The Accidental Love Letter

by Olivia Beirne

  Christ, no. I sound like a prowling older man.

  Oh God. Why have I forgotten how to write an email? I write emails every day! Why is this so hard?

  To everyone at Sunfields Care Home

  I blink at the flickering email before pressing the delete button.

  I can’t say that. That sounds like I’m about to make some unauthorised, dramatic speech.

  Bonjour.

  No! What are you doing? Why would you even write that? You are not French. You don’t even have a GCSE.

  Hello Sunfields,

  Urgh, God. Delete, delete, delete. You are not Michael McIntyre. Come on, Bea, get a grip.

  Hi

  I stare at the single word. That seems to be the only greeting I have left. I take a deep breath and hit the enter key as I tap out the rest of the email and click send.

  Almost immediately, an email fires into my inbox.

  Hi,

  Come today from 4pm and I will talk to you.

  Jakub.

  *

  I look down at the text that fires on to my screen from Priya.

  Where are you?

  I try to stifle the bubble of annoyance that has been brewing since Tuesday.

  Out, I reply, be back later.

  The reply shoots on to my screen within seconds.

  When?

  I lock my phone determinedly and shove it in my bag. She never asked me where I was when she was with Josh.

  I wriggle my toes in an attempt to peel my feet off the pavement and try to ignore the fiery nerves writhing around my body like a worm with no head.

  I’ve been standing on the corner of this pavement for what feels like hours. As soon as the clock ticked over to 17.00, I walked out of my office and stepped on to the bus like a well-programmed robot. I knew that if I’d stopped for even a second, I wouldn’t have gone ahead with the plan. My mind would have got in the way.

  I was doing well. Until now. I got the right bus, I got off at the right stop, I found the care home.

  But now I can’t go inside.

  My legs twitch as the icy air sinks through my jeans and nips my prickling skin.

  I’m starting to wonder if I’ve forgotten how to walk.

  I take a deep breath and look back up at the home. It is a small red-brick building with dark windows dotted across the face of the building, each smeared slightly with condensation. If I look carefully, I can see the outline of a yellow bulb hanging from the ceiling and flickering dully.

  I haven’t seen a single shadow of a person. I’ve been half waiting to see someone walk past the window, or laugh loudly, or stand up and stretch – but nothing.

  My knees jerk slightly as if my legs have decided to move, but then thought better of it.

  Come on, Bea. Go inside. They’re expecting you. You are doing a good deed, there is nothing to be worried about.

  I suck in a breath of the icy air. The longer I stand here, the more the creature inside of me stirs. My stillness feeds it.

  My fingers scrunch themselves into balls inside my coat pockets. They burn at the sudden movement and I bite my dry lip.

  It doesn’t look like how I thought it would. I always imagined a care home to be bright and fresh, like a house you see on a children’s TV show.

  I jump slightly as a young man with a small dog skirts past me, and I realise I’m stood in the middle of the pavement, paralysed.

  If you don’t want to go in, then don’t. You could just go home. You don’t owe these people anything. Nobody knows you are here. You could just get on the bus and pretend this whole thing never happened, go back to your routine and go back to your life.

  I pause as this possibility floats around my brain. For a moment, my anxiety is stilled. But my legs still don’t move, they stay locked to the floor as if in a vice.

  Or you could go inside.

  My legs twitch again.

  But you cannot stay stood on this pavement corner for ever. You have to make a decision.

  Come on. Go inside. You can do this. They’re expecting you. You only have to go in once, find this Nina woman, and then leave. You could be in and out in ten minutes and then it will all be over.

  You used to do things like this all the time.

  I take a deep breath and feel my limbs crack out of their concrete state as I finally move off the pavement. The creature inside me thrashes in the pit of my stomach and scrabbles viciously at my throat as if it’s about to drown. But my legs keep moving.

  I curl my fingers around my phone in my bag and pull it out. The email from Jakub greets me. I approach the door and my hand reaches out.

  *

  Okay, I’m in. I’ve made it in.

