Charlie passed over a red envelope with Clara’s name on.
‘Oh, that’s nice. She’s a lovely young lady,’ said Clara to Charlie who was watching her.
‘She thinks the world of you, she does.’ Charlie paused. ‘But then again, doesn’t everyone around here?’
‘Oh, I don’t know about that.’
‘You’re far too modest, Clara. You keep everything together here.’
Clara felt embarrassed by all the praise. ‘Only doing my job.’
‘No, it’s more than that. You’re special and we all love you. Don’t you ever think of leaving us. Nobody would cope without you.’
‘Ha. I’m sure they would cope just fine.’
Clara wondered if Charlie was becoming a bit of a psychic. Either that or he was stalking her every move. Since when had he started going on about her leaving? Clara was convinced he knew something about the job interview she was having tomorrow. After all, the porters all talked, and what if someone had recognised her name on the interview list at Cambridge? Even though Clara was realistic enough to realise that Charlie was probably speaking hypothetically, she knew it was only a matter of time before someone leaked the fact that she was there. Anyone could spot her. As she felt a twinge of last-minute interview nerves, she wished she hadn’t gone ahead and applied. So much for Eleanora saying to go for it, as she might not get anywhere anyhow.
It felt as though the universe wanted her to stay in Oxford when she bumped into Brian and his daughter outside Clara’s favourite second-hand bookshop, near Little Clarendon Street.
‘Good day, Reverend, this is my daughter, Helena. I don’t think you’ve met before.’
‘No, we haven’t. How lovely you’re visiting.’
‘After Dad’s fall, I wanted to get up here as soon as I could. He told me how wonderful you were. I don’t know what he’d do without you.’
Why was everyone telling her this today, of all days? Perhaps people always said nice things to her and only now she was noticing it.
‘It’s nothing. Brian is a very valued member of our congregation. I had to make sure he was okay.’
‘You certainly do that. He looks forward to your services. He didn’t go to church after Mum died. He lost his faith a little after she suffered so much, but you’ve made him believe again. Thank you.’
‘I’m happy to hear that.’
She felt content and smiled to herself, thinking that if she had any more compliments today, she mightn’t be able to fit her head through the doorway by the time she got home.
But her day wasn’t over and whilst she had received her fair share of pleasant surprises so far, when she arrived home, there was a different sort of surprise to come.
Along with the usual junk mail offering her a stairlift or funeral plan – after all, she was over the age of 50 – there was a plain blue envelope addressed to her with a first-class stamp. She didn’t know many people who used the first-class service since the price of postage had risen. Her name and address were in beautiful cursive writing and Clara sat, admiring it for a while. Her own handwriting was much more like something you’d find on a doctor’s prescription. No matter how hard she tried, she worried that it was never legible to anyone except herself. Thank goodness for computers and emails.
Something about the writing made the sender look arty and creative. She remembered how Tom always loved music and talked once of being in a band. He was so creative that it made her think of him. She wondered what he was doing right now and if it would be him who would have sent her a letter. Why not a text message?
Clara unfolded the letter carefully. She noticed the smell of Tom’s aftershave on it before she could read the words. She would know it anywhere.
Dearest Clara,
This is the hardest letter I’ve ever had to write.
Firstly, I should probably thank you again for saving my life. When they say ‘you’re a lifesaver’, I guess that’s what it means. Ha.
I’m digressing already, aren’t I? So, yeah. Time to be serious. Where do I start?
Oh, lovely Clara, I don’t deserve you. But I’m going to try and change. I’m writing this from the St Luke’s Rehabilitation Centre. Pat suggested it would do me some good. I probably need a closer eye on me right now since I’ve proven how easily, after two years of sobriety, I can fall off the wagon. Being home with a supermarket around the corner isn’t a good idea when I am left alone with the demons I carry.
I’m so ashamed about what I have done and I promise I’ll do better. I don’t know how long I’ll be in here for. I mean, how long is a piece of string? I’m determined not to leave until I’m ready though. I need to get better and know for certain that I’ll never have another relapse. I can’t take that chance again. I shudder to think what would have happened to me had you not come along the other night. I’m so sorry to have put you through that. I keep replaying the scene I came home to and I’m utterly horrified that you, lovely Clara, had to see that. It is this that has made me determined to change once and for all.
I ask your forgiveness and I wonder if you might be kind enough to visit me? I would love to see you. I would like to think that when I’m better and finally out of here and get myself together that we can pick up where we left off – well, not the bad part. The bit before that.
I know it’s very early days but all I can think about whilst I’m in here is seeing you again. I’ve been imagining I was back at the picnic with you, or the theatre, and then I remember how you looked that night.
