Home > Liars(3)

Liars(3)
Author: Anita Waller

Wendy stroked the envelope. The daisy in the top left-hand corner had a big hand-drawn heart in the middle of it, and she couldn’t help the smile that formed. She eased the envelope flap open, not wanting to rip it, and took out the letter.

Nell’s familiar handwriting flew off the page towards her, and Wendy smoothed the folded paper carefully and placed it on the table. She began to read.

 

Ludicrous! It seemed her best friend was having the time of her life, getting all the sex she wanted, and picking apples! Wendy pushed her chair back and winced as it grated along the floor. It wasn’t right – Nell should have been on her way back home by now, tail between her legs, in a different way, not the way she was describing it in her letter.

It seemed Nell was happy, enjoying the madcap life she had adopted, and was actually learning to speak French, possibly as a prelude to staying there long-term. But she couldn’t… Nell had been Wendy’s chief bridesmaid, and as such had certain responsibilities towards her best friend, like being twenty minutes away when she needed to talk, not in another bloody country.

She couldn’t tell her in a letter how disappointing marriage was proving to be, particularly marriage with a man ten years older who was set in his ways and controlled by his mother. Wendy needed to talk face to face, but according to the letter, that wasn’t going to happen anytime in the near future.

Wendy made a pot of tea and carried the tray through to the lounge. She placed it on the coffee table, poured herself a cup and took it across to the bureau.

She had placed an identical set of stationery in the bottom drawer, and she leaned down to remove it. They had promised to write their letters using their sets until there were no sheets left, and she eased out her first piece of notepaper.

 

Hillside

17 Langley Dell

Sheffield

 

 

27th September 1978

 

My dear Nell,

Thank you so much for your lovely letter. It arrived as Mike was leaving for the office, so we came back inside to read it. He was late for work, because we were so engrossed in your words. We think you are brave to change your life so completely, and I’m immensely proud of you.

Apple-picking sounds like such fun, and you seem to have quickly made lots of friends. Don’t forget me, will you?

I love living in this house. Mike said I could spend whatever I wanted, and make it how I wanted it. The walls are cream now, and I’ve got beautiful velvet curtains in the lounge, lovely rich, dark green. It looks so much smarter than when he lived here with Margaret, no wonder he decided his best course of action was divorce. Everything was dark; dark brown curtains, dark beige walls, a hideous patterned carpet. I’ve changed all of that. I never mention Margaret, of course. Mike made it clear he didn’t want her name spoken out loud. So I don’t.

My kitchen has everything I could possibly need, which is good because I do lots of cooking, although not shepherd’s pies! I’m not sure the people I entertain would appreciate pies of any sort. They’re more steak people than pie people.

I’ve finished at the factory. Mike says I am more use to him at home, because of the dinner parties. Last week we had a couple of managers from his firm, along with their wives, and it really was a lovely evening. We had prawn cocktails for starters, and steak for our main course. I did baked apples for dessert because it reminded me of you.

Instead of my wage, Mike gives me an allowance. It’s not as much as I was earning, but I don’t have bus fares and lunches and stuff to buy, so it works out more or less the same. He’s really sweet about it, pops it in a small wage packet every week so it feels like I am still earning.

I miss you, Nell. I always thought that when one of us married, the other one would be by their side. It hasn’t happened, because you’ve disappeared to somewhere in France, with your apple-picking and your grape-harvesting, to say nothing of delicious lavender. How I envy you that, I love lavender so much.

I have a wonderful life, the one I always wanted, but how can I tell you about it if I can’t talk to you? I guess your little caravan doesn’t have a telephone in it?

And please be careful not to get pregnant. I should be the first one to have a baby, not you! You seem to be having a good time with assorted men, so I’m going to write it again. Please be careful, Nell.

Speaking of babies, Beryl had hers on the day I left the factory. She had a little girl, called her Tracy, but I haven’t seen her because by the time she brought her in to show everybody, I had left.

I seem to be telling you about things I’ve missed, but honestly my life is really good. I have taught myself to crochet, so I’m going to make woolly things, maybe baby clothes one day, just not yet.

I think of you every day, Nell, and I hope you think about me. Mike asks about you all the time, so you see, you’re wrong when you say he never really liked you. He does. I think he even admires you for having the courage to follow your dream.

I’m going to start and make notes for my next letter to you so I don’t forget things that I need to tell you. This letter seems so short when I think of how much you packed into yours, but not much happens in my life. You even made the long journey sound exciting rather than tiring! Please take care, best friend, and always remember where your real home is, in Sheffield.

Much love

Wendy

 

 

The paper felt smooth in her hands as she folded it carefully before sliding it into the envelope. Wendy pulled Nell’s letter towards her and copied the strange-sounding address onto the front, then flipped it over to write her own address on the back.

Wendy sat for a while deep in thought. Hook up with me. Words in Nell’s letter that were tempting, but then she remembered the words spoken in church, and she knew she couldn’t walk away. Michael Summers was her husband for better or for worse, and till death did them part.

She buried the stationery set under some folders, and closed up the bureau. It made sense to show Nell’s letter to Mike, and maybe next time he wouldn’t want to see it. In a year’s time Wendy could start to be honest about her feelings, but at the moment she had to pretend. To lie.

She popped the letter into her bag ready for taking it to the post office. Having no idea of the cost of posting a letter to France, she thought if she got it weighed this time she could buy several stamps of the correct amount and hide them in the stationery set. Then she could write to Nell whenever she felt like it, and Mike would never know.

 

 

3

 

 

Chalet Montpelier

Rue de Ransou 78

1936 Verbier

Switzerland

 

 

January 4th 1979

 

Bonjour Wendy,

First off, I owe you ten million apologies for taking so long to reply. I got your last letter before we left France and in such a rush to leave. I was SO glad to see the back of that mistletoe farm. It was bloody freezing and I never want to spend November in France again. The misty mornings were picturesque but I swear the damp was soaking into my bones, so thank goodness Molly came up with our latest adventure.

I need to bring you up to speed properly because there was no time on the phone – it was literally eating my coins as I spoke to you. Perhaps I should reverse the charges next time, your Mike would LOVE that! I’m sorry I couldn’t stay on longer but I wanted to hear your voice and say happy New Year or bonne année. Did you have a good party? It sounded really lively at your house so I imagined lots of dancing and snogging when Big Ben chimed midnight. I’m so glad the mistletoe got to you in one piece. I wasn’t sure it would make it, wrapped up in tin foil.

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