Chapter 12
12
JONATHAN
M y package from Zane arrives with the weekly groceries on Thursday and, when I go down to the kitchen to collect it after class, I find Ray at the table, poring over a letter. A half-peeled onion is at their elbow, beside a half-finished cup of coffee. They’re so intent upon the letter that they don’t even seem to notice me until I say hello.
“Parcel’s in the cellar.” They jerk a thumb over their shoulder. “Access via the pantry.”
Ray’s generally so sweet and bubbly. This terseness doesn’t seem like them at all. Have I done something to offend them?
Or… could they have discovered the truth about me? Would Zane have said something on the label that gave me away? My gut clenches, as it does every time I remember my lie. It’s become too easy to forget.
“Is… is something the matter?” I ask Ray.
I don’t want to be nosy, so when they press their lips together and shake their head, I leave them be.
The pantry is a dim, narrow room with wooden shelves. There are enough supplies here in tins and bags to probably see us through the whole pandemic. It reminds me of a bomb shelter. At the far end, a steep flight of steps leads down into the cellar.
The space below ground level is cool and smells like stone. It’s the sort of place that might have been used for cold storage once. Now, electric lights are installed on the ceiling. There’s a wine rack, housing some dust-covered bottles, and piles of supplies stacked up below a set of cellar doors. That must be where Ray accepts the weekly deliveries. I spot my box and retrieve it. A cold breeze prickles my neck, and I’m nearly convinced I hear someone move behind me. I spin around. Nothing.
Ghosts do not exist.
Back in the kitchen, Ray’s still got their head down. Now they’re scribbling notes on a pad. They rip the page they’re busy with out and crumple it up, then make a low growling noise.
I set my box on the table, debating whether I should open it here or rather leave them be. “Are you all right?”
“Everything’s fine. Peachy keen.” The way they say it though, voice deep and low, makes it seem like things are anything but.
I lift my box again. “Sorry, I’ll leave you alone.”
Ray looks up, sighs deeply. “No, I’m sorry.” They shake their head. “It’s this letter from Davy.”
Their husband. They mentioned him before and we laughed about how he was a legitimate Davy in the navy. I take a seat. “Trouble?”
“No. He’s—” Ray rests their chin on their hand. “He spends a lot of time at sea, right? He’s gone for months at a time, leaving me on my lonesome. Now, I’m not one to complain! I like my freedom just fine. And this all works for us. Perfect marriage. We’re around each other just long enough to get sick of each other. But, you see, in those in-between times when he’s off sailing, we generally at least speak to each other. We video call or email. You know?”
“But there’s no signal here.”
“Precisely. I agreed to come help Beast out since Davy would be away over this time. And here’s me, thinking it will be romantic to write letters like it’s olden times. I don’t know where my mind was at.”
I cringe. “Takes long distance to a new level.”
“Tell me about it. Here’s the problem, though. Turns out Davy’s excellent at it. Like, the man can write . I never knew. I’ve been married to him for sixteen years and I never knew. And he writes these… these masterpieces. Love letters like I’ve never seen in my life. And me? I’m like: Today I made onion soup. The eldest child liked it. Oh, and we had a storm again. The Beast is grouchy. The sky is blue. Lots of love!”
They chuck the pad across the table. I retrieve it. “I’m sure he loves those updates. He won’t mind how they’re written. All he wants is to hear from you.”
“His letter is eight pages. With a poem .” Ray whimpers and buries their head in their hands.
“What if I help you?”
They peek out. “This sounds like the plot of one of those romance novels.”
“I promise not to fall in love with Davy.” I offer a smile. “And you can always be upfront and say you got help. Come on, what did you want to say? The thing about the onion soup?”
“It’s terrible.”
“No it’s not. All you need to do is elaborate.” I start writing and push the pad back to Ray.
Ray squints at it. “It rained today for the third time this week. I made a hearty onion soup using some new spices I ordered online. It was received particularly well by Alisha, our eldest foster. I can’t wait to make it for you when you return.” They look up at me. “This isn’t terrible.”
“If you wanted to make it even more romantic, you could say how much the rainy weather made you wish Davy was here so you could enjoy it together, cuddled by the fire. You could make him his favorite dish and?—”
Adam walks in. He stops abruptly in the doorway upon seeing me. “I, uh.” He points at the coffee machine.
“Yes, yes, go ahead,” Ray says. They lean forward towards me. “Will you write that down?”
I accept the pad back. “What’s his favorite dish?”
“Man likes oysters. Can you believe?”
“Hmm, oysters by the fire. Not much of a ring. Anything else?”
“Oh! Irish coffee. He loves a good Irish coffee.”
“Perfect.” I try to ignore Adam’s presence behind me as he moves around, making himself a drink. “How’s this? ‘It’s been raining every day this week and I can’t stop thinking about you and imagining you’re here with me. There’s this fireplace in the kitchen. In the quiet hours, when the children are otherwise occupied and I am left alone with my thoughts, my mind turns to you and I imagine us sitting there, wrapped up together, sipping Irish coffees like we used to.’”
“Holy shit,” Ray says. “Keep going. I want to read this letter.”
I laugh. “You’ll have to customize it. Add in some specific memories. What else do you want to tell him about?”
“Well, I don’t know. It’s not like there’s much variety in our days here.”
“See, that’s your content right there. ‘Do you ever feel like you’re living the same day over on repeat? Without you here, there isn’t much to mark the passage of time. I long for your touch in a way I can’t express in words.’ You could use an analogy to bring in the weather again. Something along the lines of, ‘As winter melts from the Scottish peaks and spring sweeps the land with color and warmth, I cannot help but feel envious. Life without you is like the harsh Highlands winter, barren and cold.”
Adam drops something. I jump in my seat, heart jerking as I realize what I’ve said. I wasn’t thinking. If I’d crafted a letter with the precise aim of needling at his grief, I could not have done so more effectively.
Zane’s package is a blessing. Not only did he send books on trauma-informed teaching, but he also included some bright posters for the classroom, printed worksheets, books for the children, stickers and a handwritten letter.
Jonathan,
I’ve been thinking about your situation with The Beast and, in short, fuck him.
I blink at the page, heart skipping and cheeks heating.
He clearly knows nothing about kids. You do. I’ve seen you in the classroom and you have good instincts. You should trust them.
Right, not that kind of fuck. Of course not that kind. I blush even harder at my misinterpretation. Why in the world would I even think he meant that?
You were right, Babybel. Those kids need an advocate – they’ve probably never had one before. I shouldn’t have discouraged you. Still think you’re an idiot. But a brave one with a big heart like your pops. Good luck and please call when you can.
Zane
The rush of warm feeling at these words is nearly immediately overtaken by a wave of homesickness so intense I can hardly breathe. Zane isn’t a biological brother, but over the past year—between me job shadowing him and the whole thing with Dad—we’ve grown closer than I’ve ever been with my real brothers. Since he and Sebastian moved into their house up the road from us, they’ve come over for dinner almost every night. Sometimes Lizzy brings my nieces round and sometimes Emma drives in from the city, but mostly it’s been the four of us: Me, Zane, Sebastian and Dad, spending long hours in the living room, swapping stories and talking about nothing.
It’s all too easy to imagine that scene without me. That stings, but the truth hurts even worse. Because while I was in quarantine, the UK went into lockdown. Which means that Dad’s probably stuck in our huge house, completely alone.