Page 79 of One Cornish Summer With You
‘I hope they help.’
He opened the box and saw it contained some cards, letters and photos. His fingers itched to open them and read everything inside.
Back at the caravan, even before he opened the box, Ruan went online and ordered a gift hamper to the care home staff. Not only did he want to draw breath and think about all he’d heard, he also wanted to make a tiny gesture of thanks to the strangers who’d cared for and comforted his uncle. He couldn’t do their job, he realised, and thank God they were there for all the people whose relatives weren’t able to care for them at home and for people like Walter, who had no one.
Walter. Dying in his room, with a few kind but unrelated professionals holding his hand.
What a waste of a life. Ruan had never wanted his own to end like that, even though, from his own job, he was aware it was an all-too-common scenario. He wanted a family and friends, not to care for him in his old age, but to care about him, to remember him – and, if he had children, to hold that memory and carry on any legacy he hoped to create.
He’d never even considered such a prospect until he’d been given the house and met Tammy.
The two events had combined to remind him of his mortality and what he truly wanted from life.
Though he’d known Tammy only a few weeks, he couldn’t deny how hard he’d fallen for her. Meeting her and delving into Walter’s past had made him reframe his perspective. Maybe he was simply maturing. His experiences of late had brought pleasure and pain – and insight. For that, he should thank Tammy. He wanted her to be part of his future even though she had hinted that their relationship should be based on fun.
Now he’d screwed up even the ‘fun’ aspect and felt helpless to fix it. Only Tammy could decide if she would trust him and feel able to cast aside her own fears and take a chance on him.
Yet there was something he could do about his own doubts and ignorance, and he hoped that the answers lay in the past.
He opened the cardboard box and took out the first document.
The last thing he’d expected was for it to be a letter from his own father, dated just before Walter had called in at his parents so many years earlier.
Dear Walter,
Thanks for letting me know you’ll be in the area next week. I must admit Fiona and myself were surprised to hear from you after all this time but if you want to call in then you’ll be welcome. I’m sorry you’ve been unwell but hope your appointment goes well in Bristol.
Robert
Notverywelcome, Ruan noted, refolding the letter. He hadn’t been welcome at all a few years later. Walter was seriously old school to write to arrange to visit his parents rather than pick up the phone. Or maybe he didn’t have his parents’ number or even have a phone? That would be very Walter.
Ruan opened several more letters – a few were barely more than notes. One was to a plumber, berating him for ‘shoddy workmanship’ on the boiler repairs at Seaspray. Another piece of paper appeared to be a shopping list for tinned foods Ruan didn’t even know existed: Fray Bentos steak and kidney pudding, tinned pink salmon and evaporated milk. The next seemed insignificant at first until Ruan’s interest was caught by the instructions.
They were to the gardener, addressing the poor guy by his surname as if he was a servant. He must have decided not to send it, or Hicks had thrown it back at him.
Hicks
Make sure you pay attention to the Rambling Rector while you are in the garden this week. And don’t butcher it this time or I’ll be dispensing with your services.
Walter Cavendish
There was one other letter that seemed to be significant. It was written on blue writing paper and folded inside a faded blue envelope. Ruan recognised the stationery: Basildon Bond. His granny and grandpa used to use it and let him doodle on the sheets when he went round to see them.
The envelope had been sent from Cornwall. It was flat and, unlike the other notes and letters, had obviously been carefully treasured, perhaps kept inside a document folder.
Written in blue ink, the handwriting was flowing and cursive, reminding him of old legal documents – although the hand seemed less assured towards the end.
Ruan spread it carefully on the tabletop, sensing that this letter, above all the others, needed to be treated with respect.
May 21st1958
Dear Walter,
It pains me to write this but I needed to explain why you will find the house empty when you return from London.
I’m sorry to tell you that this will be the last letter you will receive from me.
I’ve decided to make a fresh start somewhere a long way from Cornwall where I don’t know anyone. Mum and Dad are coming with me. I won’t include our address. It’s better that we make a clean break. I’m sorry if you’re hurt by this but it’s for the best. You’ll understand one day and you’ll get over me. I hope you’ll meet someone else. I hope you can open your heart to someone and give it freely – since you couldn’t with me.
