Mac stared at the letter on the doormat. It wasn’t possible. Was it?
He bent down and picked it up, his eyes scanning the neat, loopy handwriting, his fingers gently caressing the expensive-looking envelope. Had it got lost in the post? His mother had been gone for months now. Surely, even the post in Kelsea Sands wasn’t that unreliable?
He checked the postmark and frowned. This had been posted on Friday 24 April. It couldn’t be from his mother. Well, of course it couldn’t.
What’s wrong with you, you moron? She’d hardly have written a letter to you addressed to Watersmeet, would she?
But who then?
He carried it through to the kitchen and sat down, staring at it for a moment before finally starting to open it, carefully, gently, bit by bit. It was too beautiful to be torn open like a bill or an appointment letter.
Carefully he pulled out the piece of paper inside. It wasn’t the same as the ones his mother had written all those letters on, but it was similar enough. Good quality writing paper, and the actual writing itself… Not a fountain pen, but some sort of gel pen, he guessed. Still, it was lovely handwriting.
His eyes scanned the contents of the letter, his pulse racing and his heartbeat quickening as he did so.
Dear Dad,
Thanks for your letter. It was quite a shock to receive it and I’m sorry it’s taken me so long to reply, but as you can imagine I’ve had to think about what I wanted to say to you.
Like you said, it’s been a long, long time. You say you never stopped loving us or thinking about us, but from where we’re standing it’s not that easy to believe it, you know? It’s always felt to us like we no longer existed as far as you were concerned. It hurt. It still does if I’m being really honest with you.
A couple of years ago, Mum told us all about your gambling. We didn’t know. They’d never said anything about it at the time. All we knew was that you’d walked out and left us, and Terry took us in. He’s been really good to us. Like a proper dad. I can’t tell you he hasn’t.
Anyway, when Mum finally told us the truth, we were shocked. Wyatt says it doesn’t make any difference and it’s no excuse for what you did. But I read up on gambling addiction after Mum told us, and I sort of think it wasn’t all your fault. Addiction’s like an illness, isn’t it? A disease.
I’m really glad to hear that you’re not doing that any more, and that you’ve made a new life for yourself at Watersmeet. I’m sorry about Grandma MacMillan. She was nice. I wish I’d seen more of her, but I guess it’s too late now.
You might like to know that Mum and I are in partnership. We run a property development company. We buy up houses and flats, do them up and sell them on. Terry’s retired, and he sold the business and helped us set up ours. He says he’s quite happy to sit back and let us keep him in the style to which he’s become accustomed, haha!
Wyatt’s not part of all that, but he doesn’t want me to discuss him or what he does. He’s not ready for any communication with you yet, so I have to respect that. He takes his time, but he usually gets there in the end. Sorry, but it’s up to him, you see?
Anyway, I think that’s all I wanted to say for now. This feels really strange to be honest, but I’m glad you reached out.
Maybe one day I’ll come up to Kelsea Sands and see this amazing Watersmeet for myself? Auntie Stella always said it was beautiful, and I’ve looked it up on Google Maps, which isn’t exactly the same but it’s a start. It looks really cool.
Let’s just stay in touch and see how it goes, okay? I’m glad you’re well and I hope to hear from you again soon.
Take care.
Sarah xx
Mac closed his eyes, holding the piece of paper to his face and inhaling the scent of it. This was from his daughter. His flesh and blood. He’d never thought to hear from her again, but she’d written to him. He’d given her his mobile number, thinking she’d text him at best, but she’d written an actual letter, just like his mum used to.
His throat burned and tears pricked his eyes. She hadn’t slammed the door on him. She’d said she wanted to stay in touch. That maybe one day she’d even come and see him. He could hardly believe it.
He put the letter down on the table, buried his head in his hands and let the tears fall.
Carne let out an excited yap and Mac wiped his eyes as he looked down at the little dog, who was dancing around his legs, his tail wagging frantically.
‘Don’t get upset,’ he told him. ‘You know I’ll be okay. It’s not the first time you’ve seen me cry, is it?’
Carne yapped again and Mac shook his head and looked up. He froze, wondering if he was hallucinating. Standing in the kitchen doorway was Alison.
‘I did knock on the front door,’ she said, ‘but no one answered, so I thought you might be with the animals.’
Carne danced around her like a mad circus dog.
So that’s what you were trying to tell me.
