The Accidental Love Letter

by Olivia Beirne

  I’ve included a return envelope, if you want to write back. Whatever you decide I’ll respect, but know that I’ll never be complete without you. I just needed to say I’m sorry.

  I’ll always love you, B. You’re the other half of me.

  Yours always,

  Nathan

  I feel my throat swell as I read the final words. Fear stirs beneath my skin as my hands stretch across my desk and my eyes lock on to the name scribbled at the bottom.

  I take a deep breath and fold the letter in half, trying to keep calm as I place it back inside my bag.

  Who is Nathan?

  *

  I slouch into the sofa as I hear Emma crash through the front door. I pause the TV and move my mug of tea between my hands.

  I glance down at my phone. The time blinks back up at me.

  18.37.

  I’ve been sat in this exact spot for twenty-three minutes. Almost paralysed as my brain battles against itself.

  Do I tell Emma and Priya about the letter?

  ‘Hello?’ Emma calls, as she wanders through. ‘Oh, hi,’ she says, ‘you all right? You not out tonight?’

  I look back at her and feel my cheeks pinch.

  I hate it when Emma asks me this. Mainly because I am always forced to give the same response and I’m worried that she’s somehow keeping a tally.

  ‘Err, nope,’ I say quietly, ‘are you?’

  Emma picks up yesterday’s post from the kitchen table and turns it over in her hands. ‘No. I might see Margot later. Is this gas?’

  I watch her pull out a bill. ‘It’s nothing important,’ I say.

  Emma nods in acknowledgement as her eyes scan the contents. She looks over at me and notices the letter in my hand.

  She frowns. ‘What’s that?’ she asks.

  I feel a rush of heat swamp me.

  ‘Oh,’ I say, ‘it’s just a mistake.’

  I wave the letter around half-heartedly.

  Emma drops her bag on to the kitchen table. ‘Something for an old tenant?’ she says. ‘It’s not about a TV licence again, is it?’

  ‘No,’ I say, ‘it’s a letter from someone.’

  Emma looks back at me. ‘Did you open it?’ she says, sitting next to me on the sofa and taking the letter out of my hands. ‘You know it’s illegal to open someone else’s post, Bea?’

  I try to smile back at her as nerves begin to spark under my skin.

  Why do I feel nervous? It’s not like I have anything to do with the letter. It’s not for me, that’s the whole point.

  Emma scans the last few words and looks back at me, her mouth open.

  ‘Wow,’ she says, ‘that’s intense.’ She passes the letter back to me and gets to her feet. ‘Funny that she’s got the same name as you.’

  ‘Yeah,’ I say quickly, ‘that’s why I opened it. It was a mistake.’

  Emma grins at me as she starts taking things out of her bag. ‘Yeah,’ she says, ‘sure it was. Are you going to send it back?’

  I feel my heart flip. I hadn’t thought about it.

  ‘Yeah,’ I say, folding the letter back inside the envelope.

  ‘Okay,’ she says. ‘What did you say you were doing tonight?’

  ‘Nothing.’

  Emma pulls out her phone. ‘And tomorrow night?’

  I look up at her, a tug of annoyance twanging at my chest.

  Why does she keep asking this? What does she think I’ll be doing?

  ‘Nothing,’ I say again, hearing my voice tighten, ‘but maybe, if you’re here on Sunday, then I could make everyone a roast dinner? Invite Margot.’

  Emma scrolls through her phone, and I try not to flinch as I feel my question hang in the silence.

  Emma slips her phone back in her pocket and looks up at me, her eyes narrowed.

  ‘Sorry,’ she says, ‘I was just reading something from Margot. She’s back from work early, so wants to have dinner. What did you say?’

  I feel my heart twist. She wouldn’t want to come anyway.

  ‘Nothing,’ I say, my face springing into a smile. ‘Have fun. Is Priya with Josh?’

  Emma slips her phone in her pocket and smiles. ‘Yeah,’ she says. ‘So you can double-lock the door and – oh,’ she turns on the spot and rubs the last message off the whiteboard, ‘I almost forgot.’

  I watch as she scribbles a new message on the stained board.

  We owe Joy sugar.

  I frown. ‘Sugar?’

