hold you and kiss away those tears. I knew you were holding in a lot; I could see it in those beautiful troubled green eyes, which are probably a bit pink now, but I am sure still gorgeous.” I snorted in a very unladylike way at that remark, and he continued, “Whoever is making your life a misery is probably just a nobody. People are like that these days; you only need to look at social media – they can be totally anonymous and cowardly. I am sure they will move onto the next person next week. I am nothing like Mark, Mel, trust me, I know his type, so just let me in and I won’t hurt you. I am an honest guy, nothing to hide, I won’t hurt you. I promise.”
I let out a shuddering breath. “Alistair, I’ve never told anyone, apart from Kat, as much as I have told you, but it felt easier. I wish you were here too. I feel so much lighter, lighter than I have felt in ages. I am trying to let go and trust you; there is a lot more to tell you, but not for now, and if I haven’t frightened you off already then that’s a good sign.”
“Mel, you haven’t frightened me off. You slipped through my fingers in Edinburgh and I can’t tell you how much I have thought about you over the last couple of months. I couldn’t believe it was you in our offices; I thought I was seeing things; the light was shining behind you and you were just standing there, cool as a cucumber. Let’s take each day as it comes and get closer. If you want to talk then I am here for you, even at three in the morning,” he chuckled. He always knew how to lighten my mood.
“Oh shit, I’m so sorry. You’re up soon for the flight, Alistair. I am so sorry.”
“Yeah, don’t worry, I can live on little sleep; when you’re out with the rugby lads, sleep is often a luxury. I can’t wait to see you tomorrow, Mel.”
“Me too, but I need my sleep, and I am knackered, so I will see you tomorrow at The Bull. Night, Alistair.”
“Night, Mel.”
I hung up and lay back on the bed…What just happened? I felt calm, a sense of weightlessness, and for the first time in years I had a great night’s sleep.