“I must admit, Anna intrigues me. It’s not often that we have so very little information in the church on our guests.” He chuckled at the use of his words.
I’d begun to think the gentleman I’d seen wasn’t Lincoln after all, although I still had an elderly man in my mind when I pictured him. I thought back on his last letter and the sadness I’d picked up from his words. I was due to write to him and wondered if it would be right to ask him to meet me. Would it dispel the mystery around him? I appreciated his letters, his words comforted me, and although I was concerned for him, if I met him would we get on in real life?
We arrived back at the house, and I gave Daniel a smile in thanks for walking me home.
“Well, here we are. Thank you for spending the evening with me. It was nice to get out and it not be a work call,” he said.
I reached for my pad. I enjoyed myself; I didn’t think I would, so thank you for inviting me.
“We’ll have to do it again some other time,” he said. He gave me a smile before leaving.
The hallway and the kitchen light were left on, but I suspected Dad had already gone to bed. He seemed to retire to his bedroom earlier and earlier lately. I made my way to the kitchen and switched the kettle on to boil. The glass of wine had left me with a dry mouth. I made my tea, patted Lucy on the head, and then took my mug upstairs.
Once I’d changed into my pyjamas, I pulled a wrap around me and snuggled into the chair by the window. I placed the tea on the small wooden table and picked up my writing pad.
Lincoln,
I can’t help but detect sadness in your last letter and I’m concerned about you. I don’t know if you have friends locally, but if you ever felt you’d like to meet up, I’d enjoy that. I felt the loneliness in your words, although I might be way off the mark. Forgive me if I am. I know you said that it’s Anna’s anniversary coming up, and I wondered if you’d like some company on that day? I’d hate to think of you sitting alone. You’ve become important to me, your words have given some clarity to the mess that is my mind, and I’d like to think I could be a friend to you.
I went to the pub tonight with Daniel, and Miller was there. I hope you don’t think I’m gossiping, but they don’t seem to get on, and that worries me, too. They’re brothers, and as much as I’d like to see if I can help to repair their relationship, I think it would be seen to be interfering. Sometimes, I feel that Miller doesn’t approve of any time I spend with Daniel, and I don’t know why. I don’t think we have the kind of relationship where I could ask why. After all, I guess he is just my builder, and although he’s friendly, and I find him great to be around, he does keep his distance. I think I’m just trying too hard, hoping to be friends with them both.
I heard some terrible news. My sister-in-law is, or was, having an affair. My brother is devastated. He opened up a little to me, but I can sense there’s so much more he’d like to say. We’re twins, I can feel when he’s not right. That was the strangest thing to get to grips with when we were children. It’s like a sixth sense that we have. More that I have, I guess.
I’m rambling on, aren’t I? I meant what I wrote, if you’d like some company, I’d be honoured to be your friend.
Dani.
I read the letter a couple of times, hoping that I didn’t come across as someone needy for a friend. My sentiment was genuine; I wanted to get to know the man behind the words.
I folded the letter and placed it in the envelope, ready for leaving in the honesty box the following morning. As I climbed into bed, I thought of Miller and his strange behaviour. A little nagging doubt crossed my mind. Was he upset that I was spending time with Daniel? Maybe he felt there was a reason that I shouldn’t. Daniel had said that Miller felt he hadn’t supported him enough and curiosity was burning a hole in my mind.
Chapter Twelve
“I think we should get a Christmas tree,” Dad announced over breakfast.
It’s three weeks away yet, it won’t live that long, I wrote on my pad.
“I don’t mean right now. I’ve been using that old plastic one your mum bought years ago. Half the branches are missing; it’s a semi-bald tree stump now. There must be a tree farm, or wherever one gets a real tree from, locally.”
There is a field of Christmas trees somewhere along the Atlantic Highway, I remember seeing it.
“We’ll do some investigating. I know they have small ones in the garden centre, but let’s go all out this year.”
I wasn’t sure I wanted to go ‘all out’ but I understood that Dad was trying to distract me from any negative thoughts. If it were up to me, I’d just stay in bed all day and ignore it.
“I mean, if you want to, of course,” he added.
If you want a real tree, we’ll get a real tree. It will be nice to spend some time to decorate it. You have decorations, I take it?
“Somewhere, probably in the loft. I think I’ll have a look later today.” His smile was broad.
The ringing of the telephone distracted him and I watched him walk to the hallway. I inwardly chuckled that he’d sit in that hallway on the old-fashioned telephone table and talk on the cordless phone.
“That was Christian, he’s driving down today. He didn’t sound good at all. I think he plans on staying over for a couple of nights. I’ll have to get the spare room sorted.”
Dad seemed flustered and I wondered if Christian had said any more in their telephone conversation.
I’ll help, what needs doing? I wrote.
“The bed might need a change, I can’t remember when it last was, not that anyone has slept in it for ages.”
I placed my hand on his arm and patted my chest. I wanted him to know I’d do that. I headed upstairs to what had been Christian’s childhood bedroom. It had since been decorated many times, from memory. As I passed the linen cupboard, I grabbed some fresh bedding.
I opened the bedroom window, just to blast a little fresh air into the otherwise stuffy room. The radiator had been left on full and the room felt very oppressive. Once I’d changed the bed linen, I closed the window and decided to give them a wipe over. I didn’t think they’d been cleaned in a while. A layer of dust covered each surface, and yet again, guilt flowed over me that I hadn’t been the best at helping around the house. I heard a bumping up the stairs and went to look. Dad was dragging the vacuum cleaner behind him, and also holding a bucket of cleaning items. I took the vacuum from him. Between us, we cleaned up the room.
“That’s a little more welcoming,” Dad said once we’d finished.
I didn’t have a pad close by so could only smile. Dad patted my shoulder as we left the room. I decided I’d give the other rooms a quick go over and took the cleaning bucket from Dad. I ushered him to the top of the stairs, so he’d know to go and relax and let me get on with it.
It took me a half hour to clean the bathroom and my bedroom. I hesitated outside Dad’s bedroom door, trying to remember the last time I’d been in that room. I took a deep breath and pushed open the door. His bed was neatly made and standing proud on his bedside cabinet were photographs of him and Mum, Christian, and me. There was one photograph, a close up of my mum smiling, that was the closest to bed. I could imagine my dad wishing my mum a goodnight, just before he would reach over and turn off the lamp.
I gave the room a vacuum, dusted, and fluffed up the cushions on the bed. The room had a familiar scent, a flowery perfume. Memories flooded my mind, I remembered my mother smelling that way. On the bedside cabinet was an old bottle of perfume, it was nearly empty and I wondered if that had belonged to my mum. Perhaps Dad sprayed it in the room to remind him of her. I made a mental note of the perfume.
Later that afternoon, just as the sun was starting to lower, I heard the sound of a car pull onto the driveway. I looked over to Dad, who was reading his newspaper for the second time that day.
That might be Chris, I wrote, tapping his newspaper to get his attention.