  The perfumed air of the building hangs around my nose like soup and I try not to cough at the stale, hot scent. The carpet is pressed into the ground with light indentations from visitors’ feet, and there is a small desk at the end of the room with a sign hanging over it reading ‘Reception’.

  I puff out my chest and walk towards the desk.

  You can do this. You can do this. It will all be fine. It will all be fine.

  I feel my shoulders rise up to my ears as I reach the reception and ding the bell in the centre of the desk.

  The sound of the bell echoes in the silence and I wait, my smile still fixed. As the sound evaporates, I look around.

  Where is everybody? Why can’t I hear anything?

  I mean, I know these people are old but surely they aren’t all mute.

  Are they?

  Oh God. I hope not. I can only remember one piece of sign language that Emma once taught me to do to an ex-boyfriend in the street – and I don’t think that will be appreciated here.

  My body rises on the balls of my feet and drops down again. I feel my smile slip and I force it to stay on my face.

  Where is everyone? Should I press the bell again? Maybe they didn’t hear.

  I ding the bell again. It rings out around the reception area before being swallowed up again by the silence.

  How long am I supposed to stand here for? At what point should I give up and go home?

  What if this is all some big practical joke and they are all laughing at me from another room? Maybe I’m not supposed to press the bell.

  I glance around anxiously.

  This is getting ridiculous. How many volunteers do they lose by nobody showing up?

  My hand whacks the bell again.

  This is infuriating. Nina is probably sitting in the next room. I only want to check she’s okay. I could be really busy. I could only be here for a flying visit. Or I could be a delivery driver dropping off something really important. They could miss the most important delivery of the year because nobody can hear the stupid bell and then they’d be sorry because—

  ‘Hello?’

  I jump as a man appears through the door slightly out of breath and his face pinched. He is wearing light blue overalls and has a sharp, angular face that is sculpted into a frown. His hair is light and shaved close to his head, and his eyes are bright blue and piercing. He’s young, he doesn’t look much older than me.

  Although he currently looks like he wants to kill me.

  Shit. Maybe he does.

  His narrowed eyes flick down to the bell and then back at me.

  I flinch. Oh God. I definitely shouldn’t have hit that bell so many times. Especially the last time. I mean, I really whacked it.

  Why did I do that?

  I feel my cheeks burn as I try to keep the smile from slipping off my face.

  ‘Hello!’ I say, trying to keep my voice bright and cheery. ‘My name is Bea. I emailed Jacob.’

  I see a flash of irritation shoot over his face as he clutches a stack of papers in his hands. His eyes flick up and down my body and then back to the papers.

  ‘No,’ he says simply.

  I blink at his unfamiliar accent.

  Where is he from?

  ‘No?’ I repeat, my hands starting to sweat.

  W
hy did he say no? Am I in the wrong place? Is this not a care home?

  I look around dumbly and grab my phone out of my bag.

  ‘I emailed,’ I mumble, my face burning, ‘I emailed someone called Jacob, he said to come here. See,’ I finally pull up the email and turn it towards his face, ‘see, he said to come in.’

  I watch as he scans the email and then looks back up at me.

  ‘Yes,’ he says, ‘that’s me.’

  I stare back at him, my eyes darting back to the email.

  What? Is he mad?

  ‘Jacob?’ I say stupidly.

  ‘No,’ he says, placing the papers on the reception desk, ‘Yakub. My name is Yakub. That is how you say it. Not Jacob.’

  I feel heat engulf my face and my smile evaporates entirely.

  Well, how the hell was I supposed to know that?

  ‘Right,’ I say tightly, ‘well, hello. My name is Bea. I’m here to volunteer.’

  I meet his eyes and feel my face narrow into a frown. He looks me up and down again.

  ‘I know,’ he says, bending his body forward so that he is leaning against the desk and shuffling the papers in front of him.

  I glare at him, fighting the urge to throw the bell at his head.

  Is that it?

  ‘What do you want?’ he asks, not bothering to lift his head to look at me.

  I stare at him.

  What?

  ‘To volunteer . . .’ I say.

  ‘When?’ He waves a hand above his head as if plucking the words from the air. ‘For how long?’

