Page 7 of The Love Letter

‘Truthfully, yes, but in reality, no.’ Joanna put her hands to her face and wiped them up and down her cheeks. ‘The worst thing is, that at times like this you’re meant to react in a dignified manner. If people ask you how you are, you’re meant to brush it off and say, “I’m absolutely fine, thanks. He meant nothing to me anyway and him leaving is the best thing that’s ever happened to me. I’ve so much more time now for myself and my friends and I’ve even taken up basket weaving!” But it’s allrubbish! I’d crawl across burning coals if it would bring Matthew back, so that life can go on like normal. I . . . I . . . love him. I need him. He’s mine, he be-belongs to m-me.’

Simon sat with his arms around her while she sobbed. He stroked her hair gently and listened as the shock, grief and confusion poured out of her. When she was all cried out, he gently released her and stood up. ‘You light the fire while I boil the kettle for some tea.’

Joanna turned on the gas flames in the fireplace and followed Simon into the small kitchen. She slumped down at the Formica table for two in the corner, over which she and Matthew had shared so many lazy Sunday brunches and intimate candlelit suppers. As Simon busied himself making the tea, Joanna gazed at the glass jars lined up neatly along the worktop.

‘I’ve always loathed sun-dried tomatoes,’ she mused. ‘Matthew adored them.’

‘Well.’ Simon took the jar full of the offending tomatoes and tipped them into the bin. ‘That’s one positive thing to come out of this, then. You don’t have to eat them anymore.’

‘In fact, now I think about it, there were lots of things Matthew liked and I just pretended to.’ Joanna rested her chin on her hands.

‘Such as?’

‘Oh, going to see weird, foreign art-house movies on Sunday at the Lumière when I’d have preferred to stay at home and catch up on soaps. Music – that was another thing. I mean, I like classical in small doses, but I was never allowed to play myABBA Goldor Take That CDs.’

‘I hate to admit it, but I’m afraid I’m with Matthew on that one,’ Simon chuckled, pouring boiling water over the teabags. ‘You know, if I’m honest, I always felt Matthew was aspiring to be what hethoughthe should be.’

‘You’re right.’ Joanna sighed. ‘I just wasn’t impressive enough for him. But that’s who I am: just a boring middle-class Yorkshire girl.’

‘I promise you, the one thing you’re not is unimpressive. Or boring. Honest, maybe; down to earth, yes. But those are qualities to be admired. Here.’ He handed her a mug of tea. ‘Let’s defrost by that fire.’

Joanna sat on the floor in front of the fire between Simon’s knees and drank her tea. ‘God, Simon, the thought of going through the dating process all over again is hideous,’ she said. ‘I’m twenty-seven, too old to start afresh.’

‘Yes, you’re ancient, I can practically smell death on you.’

Joanna smacked his calf. ‘Don’t make light of this! It’s going to take me ages to get used to being single again.’

‘The problem with us humans is that we fear and dislike change of any kind. I’m convinced that’s why so many miserable couples stay together, when they’d be far better off apart.’

‘You’re probably right. Look at me, eating sun-dried tomatoes for years! Talking of couples, have you heard from your Sarah?’

‘She sent me a postcard from Wellington last week. She’s learning to sail there, apparently. Wow, it’s been a long year apart. Anyway, she’s back from New Zealand in February, so only a few weeks to go.’

‘You’ve been awfully good to wait for her.’ Joanna smiled at him.

‘“If you love someone, set them free.” Isn’t that the old adage? The way I see it is, if she still wants me by the time she arrives home, then we’ll both know that it’s right and for real.’

‘Don’t bank on it. I thought Matthew and I were “right” and “for real”.’

‘Thanks for your words of comfort.’ Simon raised his eyebrows. ‘Come on now, you have your career, your flat, and me. You’re a survivor, Jo. You’ll come out the other side, you wait and see.’

‘That’s if I still have a job to go back to. The piece I filed on Sir James Harrison’s memorial service was crap. What with Matthew, and my awful cold, and that weird old lady . . .’

‘You say she was living in a room full of tea chests? Are you sure you weren’t delirious?’

‘Yup. She said something about not being here long enough to unpack.’ Joanna bit her lip. ‘Ugh, it smelt so strongly of wee in there . . . Will we be like that when we’re old? The whole thing completely depressed me. I stood in that room thinking that if this was what life brings you to, then what the hell is the point of struggling through anyway?’

‘She’s probably one of those mad eccentrics who lives in a dump and has millions stuffed away in the bank. Or in tea chests for that matter. You should have checked.’

‘She was fine until she looked at this old man in a wheelchair, who came to sit by the opposite pew to us during the service. She totally freaked when she saw him.’

‘Probably her ex-husband. Maybehismillions were stashed away in those tea chests,’ Simon laughed. ‘Anyway, sweetheart, I must be on my way. I’ve got some work to do before tomorrow.’

Joanna followed him to the door and he clasped her to him in a hug. ‘Thanks for everything.’ She kissed him on the cheek.

‘Anytime. I’m always there if you need me. I’ll call you from work tomorrow. Bye, Butch.’

‘Night, Sundance.’