She could have at least offered me a piece of cake.
‘Priya,’ I say carefully, as she swishes past me again, ‘what’s going on? Did you burn something?’
I pause as the ridiculous question falls out of my mouth and Priya carries on ignoring me.
What was the point of her calling me out of my bedroom if she doesn’t want to talk to me? Is this it? Am I supposed to be witnessing something?
I open my mouth to speak again when there is a knock on the door. I look back up at Priya but she doesn’t stop pacing, she hasn’t even noticed.
I get to my feet and shuffle towards the door.
Oh great. Who is that?
I bet it’s some weird guests Priya has inexplicably invited over for some bizarre cake-off. Maybe that’s why she’s panicking. Maybe she’s secretly entered herself on Come Dine with Me and is now having a breakdown about her table settings.
I pull open the door and jump at the sight of Joy, who is leaning in so closely it’s as if her ear was pressed up against the centre pane.
She steps back quickly and a smile scurries on to her face.
My eyes flit down and I notice a letter in her hand. My heart jolts as I catch sight of the top right-hand corner.
The stars.
‘Joy,’ I say, my heart racing, ‘hi. I was just about to pop round—’
‘Hello, Bea,’ Joy cries, as if she’s been saving these words all day. ‘How are you?’
I glance down at the letter again, which is quivering in her hand.
He’s written back.
‘Fine,’ I say quickly, ‘thanks. You?’
Joy nods at my words, her smile twitching on her face.
‘I’m fine too, thank you. How has your day been? Was Priya not at work today?’
She cranes her neck, trying to peer past me and into our house.
‘She took a half-day,’ I say distractedly, my eyes fixed on the letter.
He’s written back. I can’t believe he’s written back.
What does it say?
‘Did she?’ Joy says. ‘Did she do anything nice? How is she getting on? So sad about that Josh boy. Is she okay?’
Joy’s questions bounce around my head like ping-pong balls. I try to focus on her, my mind spinning.
How does she know all of this?
‘She’s fine,’ I say, my hand itching to grab the letter out of Joy’s hand. ‘Is that my letter?’ I add before I can stop myself.
For a second, I see Joy’s face drop and she glances down at the letter as if she’d forgotten it existed.
‘Oh, yes,’ she says. ‘It came this morning. Another letter for you, Bea.’
I feel my hand jerk by my side as if I’m about to rip the letter out of her small hands.
I smile and feel my body lean forward to take it from Joy, when she steps backwards and carries on talking.
‘You know,’ she says, ‘I never get handwritten letters any more, but I love receiving them. There is nothing better than waiting for a letter, is there?’
I try to control my head, which feels like it will rocket off my shoulders in frustration any second.
Nothing better than waiting for a letter? Is she mad? This has been torture.
Although I guess Joy doesn’t usually write fake love letters to men she’s never met.
‘Nope,’ I say tightly, ‘not really.’
Without quite meaning to, my hand jerks forward and Joy’s eyes clock the sudden movement.
‘Oh,’ she says, ‘here you are.’
She hands the letter to me and I try not to snatch it from her fingers.
It feels thin. Too thin for an actual letter.
Oh God, it’s going to be a death threat, isn’t it?
‘It’s from the same gentleman!’ Joy quips, pointing her manicured nail at the letter. ‘See? The stars are there.’
He’s drawn the stars again.
There they are. Five hand-drawn stars in the right-hand corner.
‘Is it a love letter?’ she asks, her bright eyes blinking up at me.
I feel my face burn as I feel an odd flash of hope.
Do I want it to be a love letter?
Joy reads my expression and smiles.
‘How romantic,’ she coos, her hand touching her heart.
I look back at her weakly.
I need to open this letter. I need to know what it says.
‘Yeah,’ I mumble. ‘I’d better go, Joy. Thank you for . . .’ I trail off and hold the letter up, ‘but I’ll see you on Thursday?’
