Between Friends Page 9
‘E’ Bluey
From: Aggie
To: Gethyn
Date: 21 February
Dear, Gethyn
And another thing …
I now regret sending you another novel as I don’t share your conviction that I could write anything worthy of your praise and I have no intention of changing my ways and donning my cap to literary snobs. I blame book clubs for this snobbery. The members of such clubs never dare to stand up to their book club leader – often dictatorial types. I swear most book club members trot along and have a nice chat about a literary book, but then go home and secretly devour a bit of Jilly Cooper. My own village book club gathering is a sombre affair other than in December, when I host the meeting and ensure everyone leaves totally pissed on rum punch.
Polly informs me that you don’t agree with the war and that you believe invading Iraq is morally wrong. If you don’t agree with the war, why are you there? Could it be that, in order to carry out the requirements of your job, you’ve had to compromise on your own personal belief system? In your opinion I have let myself down by writing formulaic fiction in order to keep the money flowing in, but isn’t what you’re doing exactly the same thing? The difference between your situation and mine is that, to my knowledge, no one has died from reading my fiction, although Isabella did inform me that she received a letter from a lady who almost decapitated her husband when she threw one of my books at him while he danced the tango with a ‘young trollop’ on the cruise liner Oceana. I was glad to have been of help.
Agatha
‘E’ Bluey
From: Aggie
To: Polly
Date: 21 February
Hi, Polly
I can’t even begin to imagine what you’re going through right now, but do remember that we’re all with you in spirit. Don’t worry about the tough love speech. I needed it. And you were right about Mum, but this merry-go-round of emotional instability can’t go on. I have a hole in my heart in the shape of a mother, and it’s been that way since for as long as I can remember. When she’s being nice to me, the hole starts to heal a little, but then, when she turns cold again, the wound opens up and it becomes angry and exposed, and with every concurrent spell of neglect and disassociation, the soft tissue becomes hardened, and my heart is less likely to bond together in the future. So for the sake of my heart, before it hardens over completely, it’s time to let go and not think about the fact that she will never be the one to say, ‘I’m sorry’.
With much love, Ag
P.S. I followed your advice and wrote to Isabella – all is well. Thank you, my lovely friend.
‘E’ bluey
From: Aggie
To: Gethyn
Date: 21 February
Hi, Gethyn
I sent you a letter earlier that contained some harsh words. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean any of it – I get carried away and, like a rabid dog, I don’t know when to loosen my jaw from its grip. Maybe you push buttons in me that touch the sore spots.
Best wishes,
Aggie
From: aggieb@yahoo.com
To: sexymamma49@hotmail.com
Subject: Last time trying
Date: 21 February
Dear, Mamma
This is my last email. I can’t keep banging my head against the goldfish bowl. Every time I let my guard down and show you love, you close the door. I know you didn’t want me to leave Midhope, but it’s not forever, and even if it were, aren’t children allowed to spread their own wings? When I came back to Midhope I never said it was forever (OK, I did) but things change – I need to change.
I’m not sure when I’ll be home. I may sell up and start again somewhere new. My door will always be open - walk straight in and put the kettle on if you want to come back.
I love you. Agatha x
Bluey
From: Polly
To: Aggie
Date: 22 February
Hi, Aggie
It can’t be long now. We practised the drill for a scud attack yesterday and unfortunately I was shouted at because my hair was tied in a bun, which meant the straps of my respirator at the back prevented my face from bonding a tight seal. I felt like such an amateur, and you know how I hate to look like a girl. So my hair has had to go. Gethyn cut it off. He borrowed the cartographer’s scissors. I now have a very short bob cut. He did good job, bless him. At least, I think he did a good job, but with no mirror I haven’t a clue what I look like, but it doesn’t matter. Gethyn says I must remember that, in working with the army, I don’t have to morph into being a man, and that I’m allowed to look presentable and cling on to some form of femininity. But, do you know, once the hair was gone, I felt so incredibly light and free, just like Jo in Little Women. I’m glad it’s gone.
But if my hair weighed me down, my rucksack has weighed me down even more. What a f..king nightmare. When I left the UK I didn’t think I’d be able to whittle down my essential items any further, but now I carry only my pistol and respirator case and a small day sack holding a few pairs of pants, a change of uniform, head torch, blank letters, pens, a note pad, a packet of baby wipes and my journal, which means I can move around more easily without looking like a complete girl.
After the ‘big hair cut’ we sat in our tent with my golden hair abandoned at my feet and I had a really good laugh. I’ve been Rapunzel for far too long, with all that long blonde hair weighing me down. Years and years of sadness were locked up inside the atoms in that hair, and it felt good to let it go. I might not have been bonded to that respirator before we cut off my hair, but my bond with Gethyn will be steadfast for the rest of my life. Guess what he did to get me laughing? He put Stayin Alive on his MP3 player, turned the volume up to max, and we danced around on the sand in our little tent, which we’ve been able to put up again. It was brilliant. We’ve decided to always do this whenever one of us is having a rough day. It’s a shame he’s seeing someone because he would have been perfect for you. I’ll see if I can get to the bottom of his relationship – maybe it’s on the rocks? Let’s hope so!
