Chapter 36
36
Dan and I spent a lovely evening cooking together and drinking wine. I didn’t think I’d ever drunk as much as I did than in those few days. It really needed to stop. I managed to avoid the envelope until I went to bed and snuggled under the duvet before I was brave enough to open it.
Nancy,
I hope that being away is helping you to heal. I feel so responsible and still want to explain what happened. Apparently, I’m still a fuckwit, sometimes a cockwomble. Nan manages somehow to smack me round the head most days while calling me one of her new affectionate names and telling me that I have to fight for the things I want in life. I feel like I’ve been fighting for things I’ve wanted all my life. So once again, let a battle commence.
I wish you didn’t feel that you have to be away from the place that you love so much. Driftwood Bay suits you and you suit it. You are perfect for each other and I know how much you are part of this community – this community that I’ve grown to love more over the last couple of months than anywhere I’ve ever lived. I also think you are perfect for me, but I know that right now you don’t even want to think about that, and that you might not ever give me the chance to speak to you in person. But while I still think there’s a chance, I won’t stop trying to change your mind.
I never thought that missing you would be as hard as it is. I know that we’ve not known each other long, and I’m sorry if I’m repeating myself from another letter but I really, really miss you.
I miss the way you flick your hair out of your eyes when you are painting. I miss the way that you poke your tongue out when you are concentrating on something. I miss the way you soften your r’s (or is it rs – I’m no English teacher, you know) when you speak, the way you walk, the way you swing your hips, the way you lick your lips, the way you lick my lips. God, my lips miss you! My whole body misses you. I miss you like the trees miss the leaves, like the desert misses the rain (think that might be a line from a song, but it’s still true).
The thing I miss about you the most (have I mentioned your lips, by the way?) is that I can talk to you for hours about anything and also about nothing. And yes, the irony of that is quite unbelievable, considering what has happened and the fact that I didn’t tell you something really important that was going on in my life and the fact that we are now not talking.
I’m not someone who is used to opening up to people, I’ve put barriers up all my life. But you, Nancy, are so warm and lovely and make me feel so comfortable, and so safe, that I felt like those barriers were coming down. I do feel like I’ve changed a lot since we met. I feel like you’ve shown me a part of myself that I’d shut away for so long that I’d forgotten it was there. The part that used to be full of hope.
Please, please, please, give me the opportunity to explain. There’s still so much I’d like to say and I’m not sure I can capture it all in a letter. I’m not great with words (you may have noticed). Numbers, they’re more my thing. Numbers are my life. Well, they were until I walked through the door of Books In The Bay. Also, writing by hand is really time consuming and makes my hand ache.
I miss you, Nancy. Please call me.
Dennie
X
In my mind’s eye, I could see him sitting on the step of the shop, waiting for me. Perhaps I should call him. But what would I say? The longer the silence went on, the worse it would feel to fill the void. I had no idea how to even start the conversation. I knew that I wasn’t quite ready. Maybe a text would be OK though, just to let him know that I’d read and received his letters and that I was thinking of him. But then would that give him the wrong idea? Would it matter?
He’d made the effort to write, so maybe I should be the one to text.
I picked up my phone and scrolled through the numbers, stopping when I got to his name. I took a deep breath then quickly typed the words.
Dennie. I’m not ready to talk to you yet. You see, I’m still quite furious with you and I think that needs to die down before I’m ready or I don’t think our conversation would be a very constructive one. Please let me take some more time and hopefully soon I might feel like talking. I do, however, want you to know that I miss you too. More than I ever thought possible to miss another person. Who knew that I could feel like this over someone who I hardly know? I suppose what I’m trying to say is that I’m thinking of you. A lot.
When I read it back, it sounded snatched and stilted and didn’t make any sense and I was the one who wrote it. I hastily deleted everything and turned my phone over, not wanting to look at the wallpaper photograph on the home page. It was a selfie of me and Dennie on the beach, blue sky and sea behind us, both in woolly hats and grinning madly at the camera. We’d been litter picking a week ago and I’d only changed it to that photo on the morning after the night he’d stayed over. When everything seemed to be perfect. Before a fabulous day and an end to it when my world imploded.
Sadness seemed to seep through my every pore. It wasn’t insurmountable. Everyone suffers heartbreak at some time in their life, whether it be a pet, a relative, a lover, a spouse. Love was what apparently made the world go round. But right then I wanted to wallow in my sadness and feel really flipping sorry for myself. I’d get over it, but I was going to be a martyr and let my pity party go on for a little bit longer.