MonoMay 2

A Birthday Shock

It was his birthday. James was staring at his second cup of coffee wondering whether he really wanted to celebrate it with his friends tonight. He looked down at Merlot, eager as ever for a walk.
“Do you really want to go for a walk in the rain. You don’t like getting wet.”
History was his life, what his writing was all about, stories of the past. He wasn’t thinking that history might be about to bite him back. Having just hit forty, he finally admitted that he might just now be middle aged. He was fairly fit for his age, walking Merlot every day saw to that. Having become rather taciturn in nature he liked his own company, along with that of his dog. Not that he avoided company, he enjoyed being with other people, but on his own terms. His favourite activity was people-watching, essential for anyone who writes for a living. Recently he had noticed grey streaks beginning to appear in his dark hair, and wasn’t terribly impressed. His home wasn’t in as good a shape as him, definitely in need of attention. Everything in it was from when he bought it twenty years ago, and showing its age. He looked around the kitchen, not dirty but grubby with age. He addressed his thoughts to the dog.
“I guess that’s what you get for living in the past, boy. Nothing ever really changes, or gets much attention.”
Which he was fully aware was exactly where he had been living for twenty years, ever since she had disappeared, never to be seen again, at least by him.

Thinking back, he’d had high hopes. There had seemed to be a future. He had, in her, someone he loved, and could discuss his writing with. But that had all disappeared so quickly like bathwater down the plughole. He had been left without the enthusiasm for anything other than his writing. He heard the rattle of the letterbox.
“Go get the post Merlot.”
He noticed a distinct lack of enthusiasm. That would only come when James picked up his lead.
“No, I suppose it will only be bills and junk mail, there’s never anything interesting these days.”
He finished his coffee, and noticed that the rain had stopped and the sun was reappearing.
“Want to go for a walk lad?”
Finally this brought about some animation in his dog, with much tail wagging at the prospect of a walk. Merlot was a Springer Spaniel, Border Collie cross, and James could almost swear that one of these days the damned dog would answer him. Getting to the door he picked up the post and put it on the side table, planning to check it later.

Once he had finished his favourite woodland walk, and Merlot had run a few miles, James rewarded himself with a newspaper. It was lunchtime by the time James returned. As he came through the hall he picked up the post from the side table and carried it into the kitchen. He threw the post on the table and made himself a sandwich. There would be nothing interesting there. Anyway he was thinking about the next chapter of his manuscript.
“Well, I suppose that I still have the writing, lad. That keeps us fed, and me out of mischief.”
As he sat down at the table with his sandwich, he noticed an odd-looking letter in the pile. A plain brown envelope. No stamp or postmark. Just his name and address. He opened it, and found another envelope wrapped in a piece of paper inside. As he pulled it out, it became apparent that it was from the people at the Post Office apologising for the late delivery of a letter.

He picked up the other envelope, and realised that the only easily readable thing was the postmark, and the date was his birthday twenty years before. Something was nagging about the date, the fifteenth of May 1979, his birthday. Of course, he thought it’s the day after she went to look after her grandmother, twenty years ago yesterday. Most people’s association with that date being that it was just a few days after Margaret Thatcher became the first female Prime Minister. James thought of that period in much more personal terms. He tried to read the handwriting, but the years of dust and dirt made it almost illegible. Maybe it had spent all these years behind a radiator. All he could vaguely read was his surname and the street number of his house. That was probably how they worked out where to deliver it. But, there was something else pulling at the strings of his mind. He showed it to the dog.
“What do you think, Merlot? Does this look familiar”.
It was as if he should know who it was from, but couldn’t quite bring it to mind. It was obviously someone he knew back then but couldn’t place. Merlot looked up, sniffed it, thought can’t eat it, and put his nose back on his paws.

James opened this envelope, which revealed a single page of paper. Unfolding this page gave him quite a shock. The handwriting was unmistakeably that of Kate, who had seemingly disappeared all those years ago. He wasn’t sure that he wanted to read this. He was sure that it was to tell him that she never wanted to see him again. I got that message loud and clear he thought. He put the letter aside, and looked at Merlot, who returned a stare.
 “Oh, alright then”.
He picked the letter up. After all, he’d already come to terms with the situation. There could be nothing in this letter that he didn’t already know. The content was to be his second shock of the day.

