The Accidental Love Letter

by Olivia Beirne

  What?

  My eyes blink up to Nina, who is looking back at me innocently.

  Tell Nathan what? Why is she asking about him? We never talk about Nathan.

  ‘About today,’ Nina continues, ‘that you had planned this.’

  Oh.

  Sometimes I forget Nina knows anything about Nathan.

  I wish she didn’t.

  I’m starting to wish I didn’t.

  ‘No,’ I say, my face burning. ‘But I will,’ I add.

  We drop back into silence and I twist my hands together, my eyes throbbing.

  I glance up at a couple who shift past us, squeezing themselves through the tiny gap as they shuffle towards their table. They dip their heads at us approvingly.

  ‘Do you come here very often?’

  I look back at Nina. ‘No,’ I reply honestly, ‘I haven’t been here since I was a child.’

  ‘Why not?’

  Nina’s dark eyes watch me and I feel my heart twitch as the answer swims around my mind. Instinctively, I feel my hands grip my phone.

  I catch Nina’s eye and shoot her a half-smile.

  ‘Don’t know,’ I mumble, trying to ignore my face, which is burning with embarrassment.

  But Nina doesn’t break my gaze. She watches me, her hands fanned out on the table. Eventually, she lowers her eyes to the teapot.

  ‘Go on,’ she says softly, ‘I think it’s ready now.’

  *

  I shove Nina’s wheelchair forward, trying to ignore my watch ticking accusingly on my wrist.

  I don’t want to know what the time is. All I know is I’m late. I’m really late.

  I didn’t mean to be, I’m never late. I hate being late. But once me and Nina started talking, I stopped thinking about the time.

  I spot Sunfields at the end of the street. Nina’s hands grip the wheelchair and I glance down at her as my legs pump into a light jog.

  I really hope she doesn’t fall out of the chair. What if I trip over my own feet and push Nina down on to the pavement? Christ, I’d be in prison alongside Nathan.

  At least I’d save money on stamps.

  Or, Joy would.

  ‘Sorry,’ I grunt, as I suck in an icy breath of air.

  At least there’s no chance of Nina dropping off. Unless she has a heart attack, which is very possible considering I feel like I’ll have a heart attack if I don’t get there soon.

  I slow to a halt, trying to stop myself from buckling over the wheelchair in relief as I push Nina into Sunfields.

  Nina looks up at me. ‘Why are we running?’

  The heavy door swings shut behind us and I almost fall over as my eyes land on Jakub, who is stood behind the reception. His huge arms are folded and his eyebrows are knitted together in a fierce glare.

  Oh shit.

  ‘Hello, Jakub,’ Nina says, as if everything is completely normal, ‘how are you? We’ve just been on a day out.’

  I stare back at Jakub, unable to pull my eyes away. Nina unfolds herself from the chair and walks forward.

  ‘I think I might go and tell Gus about our day, Bea,’ Nina says lightly. ‘See you in a bit.’

  Keeping his eyes fixed on mine, Jakub pushes his hand against the door and holds it open for Nina. He looks like a steaming kettle, ready to boil over at any second.

  A seething, venomous kettle.

  I break eye contact with Jakub and manically uncoil my scarf. As soon as I look away, my eyes skirt around the room.

  ‘Sorry we’re late,’ I babble, ‘the bus took a while. Is everyone in the living room?’

  ‘Where have you been?’

  Jakub’s voice strikes across me and I feel my chest tighten.

  ‘I took Nina out,’ I say, my voice pinching under the pressure. ‘We went to a bird sanctuary.’

  I go to walk forward but Jakub steps in front of me.

  ‘You took her,’ he says coldly. ‘You can’t just take them like that.’

  My heart twitches and I try to keep my smile in place.

  ‘I left you a note,’ I say.

  ‘You have no right,’ Jakub says, ‘it’s not your place.’

  My eyes fly back up to Jakub’s, and suddenly the anxiety brewing in my chest is replaced by a stronger feeling.

  ‘Well, then, whose place is it?’ I snap, the words firing out of me. ‘She’s sad, she’s grieving—’ I break off, my eyes stinging in shock. As I look back at Jakub, his face moves and for a moment, we just stare at each other.