Write soon with news of the café, I’m desperate to hear all your news. Big hugs,
Polly
Bluey
From: Polly
To: Mr Day
Date: 22 February
Hi, Mum and Dad
Not much to tell you other than that I’m safe and well. My friend Gethyn and I spent the morning filling sandbags, which killed a few hours. After filling about twenty bags, we stopped for a cuppa and fashioned a sandbag into the shape of a football to have a kick about. Before we knew it, a handful of Americans joined in and we’d got ourselves a game of soccer - it was like the Western Front all over again, only with Americans, not Nazis.
But on the whole, my life is extreme boredom interspersed with weather forecasts - is this how older people feel? I manage to while away half an hour cleaning my pistol every day, although Gethyn often does this for me as he finds it cathartic, and then there are always a few magazines kicking around. Talking to Gethyn fills the rest of the gaps, but it’s a peculiar life. One army captain provided an entertaining hour by setting up a sweepstake for the start date of the war. Gethyn has gone for the 19th March and I’ve gone for the 21st. I could win about $200 if I’m right so fingers crossed. Not much else to tell you.
Love you all loads, Polly x
Bluey
From: Mrs Day
To: Polly
Date: 22 February
Dear, Polly
Sweetheart, I don’t talk to you about Anna because there isn’t anything to say. I also can’t tell you what to do about Josh, my love, but what I would say is this: having another child would not act as a miracle cure to your sadness. I think the way ahead for you can be summed up in only one word – acceptance. Start writing a new story for yourself, and please make it a happy one.
When you come home, re-write your life in a way that brings you joy. Basically, be good to yourself. I think you’re going through a process that
has needed to happen for some time and you will be in pain, on and off, until you come out of it at the other side. Perhaps spending this time away is exactly what you needed to see a clearer path ahead? You’re grieving, and the process will take time. Eventually, you will come out the other side and feel an overwhelming sense of freedom – of renewal and when that comes, you’ll be free of it all. This is how I feel about Anna.
Regarding my depression (yes, I know it’s the black dog that floats above the surface that we never discuss), I want you to know that I am not depressed because of losing a child. I suffer from clinical depression and bouts of anxiety attacks because I’m made that way. I know we have never talked about this but I’ve never wanted to bog you down, although sometimes I worry that the same black dog hovers around you, too. All I can really say is that I’m thankful every day for the patience and love of your father. Regarding Josh, if you feel that your marriage can be saved and his love is worth fighting for, then fight for it, but be careful what you wish for, my love, and be sure your feelings aren’t being influenced by your present situation in Kuwait. Perhaps it would be best for you and Josh to delay the house sale until you get home - then decide. What does Josh want to do?
Lots of love. Stay safe.
Mum x
Bluey
From: Polly
To: Josh
Date: 23 February
Josh
You’re right. I’m a bit lost right now and I shouldn’t have taken it out on you. I’m sorry.
Polly x
P.S. Your mum can have the lamp. When you go to the house you’ll find the lamp in my box of special things.
Printed Letter
From: Nathan Browne’s Secretary, Brown’s Culinary Almanac
To: Mr Jason Shepherd, The Café at Road’s End, Appledart
Date: 20 February
Dear Mr Shepherd
We are writing to inform you that we are considering including The Café at Road’s End in Browne’s Café Guide 2004 edition. Due to the unique positioning of your café, Nathan has decided to visit personally as he intends to holiday on Skye afterward. You will understand an element of surprise is necessary to provide an accurate review and so the exact date of the visit will not be given, but I can tell you that it will be at some point before April 15th. If all goes well, The Café at Road’s End will find a place in our 2004 guide. If not, take consolation in the fact that competition is fierce and it is a great accolade to be considered.
Kind regards,
Rebecca Geary
Bluey
From: Polly
To: Aggie
Date: 24 February
Hi, Aggie
Today was awesome. I got a trip in the jump seat of a chinook!
It’s now four hours later. I had to stop writing because someone approached me and asked me for a quiet chat and so today was not awesome after all – there’s always something. I can’t believe it, but I was taken to one side by a chap who told me to try to be a little bit more masculine. He actually told me not to smile so much, or to be jolly when giving my brief. He said I’m coming across as a little bit too girlie. I wanted to slap his stupid face. Surely it doesn’t follow that the deeper your voice and the more aggressive your stance while talking, the greater your ability to do your job. I can’t stand all that wide-legged, masculine posturing shit. But then, bizarrely, he started to stroke my arm while he continued talking. What the fuck? I feel like shit. Have I been sexually harassed or was he just being nice? Am I too jolly in public? If so, I’m a bigger actor than any of them - if only they knew how suicidal I’ve felt these last couple of years. Dad told me, no matter what, keep smiling. That’s all I’m trying to do.
