The Accidental Love Letter

by Olivia Beirne

  ‘Cool,’ he says. ‘Tell Priya I said hi.’

  I hold up a hand as my face burns and Josh walks past me. I wait a second before shoving my trolley back into the cereal aisle and spot Priya, glaring at me.

  Oh, for God’s sake, now what? I’ve done exactly as she asked and she’s still glaring at me! This is hopeless!

  ‘Don’t look at me like that,’ I mutter crossly as she lopes along next to my trolley. ‘I gave you a boyfriend and a cool new hobby and I found out that he doesn’t have a new girlfriend.’

  ‘Or boyfriend,’ Priya mutters.

  ‘Well, yes,’ I say, my cheeks flushing, ‘or boyfriend.’

  *

  I push my shoulder against our front door as the splitting carrier bags dig into my fingers. Priya swans past me, holding one bag of toilet roll under her arm, her entire focus on her iPhone. Obviously.

  I glare at the back of her head as I kick the door shut.

  Right. Well, she certainly will not be getting any of my pasta bake.

  Priya swans upstairs and I stagger into the living room where I spot Emma, who is curled into the corner of the sofa cradling a huge mug.

  I drop the bags on the floor and smile at her. She flashes me a small smile back and turns her attention back to the TV.

  Has she been crying?

  ‘Where’s Priya?’ Emma asks, looking over my shoulder.

  Without quite meaning to, I roll my eyes.

  ‘Upstairs,’ I say. ‘We saw Josh in Tesco.’

  Emma moves her mug between her hands and raises her eyebrows.

  ‘Oh,’ she says, ‘is she okay?’

  I kick the shopping bags out of the way of the door and drop on to the sofa opposite.

  ‘Think so,’ I shrug.

  ‘Good,’ Emma mumbles. ‘What did you think of the banana bread? I used a new recipe.’

  Her eyes flick over to me and I smile.

  Emma has always been the baker. Even at university, when I only had £5 in my account, she was able to whip up a tart in seconds.

  (Not a euphemism. Mostly.)

  ‘Yeah, really nice, thanks!’ I say.

  I look up at the clock.

  18.05: Unpack shopping.

  18.15: Have a cup of tea.

  18.30: Make dinner (pasta bake).

  19.15: Eat dinner and freeze leftovers.

  19.30: Watch Hollyoaks.

  20.00: Watch EastEnders.

  20.30: Make lunch and choose outfit for tomorrow.

  21.00: Watch The Only Way Is Essex.

  22.00: Check phone.

  22.15: Go to sleep.

  Silence stretches over the room and I feel a small scratch at the pit of my stomach.

  ‘Are you in tonight?’ I ask.

  Emma flinches slightly at my question but she doesn’t look at me.

  ‘Think so,’ she says quietly.

  ‘Oh, good,’ I say, ‘that’s nice to have you here.’

  Emma usually spends every night with Margot. I’ve never asked why Margot doesn’t stay here.

  Emma gives a small nod and sips her tea as we fall back into silence.

  I haven’t seen Emma in days. She doesn’t know about Priya, or about my mad beaver stories at work. She barely knows about the date with Keith.

  I open my mouth to speak and then shut it slowly as Emma keeps her face turned away from mine.

  But if she wanted to know, she’d ask.

  I turn my phone over and look down as the lifeless screen stares back up at me. No missed calls, no texts.

  Nothing from Mum.

  I look up as Priya comes bustling down the stairs. She’s taken my T-shirt off now and springs on to the sofa next to me.

  ‘It worked!’ she squeals, grabbing my arm. ‘Our plan worked!’

  I blink at her.

  Plan? What plan?

  ‘What?’ I say.

  ‘Josh has just requested to follow me on Instagram! He’s obviously jealous about my new boyfriend!’

  Emma looks round. ‘What new boyfriend?’

  Priya bats her question away.

  ‘How do I look?’ she asks, pulling her face into a neutral expression and then pouting at Emma. I notice how her face is suddenly covered in make-up.

  ‘Are you going to see him?’ I ask.

  If they get back together then maybe life can go back to normal.

  Priya scowls at me. ‘No!’ she snaps. ‘Of course not.’