Joy’s smile flickers. ‘Of course!’ she says. ‘I’ve got lots to be getting on with,’ she adds. ‘I can’t stand here all evening chatting. See you Thursday. I’ll make us something nice.’
I lean on the door and gradually push it shut.
‘Sounds great,’ I say. ‘Bye, then.’
I hold up a non-committal hand as I close the door and stare at the letter.
He’s written back. I can’t believe he’s written back.
I stride towards my bedroom.
What has he said? Did he know it wasn’t from B? Does he care? Is he—
‘Bea!’
My heart lurches as I collide with Priya who has stormed straight out of the living room and is face to face with me, her eyes flashing.
I quickly whip the letter behind my back and stuff it in my back pocket.
‘Was that Joy?’ she barks. ‘You were at the door for ages.’
I blink at her, all of the blood rushing to my head.
Oh God. Did she hear our conversation? Does she know?
‘Yeah,’ I say feebly, ‘it was Joy.’
Priya skulks back into the living room and my eyes glance desperately towards my bedroom door, hanging open invitingly.
I need to open this letter.
‘Come here a sec,’ Priya calls from the living room. ‘I need to show you something.’
I follow her into the living room, my hand twitching and reaching for my back pocket.
‘What is it?’ I say, more snappily than I intended, as I drop on to the sofa.
Priya rips her phone out of her pocket and brandishes it towards me.
‘Look,’ she hisses, holding her phone inches away from my face.
I screw up my eyes and try to focus on her flashing screen.
It’s Josh’s Instagram page. Again.
Why is she back on his page?
‘Right,’ I say.
Priya’s eyes widen at me in frustration.
‘Click on his story!’ she cries. ‘Look!’
Before I can move, she jabs her finger on the flashing circle and a photo of a girl pops up. She has short dark hair and bright blue eyes. She is holding a beer and is laughing at the camera.
For a second, I almost forget about the letter.
‘Is that his . . . sister?’ I say slowly.
‘He doesn’t have a sister!’ Priya practically shouts, leaping to her feet. ‘It’s some girl! Who is she? Why is he with her? Do you think it’s his new girlfriend?’
I blink back at her.
New girlfriend? He can’t have a new girlfriend already, surely?
‘No,’ I say firmly, ‘it’s just some girl he’s out for a drink with.’
Even as I hear the words fall out of my mouth I know I’ve said the wrong thing.
‘And look!’ Priya bursts, throwing herself back down on to the sofa next to me. ‘Look at this!’
She clicks on a name and the girl’s Instagram page fills her screen, with the name Joanna C in capitals at the top of the page.
How on earth did Priya find her page? Is this what she’s been doing all this time? I look up at her blankly, desperately trying to think of something to say to calm her down.
‘She’s uploading stories too!’ Priya shrieks. ‘They’re together, uploading stories, probably of them having sex.’
She spits the words out of her mouth like poison, and I try not to laugh.
Having sex?
; Christ, is that what people do these days? Film themselves having sex for thirty seconds of an Instagram story?
I mean, how would they film it?
Surely they wouldn’t use a Boomerang.
‘That’s definitely not what’s happening,’ I say solemnly.
‘Well, what else are they doing?’ Priya cries hysterically, glaring at me as if I have morphed into Joanna.
I look back at her feebly.
‘I don’t know,’ I say lamely, ‘something really boring like . . . cabbage picking.’
Cabbage picking?
Priya glares at me.
That’s not a thing!
‘Or cabbage baking.’
For God’s sake, get off cabbages!
‘Why don’t you just watch it and see?’ I flail, desperate to distract myself from my sudden fascination with cabbages, the worst vegetable ever.
Are they even a vegetable?
They can’t be a fruit, can they?
‘I can’t watch it!’ Priya seethes, as she goes back to storming around the room like an evil overlord. ‘She’ll see! And then they will laugh together at me watching it all while I’m sat at home baking like some loser.’
The last bit wobbles out of her mouth and she collapses on to the sofa in a big heap.
‘I thought you were enjoying baking?’ I offer.