  ‘She needs someone to look after her,’ I say eventually.

  I lift my chin to stalk past Jakub, but as I reach him he takes my arm.

  ‘I care about her,’ he says. ‘You’re not the only one who cares about them. You have no idea.’

  I throw his hand off me. ‘Well, then, why aren’t you doing anything?’ I say. ‘These people are about to lose their home and you don’t even seem to care.’

  He glowers at me, his icy eyes boring into mine.

  ‘You have no idea,’ he says again.

  I feel a cold strike of pain slice through me. I lean closer to him, feeling my jaw lock.

  ‘Neither do you.’

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  I drill my fingers on the desk, ideas zapping through my mind like small volts of electricity.

  I glance down at my latest letter to Nathan and feel a flash of embarrassment at my scribbled handwriting. I usually take real pride in my letters, I spend ages curling each word on to the paper, but this one fired out of me.

  I need to find someone who cares about this. I can’t sit by and watch them tear Sunfields down. It’s not fair.

  It’s not right.

  ‘What’s up with you?’

  I jolt in my seat as Faye appears next to me. My scrunched-up brow loosens for a moment and I raise my head from my hands. Faye is frowning at me.

  ‘Hi,’ I say, feeling my heart race as if I’ve been broken from a trance, ‘you okay?’

  Today Faye is wearing a high-neck black dress, her impressive blonde hair is swirling down her back and her light pink lips are pursed.

  ‘What are you doing?’ she asks, her voice dripping with suspicion as she peers over my desk. To my horror, I notice her eyes flit towards my letter and I reach forward and grab it.

  ‘Nothing,’ I say quickly, ‘working. You?’

  Faye raises her eyebrows at me, a smile playing at the corners of her mouth. ‘Are you writing someone a letter?’ she asks gleefully,

  I shove the letter in my bag.

  Great.

  ‘No,’ I say roughly, turning back to my computer.

  Faye pauses, her wide eyes blinking at me as I silently will her to leave me alone.

  ‘So,’ she says, ‘great news about Duncan . . .’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Letting you write something?’ she finishes, pulling some of her hair through her fingers.

  Urgh.

  Why does she say ‘letting’ as if Duncan is doing me a favour? I’m a reporter, it’s my job.

  ‘Thanks,’ I say shortly.

  Go away.

  ‘Do you know what you’re going to write about?’

  ‘Yup,’ I say automatically, and then immediately want to kick myself.

  Why did I say that? Now she’ll never leave.

  ‘Really?’ she says, like clockwork. ‘What?’

  She leans her body closer to my desk, as if the answer is hiding under my coffee cup.

  ‘I can’t talk about it yet,’ I say, randomly opening an email and tapping at my keyboard. ‘It’s not confirmed.’

  I feel Faye’s body tense and I click on another email.

  Her smile drops. ‘Okay,’ she says tartly, ‘fine. See you later, then.’

  I glance up at her and feel myself breathe out in relief as she stomps through the office, probably on the lookout for someone else to annoy.

  Honestly, does she ever do any work?

  I pick up my mug and make my way into the kitchen.

>   How does she get away with it? I don’t think I’ve ever seen her sit at her desk for more than ten minutes at a time. If I did that then Angela would end up—

  ‘Oh.’

  I stop in my tracks at the sight of Duncan, who is leaning over the kettle. I feel my mouth curve into an automatic smile.

  ‘Hi, Duncan,’ I say politely.

  As soon as Duncan spots me, his face rearranges itself into his regular animated expression.

  ‘Hello, Bea!’ he booms, in his best Butlin’s Redcoat voice. ‘How are you?’

  ‘Fine, thank you,’ I say, flicking the kettle on. ‘What were you looking at?’

  I hear the words leave my mouth before I think it through, and I feel myself flush.

  Why did I ask him that? That’s so personal, he could be looking at anything!

  For a second, Duncan’s smile falters.

  ‘Oh,’ he says, ‘just this.’ He leans forward and opens his wallet.

  I look over as he pulls out a photo of two fat babies, propped up against a sofa and laughing. Their squidgy hands are shoved in their mouths, and one of them is trying to crawl. I smile down at the photo.

  ‘Aw,’ I say, ‘are those your children?’