  ‘You look great, Pri,’ Emma says, pulling out her phone.

  Priya shoots Emma a smile and then flounces off into the kitchen. My eyes follow her as she pulls out her phone and starts taking pictures of herself.

  I turn back to Emma when I hear a knock at the door. I pull myself to my feet and see Joy’s shadow, craning forward towards the pane. A zap of excitement shoots through me.

  The post.

  I open the door and smile at Joy, who moves back slightly. Today she is wearing a pale pink cardigan and matching skirt, and her eyes are wide and shining. My body jerks slightly as I notice a letter clasped between her dainty fingers. I recognise the jagged handwriting immediately.

  I quickly look back up and meet Joy’s eyes as I realise I haven’t spoken.

  ‘Hi, Joy,’ I say, trying to focus on her face as heat sparks up my body like small flashes of electricity. ‘How are you?’

  Joy’s wide eyes look back at me. ‘Fine, thank you,’ she says. ‘You didn’t come round at your usual time today, so I thought I’d bring your post.’

  She extends her hand and my eyes fixate on the small constellation of scribbled stars.

  I reach forward and take the letter out of Joy’s hand. For a second, I see her body deflate as she lets it go, as if the letter carries her supply of air.

  ‘It’s always lovely to receive mail,’ she says, darting a look over my shoulder. ‘I thought you’d be expecting it.’

  I look back down at the letter as my heart swells.

  You have no idea.

  Joy smiles at me and leans forward on the balls of her feet.

  ‘How are Priya and Emma?’

  I open my mouth to reply when Priya charges through the hallway behind me and thunders up the stairs. Moments later, I hear her door slam.

  I guess her selfie didn’t go well.

  ‘Fine,’ I say. ‘Priya’s got a few days off now and—’ I break off as I feel Emma behind me and a dart of panic flashes through me.

  She pulls on her coat and spots Joy.

  ‘Hi, Joy,’ Emma says, ‘have we got post? Sorry,’ she adds, ‘I’ll pick you up some sugar.’

  Emma’s eyes flick down to Joy’s empty hands and I feel a jolt of anxiety. I stuff the letter hastily into my back pocket.

  ‘Just something for me,’ I gabble quickly, my eyes flicking towards Joy nervously.

  Joy smiles at Emma. ‘Oh, not to worry, Bea dropped some round,’ she says. ‘How did the new recipe turn out?’

  Emma grins. ‘Good!’ she says. ‘Not as good as yours.’

  Joy lets out a tinkle of laughter. ‘Well,’ she says, ‘if you ever want a lesson.’

  Emma shrugs her bag on to her back and juggles her keys in her hand.

  ‘Thanks, Joy,’ she laughs, stuffing her shoes on, ‘I’ll remember that.’ She shoves her foot inside her Converse and turns to me. ‘I’m going to Margot’s,’ she says, ‘I’ll be home tomorrow.’

  I feel my heart sink. I haven’t had a proper chat with Emma in days.

  ‘I thought you were staying in,’ I mumble, and then want to kick myself for how lame I sound.

  Emma slides past me, and Joy steps aside.

  ‘Change of plan,’ she says as she walks down the path and clicks open her car. ‘See you tomorrow. We’ll catch up properly then.’

  I hold up a hand as Emma’s car door slams and the creaking silence of the house stretches around me.

  I look back at Joy who is still gazing up at me, her wide eyes blinking. I pull my sagging face into a smile.

 
‘Thank you for this, Joy,’ I say, looking down at her. ‘I appreciate you bringing it round.’

  ‘That’s okay,’ Joy says quickly. ‘What are you doing for dinner? I’m making a pie, if you’d like some.’

  She beams at me and I feel a pang of guilt.

  I’d have to change my schedule.

  ‘Actually, that would be really nice,’ I say. ‘I just need to sort some bits out here first.’

  Joy’s face lights up. ‘Lovely!’ she says. ‘Shall we say eight? Priya is more than welcome too.’

  Hmmm. She wouldn’t say that if she knew what mood Priya was in.

  ‘Okay,’ I say, ‘thank you. I’ll see you at eight.’