‘I hate baking!’ Priya snaps.
Oh.
Well, she could have fooled me.
‘Look,’ I say calmly, ‘I’m sure her stories are nothing interesting. They probably aren’t even of Josh. He’s probably nowhere to be seen.’
I pull myself to my feet and give Priya my most reassuring final look as I turn to leave the room. I can almost feel the letter calling out to me from my back pocket.
‘Wait!’ Priya calls, rooting me to the spot.
Urgh. I’m never going to bloody open it. He might as well have replied using a smoke signal. At least then I could pretend I was on fire so that Priya could leave me alone.
She scurries over to me desperately, waving her phone in her hand. ‘You need to watch it!’ she cries, her eyes glinting like she’s cracked the Da Vinci code, ‘then you can tell me what it is!’
I stare back at her.
What?
‘No!’ I cry. ‘Priya, I’m not doing that.’
‘Oh, Bea!’ Priya whines, clutching her phone to her chest. ‘Please!’
‘No,’ I say firmly, backing out of the living room like I’m escaping a lion. ‘You need to let this go, Priya. We can watch EastEnders in a bit, okay? Why don’t you go have a hot shower and think of something else?’
Priya’s large eyes stare back at me like a wild animal. Eventually, she nods.
‘Okay,’ she says, ‘I’ll think of something else.’
My body relaxes as my hand reaches to my back pocket to check the letter is still there.
‘Good,’ I smile, walking towards my room.
*
I push my bedroom door shut behind me and sink to the floor, my back pressed firmly against the door. Slowly, I pull the crumpled letter out from my back pocket and hold it in my hands.
I can’t believe he’s written back.
As I stare down at the letter I feel my heart pick up its pace.
I said some really personal things in my letter. Some things I only ever say to Mum. He was never supposed to receive it. Nobody was ever supposed to read it.
My eyes fall on the five stars, identical to the dainty ones I drew back to him. Feeling my hands shake slightly, I peel open the back of the envelope and pull out a single sheet of paper. As I unfold the letter my heart recognises his small, crooked handwriting and I feel a swell of emotion at the back of my throat.
He’s written back to me.
Dear B,
I can’t tell you how much your letter meant to me. I didn’t think you’d write back. I wasn’t sure if you’d even receive the letter. I’m so glad you still live in the same place. I loved that house. It meant so much to me to hear from you.
I always thought you would be so much happier without me, I never had any idea that you would be feeling this way. I’m sorry I didn’t write sooner. I wish I could see you, but remember that I’m always thinking of you. I have been for the past five years. I’m sorry I haven’t reached out to you sooner, but I was so stupid and selfishly wrapped up in my own life that I didn’t stop to think. Sometimes it takes something huge to make you realise what you need. Feeling alone is the worst feeling, but you’re never alone. I’m always here.
Hope this letter brightens your day like yours brightened mine. Write back soon.
Love you always.
Nathan x
My eyes scan the last words and I suddenly notice my face is damp.
He wrote back. He didn’t laugh at me. He understood.
I didn’t think anybody would understand.
I brush my cheeks with the back of my hand as a warm sense of relief rushes through me.
Before I can think of anything else, I grab my phone and click Mum’s number. It goes to answerphone almost immediately, like it always does.
She never answers.
‘Hi, Mum,’ I feel myself laugh shakily, ‘it’s me. I just wanted to tell you that he wrote back, that guy I told you about. I told him all the crap I usually only say to you, and he wrote back. It’s just made me feel really . . .’
I trail off and I look at my phone, watching the seconds tick away.
‘Good,’ I say eventually. ‘I just wanted to let you know that, but I’ll speak to you later. Love you.’
I click the phone off as I feel the door shake behind my head.
‘Bea?’ Priya’s voice calls. ‘Are you okay?’
I jump to my feet and shove the letter under my pillow, dabbing my face. I pull the door open and see Priya, rocking back and forth on the balls of her feet like a toddler desperate for a wee.