My dearest James,
I have just finished your book ‘A Night in a Tent’. I hadn’t realised that you wrote it from lived experience. In answer to your question of a few days ago, yes, of course I will marry you. I was beginning to think that you would never ask. I was planning to tell you on your birthday, but things have conspired against that. We will make plans when I get back from staying with grandma. I have talked to her about it, and she is more enthusiastic than my parents appear to be. You have grandma’s number. Ring me when you get this letter. I need to hear your voice.
I have only been here a day and am missing you terribly already. I really didn’t want to come and look after grandma because it means two weeks away from you. Grandma says that it will pass quickly. I hope she is right. I don’t mind being with grandma because I love her very much. But I do mind being away from you, and our talks about your writing.
I know it will be late, but Happy Birthday.
Many hugs,
Many kisses,
And every inch of my love,
xxxxxxx
Kate

James was confused by this, he had been thinking one thing, but had ended up reading the very opposite of what he had been expecting to read.
“Christ Merlot, I had no idea what she was thinking. Why did she just disappear? Why didn’t she talk to me? Why didn’t I talk to her?”
Such were the questions, his mind in turmoil, thinking about what might have been, about that lost opportunity. Twenty years ago, he had understood her continued absence, and silence, as rejection. James never had taken rejection particularly well. He had never tried to find her again. He had known what the outcome would be, and talking to her would have been painful, and would have confirmed what he already knew – or thought he knew. So he didn’t even try. She had walked away. So be it. Now all that had been turned on its head with the return of his feelings for her, and the feelings of loss that he felt back then.

James was aware of what the consequences of this letter getting lost had been. But, would it being found also have consequences? What could he do? Questions, but no answers. The consequences of Kate’s disappearance were that he withdrew into his own world. All he had wanted, and had still wanted until this letter had resurfaced, was his own company, and to maintain his solitary existence. This letter surfacing raised all sorts of questions about why he had never made contact, after all she had given him the number – probably in the expectation of a phone call. Why didn’t I use it?, he thought.
“Christ lad, was I such an idiot back then?”
Gradually he came to the realisation that the past, in which he had been living, was a past constructed in his own mind without any justification.

James now had a dilemma. Things could change. Did he want them to change? Even if he did how could achieve it? Such questions, and memories, were racing around his head.
“I know, my friends would tell me to let sleeping Merlots lie. That’s sort of what I think as well.”
Merlot looked up at the mention of his name, unsure about why he had been spoken to as it wasn’t walkies time yet.
“What should I do, lad? Just ignore it?”
But, given the content of the letter, would that bring closure, or would it just ferment, as his mind had for the last twenty years? He didn’t know the answer, nor did he know where to find it. He couldn’t talk to her family. He had no idea where they were now, or even if they were alive or dead. ‘Where do I start to unravel this puzzle?’, he asked himself. He realised that even though he knew how to research a story, he actually had no idea where to start in real life. The more he thought about it, the more one question became dominant in his mind. Do I want to find Kate, and find some answers? Yet another question without an answer. He didn’t know, and couldn’t contemplate it.

Now his mind was running in a continuous loop, the same thoughts were going round and round in circles. James knew that he had to do something to break the cycle. Writing was the only way he knew to do that. Sitting down at his desk, he returned to his manuscript and thought his way back into the story. A Waif at Sea, the story of a young lad who went to sea in the late eighteenth century. The idea came from a notebook which he had stumbled across in a second-hand bookshop. A Victorian gentleman had obviously had an idea but had done nothing with it. James did much research into ships of the time, becoming familiar with the terminology he would need. As always when he started to write, and the words began to flow, James was reengaged with his manuscript. These were occasions when time no longer existed for him.

It was only when Merlot came looking for him, eager for his evening visit to the garden, that James stopped writing, satisfied with his progress, having finished one chapter and started another. He looked at the time. Where the hell had that gone. It was past eight o’clock. Right, some food, he thought, then maybe finish this chapter off before bed. He went to the kitchen, let Merlot into the garden, and decided that soup and a roll would be sufficient. While the soup was heating he made himself a pot of coffee. Whilst he was finishing his soup he was staring at the letter there on the table. He came to a decision.
“You know what Merlot? I know who will have some answers.”
He had the idea of going to see his detective friend Peter the next day. He thought that if anyone might have an idea about how to approach this knotty problem it would be Peter.

He now had the end of this chapter clear in his mind. It would be good if he could get this finished tonight. He had decided against the pub. The pub and his friends would be there tomorrow and his birthday could be celebrated then. He headed back to his desk. Over an hour had passed when he heard a knock at the door. He looked at the time and at Merlot, snoozing in his basket. Gone ten.
“Who the hell calls on us at this time of night?”
He chose to ignore it. There it was again, oh, go away, he thought. And again, this time much louder and more insistent. It was obvious that they were not going to go away, and that he would have to see who it was.  Eventually, he stood up and went out into the hall. More knocking. He went to the door and pulled it open, ready to give whoever it was a right royal earful. But he was struck speechless, because there, on his doorstep, was Kate. History had finally bitten him back.