  Emma turns to me and nods, clicking the pen lid back on.

  ‘Ah,’ I say, ‘well, I’m going to go see Joy tomorrow, so I’ll take some round.’

  ‘Cool,’ Emma says. ‘I made some banana bread. It’s in the kitchen, help yourself!’

  Emma blows me a kiss and I try to keep my smile in place as I wave goodbye.

  ‘Okay,’ I say quietly, ‘bye then.’ But as the words leave my mouth, I hear the front door slam.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  I drop my phone into my bag and pull out my keys, ready to unlock the door, when I spot a small pool of light flood out of Joy’s house as she pulls back the curtain slightly. I turn my head towards her, and she quickly pretends to be rearranging the curtains.

  I sigh and click my key in the lock. I know Joy’s looking out for me, waiting for my visit. On Thursdays she has an hour of my schedule (from 17.00 to 18.00). Not that she ever sticks to it.

  ‘Hello?’ I call, as I push our front door open.

  I wait as the silence of our house stretches around me. I click the lights on and step forward. The yellow light fills the hallway and I feel an irrational bolt of fear shoot through my body as my eyes dart around my empty house.

  What if Nathan is here? What if he knows that you opened the letter and it was a trap and now he is here to confront you?

  I feel my grip on my handbag tighten.

  Or what if the police are hiding in the house and are here to arrest you for opening somebody else’s post?

  Actually, I’m not being irrational because that is illegal! That could actually happen!

  ‘Hello?’ I shout again, with more force, as if my single word would frighten an intruder away – even though it sounded more like a teenage boy battling with puberty.

  I kick the door shut, trying to shake off the pinpricks of fear sparking up my body.

  Come on, Bea. Get a grip. There is no way that Nathan or the police are hanging out in the living room, or hiding behind one of the curtains.

  I take a deep breath and walk into the living room, when my eyes fall on the whiteboard. Emma’s message about sugar has been rubbed off and I spot Priya’s handwriting drawn in big letters across the grey smear.

  I blink at the words, my eyes fixating on the message.

  Oh no.

  Josh broke up with me. Don’t want to talk about it. Not going to work. Please leave me alone.

  I step closer, my heart thumping as I read the words.

  What?

  He broke up with her? Why?

  I look around the room, trying to spot signs of Priya being in the house. I notice her bag and shoes shoved in a corner, and as I peer into the kitchen, I spot coffee granules scattered across the kitchen surface.

  She’s here, and if she’s had a coffee, then she’s awake.

  I turn on my heel and carefully make my way up the stairs. As I reach the top, a white light glows from under Priya’s door. Instinctively, my hand reaches forward and knocks on the door.

  ‘Pri,’ I say quietly, ‘it’s me.’

  I move my ear closer to the door.

  I know she’s in there.

  I lean my weight on the door and push it open. ‘Pri,’ I say again.

  I look around the room and try to find Priya amongst her scattered clothes and mouldy mugs.

  My body aches as I spot Priya’s curtain of dark hair splayed across her pillow, her small body folded away from me, the place where Josh usually sleeps empty. I take a step forward, and although her eyes are shut, I notice her fists curled
into tight balls around the top of her duvet.

  She’s awake. She’s ignoring me.

  I’m not leaving her. She can kick me out if she wants, but she’ll have a hell of a job trying. I’m the one who takes the bins out every week, my arms are like steel.

  Before the thought even enters my mind, I pull back the covers and climb into the space next to her. Priya opens one eye and tries to scowl, and for a second I think she’s going to tell me to get out. But her scowl is instantly washed away by a stream of tears. I pull her clammy hand away from the duvet and fold it into mine as she keeps her back turned firmly towards me.

  I look at the back of Priya’s head, feeling my chest burn.

  I never know what you’re supposed to say.

  ‘Pri,’ I say in a small voice, ‘Emma made banana bread.’

  CHAPTER FIVE

  I lean into my office chair and wince as my burning tea singes my tongue.

  Great. That’s my day ruined.

  I pull open my desk drawer and fish out my small Tupperware full of biscuits. I count them and feel myself scowl. I only have a few biscuits left now, thanks to Faye, who caught me having one mid-afternoon yesterday and insisted on having four. Which has thoroughly screwed me in my rationing of the biscuits. Which, obviously, she doesn’t care about. I only have three biscuits left, but four days of the week, I guess I could split them into thirds? Is that right? Or halves?

