That got me a grin. “You’re right. Want to walk?”
I nodded. “Might be a bit slow, but yes. Give me half an hour to have a shower.” I was showering two or three times a day, finding the pressure of the water and the temperature a relief.
It was after the shower when I came back into our bedroom, the crib set up by the bed already, waiting for its occupant, that I saw an envelope, the familiar writing on the front.
I sat down, my towel still wrapped around me, and opened it carefully. We were still writing to each other most days. Sometimes it was just a note, sometimes it was lengthy, it all depended on the day and what we were feeling. I wasn’t sure if it would ever stop – I supposed having a new-born would test the habit given the lack of time we’d likely have.
I started to read, the sound of the sea pattering through an open window.
Dear Iris,
This might be the last time I write before our little girl’s born. I’m not sure how many words I’ll have after that because I think for the first time in my life I’ll be speechless. At least for the first hour.
I know I’ve driven you mad with the nursery. I’ve needed something to do and I can’t start writing a new book because I don’t know how long the pause will need to be before I can start working on it again. I can’t go through what you’re about to. I haven’t been any use over the last nine months while you’ve grown our baby girl, and I’m not going to be much use while you go through labour and give birth. I can do other things though, like decorate and tidy and be there at night or during the day and let you rest and sleep and shower and anything else.
You’re amazing.
I don’t know how else to say it, but you amaze me. Your strength, your kindness, your creativity and energy. Moon is so lucky to have you as her role model.
I’m so lucky to have you.
It feels like a circle is being completed. The first time I met you was at Ivy’s funeral when we were both too overwhelmed to exchange more than a few words. Now, thanks to Ivy, we’ll have our little girl and next year we’ll put the cherry on top and I can’t wait for that either.
I’m so fucking lucky. I wake up and wonder every day what I did to deserve everything I’ve got – then Roe turns up and reminds me what else I have, which is him and he’s not always a blessing.
I joke, but don’t tell him that.
Moving to Puffin Bay was a risk which we decided collectively to take. Now it’s the best decision the three of us have ever made. Our kids will grow up close – whether they likeit or not – and we’ll get to watch them in a place that still makes my heart sing.
But not as much as you.
I don’t think anything will ever be as much as you.
I love you.
Gully
I wiped at my eyes even though there was no point, because the tears weren’t going to stop any time soon. There was also another letter, this one addressed to Moon and I wasn’t sure if Gully had left it there on purpose.
I opened it, just in case he had.
Dear Moon,
Sorry about the name. Your mam and I couldn’t think of a better one for you while we decided on what to call you – which we still haven’t, by the way, and you’re due to arrive any time soon.
I’ve been writing letters to your mam for years now and I don’t think I’ll ever stop. I decided I should probably start writing them to you as well, because there’ll be a time when you don’t want to talk to me, probably when you’re about thirteen, unless you want something. But they’ll also be there for you to read when you’re a grown up and maybe I’m old or not around anymore, because one day that will happen. You can read the letters I sent your mam and know something of our story and how you came to be.
You were always very much wanted and your story isn’t the same as your cousins Elias’ or Elsie’s – ask Uncle Finn about that. Whatever you choose to do, whoever you become, I will love you until the end of time.
I’m waiting for you to be born now, because you’re due today, but you’re not here yet and I don’t think today’s going to be your birthday, if I’m honest. I think we have another couple of days of me pacing round the house like a hen on hot bricks waiting for your mam to go through something horrible and then for you to take your first breaths.
I can’t wait.
I can’t wait to meet you.
I couldn’t wait to meet you.
And we still need to agree on a name. There’s a lady who lives in the town called Mavis, she’s pretty much the unelected town official and she can be scary, but I’ve always gotten on well with her. She’s elderly and I’m not sure if you’ll grow up quick enough to know her. Part of me wants to name you after her, but I’m not sure if you’ll thank me for it when you’re older.