  I smile one last time as I click the door shut and look around at the empty space. I walk into the living room and sink down on to the sofa, carefully pulling the letter out of my back pocket. My heart twitches as I notice the five stars drawn in the top right-hand corner in black biro. I take one look over my shoulder to check there is no sign of Priya, then I open the letter.

  Hi B,

  Your letters brighten my day. I feel so lucky to receive them. I never sent letters before, apart from when I was a kid, or if I sent postcards. You always text if you want something, but there’s something about getting a letter in here. I’ve read your last one about ten times already. It’s like I’ve got a piece of you here with me.

  I always thought of you and wondered what you were doing, but if I’m being honest, I was too lazy to do anything about it. I thought I had time. You always do, don’t you? I don’t know if you heard this, but we lost our mum a few months back. She was so strong but she finally lost her fight. I wasn’t in here when it happened. It’s weird, you think you have all the time in the world, until you realise that you don’t. I miss her a lot, she was the best part of me. I never thought I’d lose her. I went into a really dark place when it happened, and being in here there isn’t a lot to pull you back out of it. Except for your letters.

  Everything that happened made me think about it all a lot, and that’s when I decided to write to you. Life feels so short and I had to tell you I’m sorry. I’m so grateful that you wrote back to me. I didn’t think you would.

  I understand if you say no to this, but I wanted to ask you one more thing. I don’t know if you remember my nan, Nina. I know you never met her, but hopefully I spoke about her at some point. She’s really cool. She’s still in the same old people’s home, right by your house. Sunfield or something. I wanted to ask if you might go see her. Now Mum has gone, I don’t know who does.

  I understand if it’s too much. You always had such a big heart and she always liked the sound of you. I think Mum bigged you up a lot. She was gutted when we broke up.

  Hope you’ve had a better week.

  Love you always.

  Nathan x

  My eyes fall on the last words and then, like a typewriter, jump straight to the top and scan the letter all over again. I feel my heart swell in my chest and my eyes start to burn.

  His nan? He’s asked me to go see his nan?

  I sink back against the sofa cushions and pull the letter closer to me, my face hot.

  It’s weird, you think you have all the time in the world, until you realise that you don’t.

  My left hand scrabbles madly for my phone. I pick it up and jab in Mum’s number.

  ‘Hi, Mum,’ I say, my breath short, ‘it’s me.’

  *

  I scrunch up my stinging eyes as the words of Nathan’s letter reverberate through my heart. I fight the image of a fragile old lady, sitting alone in a house that isn’t her home.

  The bus rolls around another corner. I try to sit upright, as my head flops towards the man next to me.

  I barely slept last night. Each time I felt like I was drifting into unconsciousness, my anxiety would rip me back into the darkness and spark me back to life like a set of fizzing Christmas tree lights.

  I shouldn’t have written back. I never should have written back. If I had ignored the first letter then this wouldn’t have happened. He wouldn’t have asked me to go visit a family member. He never would have confided in me.

  I feel my body ache as the creature inside me rakes its claws down my windpipe.

  He trusted me. I just liked his letters. They made me feel . . . wanted?

  I wince as embarrassment fizzes through me at my pathetic train of thought.

  I never thought it would end like this. I just thought they were letters.

  I just liked having someone to talk to.

  The bus lurches to a halt and I look up as the doors fold open and two people step off. My eyes move back to the fogged window as I huddle in my seat.

  I can’t write back now. This has already gone too far. I’ll need to bin the letters and forget about the whole thing.

  My heart aches as this thought streaks through my mind.

  But I don’t want to.

  I don’t want to throw the letters away. I don’t want to not write back. I don’t want to pretend this never happened.

  The opening line of Nathan’s letter skims through my mind and I scrunch up my eyes.

  Your letters brighten my day. I feel so lucky to receive them.

  He’ll be waiting for my reply. If I don’t write back he’ll think something has happened.

  I press the backs of my hands against my swollen eye sockets.

  I never should have written back.

  What have I done?

  What if something is wrong with Nina? What if Nathan has told her that B might visit? What if she is expecting me, and then I never come?

  The claws of anxiety sharpen as I feel them sink into the back of my throat.