She hasn’t showered. She looks exactly the same as she did half an hour ago. Crazed.
Oh God. Is she going to be like this all the time? I don’t think I can handle it!
I see her eyes flick over my face and for a second I think she’s going to ask if I’ve been crying, but she doesn’t. She pushes past me and jumps on to my bed.
‘Are you okay?’ she says, squinting at me.
‘Yes,’ I say quickly, ‘are you?’
Priya nods abruptly. ‘Yes,’ she says. ‘I’ve thought of something else.’
I smile as I feel a wave of relief.
Praise the Lord.
‘Good,’ I smile, ‘that’s really good, Priya. That’s just what you need, something to take your mind off everything. Why don’t we do something active, like go for a run? That always clears my mind.’
Priya pulls out her phone again, apparently not listening to me, and thrusts it towards my face.
‘Meet Florrie Nannoo.’
I frown at Priya as my eyes flit down to a blank Instagram page.
What in fresh hell is this?
Doesn’t nannoo mean vagina? Is this Priya’s sexual alter ego?
I open my mouth to voice the question and then quickly clamp it shut.
I do not want to know the answer to that.
Priya shakes the phone at me, desperate for me to respond. I look back at her blankly.
‘Err,’ I manage, ‘what?’
Priya giggles and gestures for me to sit next to her on my bed. I sink down slowly.
‘It’s a fake Instagram account!’ she cries. ‘I read about it in a magazine. Now I can stalk Josh and this Joanna girl without them knowing!’
She stares at me with her feverish, mad eyes.
‘Priya,’ I say slowly, ‘you’ve made a fake person so that you can, erm . . . stalk your ex-boyfriend?’
I look at her in the hope that my words will snap her out of this mad spiral of insanity. Instead, she nods.
‘Yup!’
‘I don’t think this is healthy,’ I mumble.
Priya roll
s her eyes at me and flicks her hair off her shoulder.
‘We just need to upload some photos,’ Priya says, her assertive manner back, ‘so I thought I could take one of you.’
I gawp at her.
What?
Take one of me?
‘What?’ I spout. ‘No!’
Priya shoots me a look. ‘Why not?’
‘Well,’ I flounder, ‘he’ll recognise me!’
I get to my feet and scowl at Priya, who just rolls her eyes at me again. ‘We’ll take it from behind.’
What?
Take it from behind?
Oh yeah, just the words every girl wants to hear.
‘Priya,’ I snap, ‘I can’t believe I have to say this to you but I do not want a picture of my arse on some random Instagram page.’
For God’s sake. How did I get here?
‘I’ll put a filter on it,’ Priya mutters, angling her camera towards me.
I leap back in horror.
‘No!’ I snap. ‘Priya, stop it! Just get a photo of some random girl off the internet.’
Bloody hell, this is horrible! Am I going to have to skulk around the house in a balaclava and a bin bag in constant fear of having my arse papped?
‘You are such a prude,’ Priya snips, getting to her feet. ‘It’s not like anyone would know it was yours. It could be anyone’s arse.’
I blink at her.
Oh, well, thanks very much. It’s good to know that my arse is so unmistakably ordinary that it could belong to just anybody.
‘I’ll take it from the shoulders up,’ Priya says. ‘Just a candid one of you holding a coffee or something.’
I open my mouth to protest loudly but Priya gets there first.
‘Please, Bea!’ she cries. ‘I’m going through a hard time and this would really help me.’
‘This would really help you?’ I repeat.
Priya nods, standing up and locking her pleading eyes on to mine.
Urgh.
‘Fine,’ I grumble, ‘just of my shoulders. And this is it, okay?’
Priya nods happily.
‘Yes,’ she says firmly, ‘this is it.’
CHAPTER TWELVE
‘Morning.’
I look up as Faye drops into the seat next to me, ready for her morning five-minute chat.
‘Hi, Faye,’ I say, moving my hands away from my keyboard, ‘how are you?’
The Accidental Love Letter Page 8