The Secretary of State for Defence pitched up today. Gethyn and I watched to see if he was fed the same food in the mess tent as the rest of us (we lived in hope) but he got cucumber sandwiches and a proper cup of tea. I would kill for a proper cup of tea.
Love, Pol
‘E’ Bluey
From: Aggie
To: Polly
Date: 27 February
Dear, Polly
Yes, you have been harassed! That’s dreadful. If it happens again, tell him he’s making you feel uncomfortable and if that doesn’t work, shoot him! That will stop it. Anyway, I hope you’ve cheered up a bit and this letter finds you in as good a spirit as possible, given the shitty circumstances.
I’ve written to Mum and told her I need to let her go – no reply. Fuck it.
Last night I pulled Alice Through the Looking Glass from Casey’s bookshelf as my bedtime reading. In it, the character, Time, says to Alice, ‘Everyone parts with everything eventually, my dear.’ I rested the book on the eiderdown for a moment and thought of my mother. In that moment, I decided it was time – finally - to let her go. But the truth is, I couldn’t. She’ll never leave my heart, no matter how much I wish for it. I’ve spent many years hoping she will turn into a woman who doesn’t wax and wane, enter my life then leave my life, over and over again. But at that moment – with Alice – I realised that one cannot turn another person into someone they are not, no matter how much we might desire it. But – enough! I have to accept that she will never change and stop chasing something that doesn’t exist. I don’t have to let her go – the balloon thing will never work for me (I’d be letting the damn thing off constantly). I just have to let her ‘be’ not let her go and accept that some relationships – some bonds – are impossible to break.
Gethyn has done me a favour too (but DO NOT tell him this). He said the white knight doesn’t exist, and he’s right and so are you. What the hell am I doing exerting all this mental energy on finding a man? I’ve spent so long writing romantic stories, I’ve started to obsess on writing the same formulaic story for my own life. I’ll admit that I can’t help being a romantic person, but I’m going to direct my efforts on something tangible. I’m going to build this business up so bloody well, Casey and Shep will be quids-in when they get home, and I know exactly how to do it. Here’s how:
Over the past few years I have done a million and one night classes: I’m a masseuse (Swedish), I’ve conquered Spanish (usted me puede decir el camino a la estacion de tren, por favour?). I can tango like an Argentine hooker and can even paint a passable water colour inside an hour. I can knit (the nativity scene was my shining moment, although baby Jesus looked a bit ropy). I can make crumbly soap, can decoupage my arse off and make flowers in felt. Admittedly, I went to each night class with the purpose of meeting a man but the problem was, all the other women also went along with the singular purpose of meeting a man, which was a win-win situation for the one relatively attractive male who pitched up. BUT! It’s time to put all this talent to some use, and I’ve decided to start some ‘themed’ café sessions – I’ll let you know how it goes.
But, oh my God, big big news! Nathan Browne (as in, the Nathan Browne from Browne’s Good Food Guides) is coming to the café at some point over the next month. This is a big deal. If our little café gets a page in Browne’s guide, Casey and Shep will be completely sorted. And what’s even more amazing is that Nathan Browne himself is coming – yes, Nathan Browne, here, at this café, eating my cupcakes! We’ve been told to expect him ‘at some point’ before April 15th which means I’ll have to sharpen up my act because Nathan expects originality. Anya does the savoury stuff at the moment, but I think her menu is a little bit too original, if you know what I mean (unless he doesn’t mind getting stoned). I’m soooo excited.
Love, Aggie
P.S. I haven’t had a reply from Gethyn this week and I’m concerned I may have crossed a line. Is he cross with me?
P.P.S. Eh? The Bee Gees? I thought you said he was thirty-seven, not fifty-seven!
Bluey
From: Polly
To: Agatha
Date: 27 February
Hi, Aggie
Just in case you ever need to know, I can tell you that it’s really quite difficult for an eight stone woman to run on
to a rotors-running helicopter in the desert while carrying a backpack - not much more to say on that subject, but on the plus side it’s quite exciting, really.
Army HQ is a funny old beast to watch. So hierarchical. It’s becoming clear that, for the army officers around me, this time is crucial in terms of their career prospects. The posturing in front of the Chief of Staff is fascinating. The Brigades do this too, on the telebrief – you can hear it in their delivery. But do they want to impress the general or are they trying to prove that their particular field of specialisation has a necessary role in modern warfare? The Paras are desperate for a defining purpose here. The only people who don’t seem to peacock about are the Royal Marines, I don’t suppose they need to. Come the dreaded day, I’m sure all this posturing will fade. I’ve changed my mind about my gender status. I’m very grateful to be a woman – what a blessed relief to live in this world and not have to prove myself as a man.
Love, Polly
Bluey
From: Polly
To: Aggie
Date: 27 February
Hi, Aggie
I’ve just read your latest letter about your mum. I suppose we all wax and wane with our loved ones, but perhaps not quite so much as your mother does. She probably thinks you wax and wane too, although her response is unreasonable, obviously.