  I put the mug back down crossly and reopen another press release.

  I start tapping away mindlessly.

  It’s been five days since Josh broke up with Priya. Emma and I have been on shifts since then, like Priya is a newborn baby. I still don’t know what happened, she won’t talk about it. So I’ve gone for a new tactic and decided to distract her instead.

  I feel a quell of excitement in the pit of my stomach as I flip open my notepad and beam at my ideas for the coming weekend, all swirled together with my fancy fountain pen. Everything I’ve wanted to do with Priya and Emma for weeks.

  I thwack the enter key as Angela walks past, her narrow eyes glancing down at me, as if she’s going to catch me on Pornhub.

  Honestly, I’ve been working at the Middlesex Herald for two years now and she still doesn’t trust me. Not since that one time I joined a Skype meeting from home and didn’t realise my camera was on, and I happened to have a towel turban wrapped around my head.

  ‘Hi, Bea.’

  My eyes look over to the clock. 11.13. Two minutes early today.

  ‘Hello, Faye,’ I say politely, as she flops into the chair next to me, her large plastic sports bottle dangling from her fingers.

  ‘You all right?’ she says lazily, looking around the office.

  ‘Yes, thank you,’ I say, keeping my eyes on my computer.

  I find that the shorter answers I give her, the quicker she moves on to her next target of the day.

  My personal best has been twenty-eight seconds, but I can’t take all the credit. Angela came over with a stack of press releases halfway through me warbling on about my weekend.

  ‘What did you—’

  ‘Hello, team!’

  I jump slightly as Duncan bumbles over, two boxes of doughnuts stacked in his arms. Faye swings around in her chair, her smile widening.

  ‘Hi, Duncan,’ she says.

  ‘I bought you all a little pick-me-up!’ Duncan says happily. ‘As it’s nearly Christmas. Last slog of the year and all that! If anyone wants a doughnut and a chat, my office door is always open.’

  He drops the boxes on to the empty desk in the middle of the room and looks round. Half of the staff continue to tap away, but the odd person gives a small nod.

  ‘Wow,’ Faye says, ‘thanks, Duncan.’

  Duncan looks round at Faye, his smile beaming.

  ‘Why don’t you have the first one, Faye?’ he says, sticking his chest out.

  Faye quickly looks away from the box and holds up her bottle, which is filled with a thick green sludge.

  ‘I can’t,’ she says, ‘I’m on a diet.’

  For a second, it looks as though Duncan’s face drops, but he quickly turns to me, his smile fixed.

  ‘How about you, Bea?’ he says. ‘I’ve got a variety but the best ones always go fast!’

  My eyes flit to the clock.

  Hmm. I am due a snack in ten minutes. I guess I could have it early. It would actually solve my biscuit conundrum.

  ‘Thank you,’ I say, as I reach forward and grab a sticky, shimmering doughnut.

  Duncan picks up one for himself and holds it towards me in a ‘cheers’ motion.

  ‘How is everyone?’ he asks, his bright blue eyes flitting between me and Faye. ‘What did you get up to at the weekend? Did anyone watch The X Factor?’

  I nod. ‘I did.’

  ‘Me too,’ Faye says. ‘And did you watch the results show the next day? I was so lazy this weekend, I really binged.’

  I feel a zap of confusion.

  ‘Weren’t you out this weekend?’ I say, before I can stop myself. ‘At Queens?’

  Faye’s smile vanishes. ‘What?’ she says. ‘How do you know that?’

  I feel my face burn and I drop my doughnut back on to my plate.

  ‘Oh,’ I say quietly, ‘I just . . . I saw on your Instagram.’

  Faye shrugs. ‘Oh,’ she says, ‘yeah, I was. Stalker.’

  I open my mouth stupidly.

  Urgh. Why did I say anything?

  Faye tosses her head. ‘Yeah,’ she says, ‘it was so crazy. I was out all weekend. I caught up on it when I was hung-over.’

  I see her face flush as she shoots me a look. She takes a swig of her bottle and I try to smile at her, as an odd sense of guilt swims through me.