  I notice Duncan’s shoulders sink slightly.

  ‘Yeah,’ Duncan says, ‘twins. Annabelle and Amelia.’

  ‘They’re lovely,’ I say, glancing sideways at him.

  For a second, Duncan stares down at the photo. His hands cradle the photo carefully, as if it might break if he held it too tightly.

  ‘Yes, they are,’ he says.

  Duncan never talks about his children. It’s like he’s a cartoon character, drawn specifically for work, who would be out of place anywhere else. He snaps his wallet shut and his bright eyes focus on me.

  ‘Right!’ he says. ‘Back to work then, Albus!’ He claps me on the shoulder. ‘Make mine a strong coffee, will you?’

  I watch him bumble out of the office, feeling the warmth inside me leave with him.

  ‘Sure.’

  *

  I push my way through the red door and storm straight up to the reception desk. Jakub is seated behind it, staring at papers. Like he always is.

  ‘Who decided to close the home?’

  Jakub looks up. I see his expression wither at the sight of me.

  ‘Why?’ he asks, looking straight back down at the papers.

  ‘I want to write to them,’ I say, clicking my pen and flicking open my notepad. ‘I want to stop it.’

  ‘You won’t,’ he says in a bored voice, ‘they know exactly what they’re doing. They’ve been doing it for a year.’

  ‘But people should—’

  ‘We’ve tried.’ Jakub’s voice cuts across me and he gets to his feet. ‘There is nothing we can do. It’s closing in three weeks now. It’s done.’

  Jakub walks through to the living room and I follow him, irritation popping in my chest.

  If people knew about this then they would help. If people knew what was going to happen to Nina, Gus and Sylvia then they would try to stop it. It’s not right, they’re tearing down their home.

  They’re real people.

  ‘But,’ I start again as we walk through to the living room, ‘if we just—’

  ‘Bea?’

  I look round at the sound of Nina’s voice and feel myself do a double-take. She’s standing by the table, looking down at a newspaper.

  My heart beats faster.

  She’s not sitting in her chair.

  I smile as Nina walks back towards her chair, gesturing me to follow. I try not to look daggers at Jakub as he sits down next to Sylvia, who drops her copy of Wuthering Heights as he pulls up his chair.

  Nina lowers herself into a high-backed, bottle-green chair and I drop into the small chair next to it. I try to pull my face into a smile as I sit down, but Nina frowns at me.

  ‘What is it?’ she asks.

  ‘What?’ I say, my voice strained. ‘Nothing! I’m fine! How are you?’

  ‘Why are you fighting with Jakub?’

  I falter.

  I’m not fighting with Jakub. We’re fighting.

  ‘We’re not!’ I chirp back, my smile still firmly fixed in place.

  ‘You are.’

  Nina narrows her eyes at me and I feel her gaze chip away at my fake smile.

  ‘Oh,’ I say lightly, ‘we’re just talking about Sunfields. I just don’t want it to close.’

  The last words tumble out of my mouth before I can stop them, and I feel my chest tighten.

  Nina’s face doesn’t move.

  ‘Why?’

  I look back at Nina as I feel a hot flash of emotion strike through me.

  Why?

  I shrug, my face pulling into an awkward smile as I ignore her gaze.

  ‘I like coming here,’ I say in a small voice.

  ‘Bea?’

  I flinch as Jakub’s harsh voice echoes across the room. I look round to see him standing at the other end of the room, and I feel a flutter of panic.

  Is he about to throw me out?

  I was quite rude to him.

  ‘Yeah?’ I say, trying to keep my expression neutral.

  If he does try to throw me out, I won’t go without a fight. Not that I’d physically fight him, obviously. He could squash me under his thumb like a flying ant. But I’d pretend I couldn’t hear him. Or that I’d lost my scarf and that I couldn’t possibly leave without it. Yes, that’s a good plan.

  First, though, I will have to hide my scarf.

  Where did I even leave it?

  Right, so to start with I must—

  ‘Would you like some dinner?’

  I blink at him.

  What?

  ‘Sorry?’ I say stupidly.

  Nina leans forward.

  ‘What is it we’re having, Jakub?’ she asks. ‘Is it goulash?’

  Jakub nods, keeping his eyes away from mine as if he’s been forced to ask me.