  I can’t leave her. I can’t leave someone grieving, alone. Nathan made it sound like she doesn’t have anybody.

  My fingers tighten around my phone and I glance down at the blank screen, shining up at me.

  I can’t abandon someone who doesn’t have anybody.

  I exhale and feel my body sag as the anxiety snakes through me.

  I just wish I knew what I was supposed to do.

  The bus moves off slowly through the traffic and I rub the back of my sleeve against the condensation on the window as we stop at a set of traffic lights. My eyes linger on a stretch of green and I notice a man slumped on a park bench. I frown as I take in his dipped head and his square jaw. My body twitches.

  I’ve seen that man before. He’s still sitting there, alone. It’s like he hasn’t moved.

  The bus starts to move and I feel my heart burn as he looks up and turns his head in my direction. For a second, I think he catches my eye, but as the bus moves forward his head dips back down to his lap. I twist in my seat and my eyes follow him down the street. The creature clutching my heart is squashed by a new feeling and I suddenly know what I need to do.

  I need to go see her.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  ‘How is your beaver?’

  I jump as Faye drops into the seat next to me, her manicured eyebrows raised expectantly.

  I look back at my bland press release about the local butcher’s sausage contest.

  Mr Hugh J. Titmarsh won.

  ‘It’s not my beaver,’ I say tightly, my eyes flitting about, worried that anyone overhearing will think I’m sat here jabbering about my vagina.

  Faye pulls out her phone and starts flicking through Instagram. I glance over her shoulder and see that she is watching a photo of herself while little red notifications pop up in the corner.

  ‘That’s a nice photo,’ I say conversationally, desperate to stifle this ridiculous beaver chat.

  Faye’s shoulders twitch as she turns to look at me.

  ‘Do you think?’ she asks.

  I frown at her. Faye never asks my opinion. She turns her hand slightly so that her phone screen is facing me, and I look down politely. She’s standing in her bathroom, smiling at the camera. I look down and notice it was uploaded two hours ago.

  Two hours ago? Did
she take it this morning?

  ‘Wow!’ I say before I can stop myself. ‘You’ve got like, two hundred likes already!’

  I don’t think I even know two hundred people.

  Faye’s poised expression drops slightly as she pulls the phone close to her chest.

  ‘That’s not that many,’ she says, watching my reaction. ‘My one yesterday got six hundred.’

  I try to control my mouth from dropping open.

  Six hundred?

  ‘I might delete it,’ she adds quietly.

  I frown at her. Why? What’s the point in that?

  ‘Duncan asked me to work on a story today,’ Faye says.

  I try to force a smile. Ah. That’s why she’s come over.

  ‘Oh yeah?’ I say.

  ‘Yeah,’ she says, leaning back into the seat, ‘something to do with crime. There’s some guy on the loose near Whitton, I don’t know.’

  I feel my body jerk.

  What?

  ‘He keeps murdering girls.’

  I swivel round to face her.

  That’s right next to where I live.

  ‘There’s a madman on the loose in Whitton?’ I say slowly. ‘Who keeps murdering girls?’

  Faye shrugs and hops to her feet as Jemima totters past.

  ‘Yeah,’ she says casually, ‘something like that. I don’t know.’

  I open my mouth to reply when Faye swishes past me.

  Oh, great. That’s just what I need.

  I watch Faye leave and quickly turn back to my emails as my eyes focus on the blank page.

  Info@sunfieldscarehome.co.uk

  My stomach turns over.

  I’m going to go in once, as a volunteer. I can go in for a day, check Nina is okay, and then leave. I can tell Nathan that his nan is fine and then stop writing him letters. That way, everything ends before I get in any deeper.

  That is the sensible thing to do.

  My fingers hover over the keys.

  And to start this sensible plan, I must first send this email.

  Argh. Where do I start?

  Dear sirs,

  I pause.

  Sirs? Is that a thing? Why am I addressing it to multiple men?

  I hit the delete button.

  Dear Sir or Madam,

  No, no, no. This is all too formal. I’m asking if I can come in for the day, I’m not writing to my local MP.

  Hello there,

  I whack the delete button immediately.