Six months after New Orleans
Dear Iris,
I saw the photos in the press and I can believe and also can’t believe that you were the person who took them. You’re so fucking talented, I can believe it, but at the same time I can’t believe that I know the person who photographed the King and Queen. Whatever anyone’s take is on the royal family, being their photographer is just a little bit special.
How does it feel? Have your bookings gone mad? Do I still get my author headshots done?
I’ll be in London at the end of October. I’m in the position now where I don’t have to attend the opening of a fridge to get my name out there, so life feels slower. Better.
I’ve spent more time with my brothers than ever before, and tons of time with Elias since Elsie was born, who seems totally chilled with the fact he’s got a sister. Mainly because I don’t think he’s aware of her. He’s crawling away and babbling incessantly. I don’t think it’s going to be long until he’s on his feet and walking – he keeps trying to.
Elsie’s cute and looks just like her brother, just smaller. They’re reusing his newborn clothes, but they’re just a bit too big for her, which makes her look cuter. Ruby’s doing amazing and Finn is slightly less like a helicopter this time which means he might live a bit longer.
Freya and Roe are getting married in three weeks, which coincides with some anniversary that they don’t tell the rest of us about so I suspect that it’s to do with something that proves my twin isn’t always a grumpy fucker. I suspect that the wedding will precede another niece or nephew because Freya hasn’t taken her eyes off Elsie since she’s been born. According to Ruby, she’s asked her to send about six photos a day and I’m sure that one’s Freya’s wallpaper on her phone.
Clover’s also pregnant, so if you do come to Puffin Bay, there might be a chair to avoid or something. There’s definitely something in the air.
I have a second date this week – is this something we should be still talking about given we know each other carnally now? Let me know. I need guidance on this subject.
Mavis is back to her gossiping, know-it-all best. I still see her most days, usually for brunch as neither of us are breakfast people. She’s had me sort a path from the road to my house so her buggy can get down there safely, so some days she just turns up and demands to be let in and that I cook for her. About once a week, I go to hers and she usually makes kedgeree which I didn’t like at first, but now I’ve developed a taste for it. Apparently, she was taught to make it by her great-grandmother, who also grewup in Puffin Bay. Mavis is something like the tenth generation to live there in her family, which is why her stories are becoming more and more interesting in terms of the history of them. She’s gutted her son didn’t stay in the town but understands why, but she’s loving having this little group of babies and toddlers in the town – I think it’s given her reason to keep on living for a few more years.
We had the Callaghans and Greens over last weekend, which was nothing other than madness. That meant there were fourteen cousins, including me and my brothers, plus thirteen partners and enough children to set up a new school. Luckily, the weather was fine, so everyone spent most of their time on the beach with the kids playing and the adults talking. My mam was there, plus her brother and sister, my Aunt Marie, who gets more hilarious by the day. It was the first time since Imogen (one of my Green cousins) got married that everyone has all been together and it was spectacular. I’ll message you some photos so you can see the size of our mad family. There aren’t many words for how nutty they are or what things are like when everyone, or just some of us, are together.
I’m glad we’re okay. I was worried that perfect night might stop the rest of it, and I’d rather have the rest of it.
Love,
Gully
Ten Months after New Orleans
Dear Gully,
Sorry it’s been such a long time. I know we’ve spoken and sent messages so I don’t feel like I’ve neglected you, but a combination of things being madness here and I guess I wantto tell you something about me and I know you’re going to kick yourself and I don’t want you to.
First about the madness. The photo has rocked my professional world. I’m in demand and it’s amazing. I’m loving every second and I can’t believe it’s happening to me.
Secondly, I suspect you’ve seen that I was the photographer for the official Christmas card of the Prince and Princess of Wales – hence more madness.
I’m almost booked up solid through next year and into the following year, which is a little scary because there are other things I want to do and prioritise, but like my agent says, I need to ride the crest of this wave and be selective about the projects I choose. I need to choose them though.
The bit I should’ve told you and didn’t.
I can’t have children. I can carry children, so IVF is a very, very real option, but I went through early menopause at the age of eighteen. I have to take medication, hormone replacement therapy, else I’ll have bigger issues with things like osteoporosis and such, but it means biologically I can’t have my own children as I have no eggs. It was a bit of a surprise to say the least, and although my heart didn’t break then, it’s felt since like my heart was being gently eroded every time I remembered what I couldn’t have. It felt unfair, a loss even though I hadn’t had anything to lose, and some days that felt worse.
Ivy did me a solid when she found out. She had some of her eggs harvested and frozen, and that was after doing the legal work so they were for me, unless I released them. I’ve checked with the solicitor who set all this up and found out that even though she’s died, I can still use those eggs if and when I want a baby.
So me getting pregnant isn’t as easy as sitting on a chair. I think I’ve mentioned before that I couldn’t have kids – I’m at peace with that because I’ve had years to get used to it andtherapy, which I didn’t bother with at first, because at eighteen I wasn’t thinking about the prospect of getting pregnant and having a family, but in my mid-twenties when my best friend from school was glowing with her first pregnancy, I felt it then.
Ivy had already had her eggs frozen, so if I have a child, it will share my DNA, and hers.
I can’t tell you how that makes me feel now. For some reason – maybe it’s because of the amount of babies your family’s producing – I’ve been thinking about it more.
My sister left me the greatest gift she could ever have done.
Finding someone to fertilise those eggs could be a problem though. I went on a date last night and it crashed and burned within half an hour. I’m using a dating app, which I was hoping would be easier than picking someone up in a bar but the results so far have been unfruitful. The guy last night was nothing like his photo. He looked like his mother had dressed him, if his mother was a nineteen fifties housewife and was almost a head shorter than me and yeah, I’ll leave the rest there apart from saying he wasn’t my type.
I got out of there quickly, which he was confused about as I had a ton of messages afterwards accusing me of all sorts and of being a generally horrible person. It wasn’t pleasant.