  I feel a rush of heat swamp me.

  ‘No, thank you,’ I say pompously, lifting my chin and looking away from him.

  Christ. The first man to ask me to dinner in about three years and it’s someone who hates me.

  Great.

  Nina frowns at me again. ‘Why not? Are you leaving?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘What will you have for dinner at home?’

  I blink at her.

  I can’t tell her that all I have in my cupboard is a barbecue chicken Pot Noodle.

  ‘Right,’ Nina says decisively. ‘Yes, please, Jakub. Bea will be staying.’

  Jakub nods and sweeps out of the room. I stare after him.

  ‘You’ll like this goulash,’ Nina says, her eyes twinkling. ‘I’m sure we had it last week. It’s very nice.’

  I smile at her weakly and get to my feet.

  Why is he asking me? He can’t actually want me to stay. I don’t want him feeling like he has to ask. Maybe I’ve outstayed my welcome.

  I walk out of the living room and into the small kitchen. Jakub is leaning over a pot and looks up at me as I walk in. For the first time, I feel myself really look at the kitchen and flinch at the state of the cupboards, bursting with mugs and plates. Far more than are needed for a home with three people in it.

  ‘It’s fine,’ I say quickly, ‘really. I’m fine for dinner, but thank you.’

  Jakub pauses.

  ‘You don’t have to,’ I add. ‘I’ll eat when I get home.’

  ‘Do you not like goulash?’

  I blink at him.

  ‘I’m not sure,’ I admit, my face prickling.

  Jakub turns back to the pot and starts ladling it out.

  ‘It’s nice,’ he says, ‘but you don’t have to eat it if you don’t like it.’

  I watch him scoop the meat and vegetables into bowls.

  Why does he want me to eat it?

  I hope he hasn’t poisoned it.

  Jakub hands me two bowls and for a second I almost see his poker face
break into a smile. I feel a flash of emotion spark in the pit of my stomach and my cheeks tingle.

  ‘Okay,’ I say, as I turn and walk out of the kitchen, ‘thanks.’

  *

  I stick my fork into a fat piece of meat and spear it into my mouth as Gus laughs.

  ‘It was never the same,’ he says, slapping his hands together. ‘She didn’t even accept my poems.’

  I chew on the meat, rich flavour oozing into my mouth.

  If this is poisonous, at least it’s delicious.

  I smile at Gus as I swallow my mouthful. He’s been telling stories for the last ten minutes about his younger life as a cockney Casanova. I had no idea he was such a stud.

  Although I’m not sure why I would have known that before.

  ‘You wrote her a poem?’ I ask, sipping my water.

  ‘That’s why she didn’t want anything to do with you,’ Sylvia says, angling her head towards Gus. ‘They obviously weren’t very good.’

  Gus chuckles into his meal and I see small circles of pink form on Sylvia’s cheeks.

  ‘I can’t believe you wrote her a poem,’ I say.

  I don’t think anybody has ever written me a poem.

  ‘Rubbish!’ Gus chimes. ‘Are you telling me this boyfriend of yours has never written you a poem?’

  I stare at him, baffled.

  Boyfriend?

  What boy—

  ‘I don’t think Nathan would write poems,’ Nina says, dipping her spoon into her bowl.

  My heart twitches at his name.

  Oh, that boyfriend.

  ‘No,’ I say, fixing my eyes on my meal.

  ‘Get rid of him, then,’ Gus says matter-of-factly. ‘That’s what Jean did to me.’

  ‘No,’ Sylvia says, a small smile playing on her lips, ‘Jean found someone who was better at poetry.’

  I laugh as I swallow my mouthful, then glance over at Jakub whose spoon is resting in his empty bowl.

  ‘Have you got a girlfriend, Jakub?’

  I almost drop my spoon in shock as I hear the question being asked in my own voice.

  Why on earth did I ask him that? I hate it when people ask me that question!

  Jakub shakes his head and we fall into silence. I fight the urge to stab myself with my fork.

  Urgh. Now look what you’ve done. Everybody was having a perfectly nice time until you asked an awkward question and made everyone feel uncomfortable.

  You arse.

  ‘So, Bea,’ Sylvia says, ‘what do you do for Christmas?’