That was the most amazing weekend ever. I decided that I was going to write you a letter, so I could stop ranting at Ben about how I feel about you and tell the person in question instead. By doing it this way you aren’t forced to give a polite-to-my-face, in-the-moment answer to my question. You can pack your bags, flee Penmenna and rue the day you agreed to stay at mine. Or just ignore the letter, behave as if it had never been written, and I will know, wordlessly, to back off.
I figure I can be honest in a letter, and by doing that we won’t have the misunderstandings and the miscommunications that plague so many friendships and relationships.
Here goes.
This weekend was awesome. I may have said that already, but it bears repeating. I would like to have more weekends like it, lots more like it. And preferably before July. I know that pretending nothing has happened until the end of term was what we agreed, and you’re right: it’s very sensible. But you know what? I want to stamp on Very Sensible, ball it all up and hurl it over a cliff. I want to do Not Very Sensible, I want to shout from the rooftops about our weekend and I don’t want to spend the next six weekends of term wishing you were here with me, or I was there with you.
I want to be with you properly. I want to be in a relationship with you and I would love that to start now. I don’t want to miss out on any time we could spend together. You’ve told me how you want your Happily-Ever-After to be forever, and I think you and I could be that. Really, I do. This letter is to ask if you do too?
This may sound like it’s come out of the blue, like the ravings of a madman. The latter may be true but the former definitely isn’t. From the day of my interview when I met you in the car park all big bunny paws and fluffy tummy, I was a bit smitten. That morphed into a massive crush. Why?
Because I love the way you light up every room when you enter it; the way you tackle everything life throws at you with tenacity and a never-ending cheerfulness; the way you sing all the time as you work – loudly and very very off-key – and are completely unaware you’re doing it, lifting everyone’s hearts as they hear you; the way you crinkle your nose when you laugh and the way every emotion you feel is displayed all over your face. I love that you are utterly true to yourself and at the same time cherish and protect those around you. And I swear there is no one on the planet who rocks spandex with the verve that you do. This list could go on forever but I don’t want to freak you out more than I already am.
So, it would seem that I am a hopeless romantic and one who is hopelessly devoted to you – yes, I wrote that so you could sing it. We both know you just did. And I am really, really hoping you feel the same about me.
So I leave you some choices: you can ignore all of this and I shall back-off, understanding that you do not feel the same and are mortified at getting this letter, or you can find any way you like (words, semaphore, face paints) to let me know that you are quite keen to spend a lot more time with me before the end of term and very definitely outside of work, and if some of that involves stripping me naked and doing bad things then know I am here and I am keen.
Pippa, you are ace.
All my love,
Kam.
Breath seemed to have left Pippa’s body as she read through the letter. Once she had finished it she sat there, back still against the rock, waves still breaking on the beach, trying to catch a breath, any breath. It was as if it had all been taken from her and she was in shock. There was such a swirl of emotions whirling around her head, around her whole body, that she didn’t know what to do, how to respond. She lay her phone down on her lap and on top of the letter and found she was now gulping great big breaths of air.
This was ridiculous.
Eventually she regained control of herself, slowing her breathing down, tying it to the rhythm of the waves. She tried to use some of the mindfulness techniques that she and Lottie had practised. She spent a minute or two dragging her mind back from the contents of the letter to the way her body was feeling, focusing upon the sand under her fingers, until she was calm enough to consider what the letter in front of her was saying. She felt the breath playing across her lips as she picked up the piece of paper and read it again, just to double check that she wasn’t imagining this.
Wow.
Chapter Forty-five
Wow.
This was still the word on her lips as she fell asleep that night, and awoke again the next morning.
Wow.
She had seriously screwed up.
She didn’t dare count the weeks that Kam had been waiting for an answer from her, waiting for her to say ‘Yes please’, screw her clothes into a ball and do all sorts of things that were very definitely not suitable for a school setting.
Which, thanks to Sheila, she hadn’t done, hadn’t known he was waiting, had just thought he was being an arsehole when he was clearly hurting like mad and assuming her silence was a cold-hearted rejection of all that he was offering. What must he think of her?
No one had ever written her a love letter before, although her brief spate of internet dating had indicated that many men thought dick pics were an acceptable declaration of interest.
Not only was this a love letter, but it was written by a man she had been prepared to take a gamble on, a man for whom she’d been prepared to overcome her fear that no one would ever give her what her parents had, a man she knew she would choose to spend her life with if a genie ever came down and granted her three wishes. The first two of course would go on things of global importance, like world peace etc., and maybe an endless wardrobe. But the third, the third she would have definitely used to get herself Kam. And now, now… ooooohh, she could scream with frustration.
The obvious thing to do was to get out of bed, stop beating herself up and peg it over to Treporth Bay, or better still to Ben’s surf hostel in Newquay where he’d actually be, and screech ‘Yes, yes, yes’ at him. Although maybe an explanation first of why she was shouting that would be better. An explanation and an apology.
If Sheila hadn’t been so damn lovely Pippa might have felt like killing her right now, stretching her innards across Penmenna, like the bunting already up and on display, and winding a bit around the knitted squids on the lampposts. Mind you, Pippa didn’t think she’d actually enjoy the practicalities of that and anyway, everyone had stopped getting cross with Sheila years ago. She was reliably unreliable but meant well, it was just fact. Getting angry with her was tantamount to cruelty and would achieve nothing other than a prolonged bout of self-loathing.
Which it appeared she was engaging in anyway.
Her phone sat on the bedside table beeped and she grabbed it, praying with all her heart that it was Kam telling her he simply couldn’t live without her.
Help me! Mum is driving me crazy.