  ‘It was good, wasn’t it?’ Duncan says, oblivious. ‘I did fall asleep at the end, though.’

  ‘Was it that boring?’ I offer.

  Duncan slots the last piece of doughnut into his mouth and smiles. ‘Oh no,’ he says, ‘it was about three a.m. at this point.’

  I take a bite of the doughnut.

  Three a.m.? He was awake at three a.m.?

  He brushes the crumbs off his shirt as Faye pulls herself to standing.

  ‘Right,’ he says, ‘must get back. Remember,’ he adds, looking back at us both, ‘any time you want a chat.’

  He gives us a weird salute and I smile as Faye slinks back through the office, on the hunt for her next victim.

  I slouch back into my chair, my tongue still burning from the hot tea.

  I think Duncan would be the last person I would choose to chat with. I mean, what would we even talk about? I don’t think I know a single thing about him.

  An email from Duncan pops up on my screen.

  Gosh, that’s really bad, isn’t it? Why don’t I know anything about him? Why have I never bothered to get to know him? I should really make more effort.

  I click on his email.

  Albus! Just thinking of this afternoons quote. Can we make outstanding rhyme with Filofax?

  Right. No. I take it back. I’m never having a coffee and chat with him.

  Never.

  CHAPTER SIX

  I place my bag on the kitchen table and take a deep breath, the fresh candle I have just lit wafting around the room like a warm vanilla hug.

  Priya and Emma are both out, like they usually are, so I can have the house just how I like it. I can make myself some dinner, and watch all of my TV programmes, and then climb into my fresh, clean bed with fresh, clean hair and have a full eight hours’ sleep.

  I mean, I know a lot of people spend their Friday nights leaning against bars swirling rum and Cokes, but I bought some new pyjamas today and I’m planning on smothering my entire body in my fancy strawberry moisturiser. So I think we all know who the real winner is here.

  Me. I’m the winner. I’m going to be unbelievably comfortable whilst smelling like a delicious strawberry shortcake.

  The dream.

  I take off my cardigan.

 
; Also, as it is just me, the house is back to being the perfect temperature. Emma is the Hitler of heating and Priya acts as if we’re living in an igloo.

  I flick the kettle on.

  See? This is what you get for being in a relationship or having a life. You don’t have control of the thermo–

  ‘Bea?’

  Argh!

  I jump towards the bubbling kettle as Priya appears in the door frame. Her long, sleek hair is hanging over her face and she has dark smudges of make-up smeared under her eyes.

  I gawp at her, dumbfounded.

  What is she doing here? I thought she was going back to her parents.

  I try to pull my contorted face into a smile.

  She looks like she’s just crawled out of a horror film.

  Not that I’ll tell her that, obviously.

  ‘Bloody hell,’ I say weakly, my hand gripping my chest as my thudding heart realises that Priya is not a lurking serial killer.

  Priya blinks at me.

  ‘What?’ she says sulkily. ‘Do you not want me here? I do live here too, Bea.’

  She stumbles out of the kitchen and slumps on to the sofa. I resist the urge to roll my eyes.

  Great. I’ve been with her ten seconds and I’ve already upset her. I’m the worst supportive best friend ever.

  ‘Sorry,’ I say, scurrying after her and abandoning my stewing tea. ‘You made me jump. I thought you were at your mum’s. You’re just not usually here.’

  Priya pulls her legs up to her chest, her bottom lip fat and shaking.

  ‘Yeah,’ she says, ‘I’m usually with Josh.’

  The word ‘Josh’ pushes its way through her vocal cords and the strain of it forces her face to crumple.

  I watch wordlessly as fat tears roll down her face, coated in black liquid.

  Oh God. What have I done?

  I hover awkwardly, like a hopeless duck.

  How do I make her stop?

  I open and close my mouth.

  I am really not qualified to deal with this. What am I supposed to say?

  I watch Priya cry and bite my lip.

  Just say anything, Bea. You can’t just watch her cry like some mentalist. You’re her best friend. Say something, for goodness’ sake.

  Say something!

  ‘There, there.’

  Oh, for God’s sake, not that. Why would you say that? What’s wrong with you? You’re worse than Joy.