  I open and close my mouth.

  For how long? I don’t know. I was hoping just to do half an hour now and then be done with it. How long do people usually volunteer for?

  ‘I don’t know,’ I say, feeling my body burn, ‘for a day?’

  I cringe as I hear the words and Jakub looks directly at me, his eyebrows raised in a sarcastic formation.

  ‘A day?’ he repeats. ‘You just want to come here for one day? Why?’

  I stare at him, dumbfounded.

  ‘To volunteer,’ I repeat stupidly.

  What does he want me to say?

  Jakub straightens up to his full height and hooks a file of papers under his right arm. He takes a moment to look at me, and then nods.

  ‘No,’ he says plainly and turns to walk away.

  What?

  ‘Wait!’ I cry, scurrying after him. ‘No? What do you mean, no?’

  Jakub stops walking and turns to face me.

  ‘No,’ he repeats, ‘we don’t need you.’

  What?

  Is he being serious?

  ‘You can’t say no!’ I cry incredulously. ‘I’m a volunteer. You can’t turn away a volunteer.’

  I stare up at him, my heart racing.

  He can’t turn me away. I need to see Nina. I need to check she’s okay.

  I can’t leave her.

  Jakub looks down at me blankly. ‘Yes I can.’

  ‘But I want to help!’ I gabble, as he goes to walk away again.

  Jakub stops and looks at me.

  ‘You want to come once and help to feel good about yourself. I don’t need that.’

  I stare at him.

  ‘What?’

  ‘This isn’t a zoo,’ he says, ‘these are people. You want to help, you come often. You commit to them. I don’t need you coming once, that won’t help them. Only you.’

  I stare back at him, winded by his comments.

  I never thought he’d say no.

  His pale blue eyes look searchingly at me and for a second the creature inside is silenced by a sharp feeling.

  ‘Okay,’ I hear myself say, ‘okay, fine. I’ll commit. I’ll come more than once. I’ll do it . . .’ I trail off as Jakub continues to stare at me. His face doesn’t change.

  Eventually, he speaks.

  ‘Okay,’ he says simply, ‘you can come back tomorrow.’

  ‘Tomorrow?’ I repeat. ‘Can’t I start now?’

  It took a half an hour bus to get here!

  Jakub pauses. ‘No,’ he says, ‘we don’t need you now.’

  I try to stifle my annoyance.

  Then why did you tell me to come in today, you stupid arse?

  ‘Right,’ I say, my voice jumping up four octaves in an attempt to keep myself upbeat. ‘Okay, I’ll come back tomorrow, after work.’

  Jakub nods and steps back towards the door.

  ‘Okay,’ he says, as he pushes his way through the door, ‘ask for Jakub.’

  I open my mouth to reply, when he disappears from view. My hands fly instinctively into the only sign language I know.

  Maybe I’ll be using that often, after all.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  I lean my body against the kitchen counter. My eyes throb under my heavy eyelids, which hang over my eyes like a thick, dry dough. I hear the kettle boil and I take a deep breath, trying to silence the noise surrounding me.

  I’m not sure if I slept at all last night. By the time I got home, Priya was locked in her room and the house was hidden under a blanket of darkness. Only the gentle twitch of Joy’s curtain as I walked down the drive confirmed that there hadn’t been an apocalypse.

  I could feel the creature limbering up in the pit of my stomach as I opened the front door, stretching its claws ready to spread through me like tar.

  I lay in bed, anxiety pinning my heavy muscles to the bed and pressing my itching eyes open, until my clock ticked to 7.00 and my alarm chirped through the room.

  I pull open my reluctant eyes now as the kettle spits specks of water over the kitchen counter. I pick it up and start to tip boiling water into my mug, trying to ignore the icy panic that has been simmering under my skin since I left Sunfields. And then realised I’d have to go back.

  I pick up a stained spoon and stir my steaming tea.

  Sometimes, my anxiety gets so bad that I switch to autopilot and instead of being paralysed by the fear that is ripping through me, my brain mutes all of my emotions and I just move. I don’t even really think about what I’m doing. I just survive.

  That was what happened yesterday. I took myself to Sunfields without really thinking. It was as if I had made a deal with my anxiety.

  You just have to go once, then you can go back to your routine. Just once, you have to get through this, and never again. Just once.

  I pour a stream of milk into my mug.

  But it didn’t work like that. And now that I have to go back, now that the deal has been broken, my brain has switched back on.

  And it doesn’t like it.

  ‘Ah, did I just miss a round?’

  My head jerks up, pulling me back to my surroundings. I’m in the office kitchen, where Duncan is standing in the doorway, his round face stretched into a smile, like it always is.

  Automatically, I feel my face copy his, and for a second, the anxiety is silenced.

  I look down at my tea.

  Yes, you did miss the tea round, Duncan, but it would have been a fantastic achievement if you hadn’t missed it, seeing as I didn’t tell anyone about it and darted into the kitchen when Faye was telling the entire office about her dinner last night.

  ‘Yeah,’ I say, ‘sorry.’

  Obviously I don’t enjoy being the office snake and never offering anyone else a drink. But there are fifteen people who work for the Herald.

  Fifteen! I mean, that is just an enormous amount of unnecessary stress.

  But yes, I am aware I’ll be going straight to British hell.

  I expect I’ll spend eternity having someone constantly cutting in front of me in a queue and offering me tea the colour of sand.

  Duncan leans forward and flicks the kettle back on. It judders back to life obediently.

  ‘That’s okay,’ he says, ‘for a second I thought I’d caught you having a nap!’

  He wags a finger playfully in my direction and I smile back at him limply.

  ‘All that spelling keeping you up?’

  I pick up
my tea and attempt to edge towards the door.

  Oh please.

  ‘I’m just looking forward to the weekend,’ I say quietly, feeling embarrassment storming up my cheeks.

  Please don’t ask me what I’m doing.

  Duncan spoons instant coffee into his bucket of a mug, followed by two heaped spoonfuls of sugar.

  ‘Yup!’ he says cheerfully. ‘I know that feeling! Here’s to the weekend, eh?’

  I give a small nod, taking a gulp of my tea as I go to leave.

  How does he always have so much energy?

  ‘Wait a second, Bea,’ Duncan says, ‘I wanted to ask your opinion on something.’

  I hover, my eyebrows creeping up my forehead as my brain sparks back into life.

  What? What is he going to ask me?

  What I think of his shirt? Whether he should start Game of Thrones before season eight starts?

  ‘You’re one of the longest-standing members of staff here,’ he says, stirring his mug of coffee. ‘In terms of the younger crowd, I reckon you’ve been here the longest.’

  Where is he going with this?

  ‘Yeah,’ I say, unsure of what else to respond with.

  ‘How do you think office morale is?’ He looks at me now, his watery eyes fixing on mine. I fight the urge to look away. ‘Do you think everyone is happy?’

  I look back at him blankly.

  ‘Err,’ I mumble, ‘yeah?’

  How should I know?

  Duncan looks back at me, his smile slipping.

  ‘I want everyone to be happy here,’ he says, picking up his mug. ‘I want this to be a fun, happy workplace.’

  He steps out of the kitchen and I hesitate before following him.

  What is he talking about?

  ‘Sure,’ I murmur, ‘I think everyone is . . . happy.’

  The words trail out of my mouth and Duncan scans the sea of heads, all bent over their keyboards.

  ‘Thanks, Bea,’ he says, turning back to face me, ‘you’ve been a big help.’

  *

  I glance down at my watch. It shines 17.27 back up at me. I cross one leg over the other and take a deep breath.

  Ten more minutes and I’ll be there.

  Then an eight-minute walk to Sunfields. Give or take two minutes, depending on how quickly I can will my reluctant legs to move.

  I uncross my legs and lean against the bus window.

  I decided to wear jeans, my long-sleeved black top and a big woollen jumper. I figured old people tend to overheat, so I need to be prepared to be stuck in a room with potentially no heating on, even though it’s almost December.