I decided I had to do more travelling. Properly explore the wonderful place where I’d grown up. Join a club to learn something completely different and maybe even make some friends.
I owned a house and had a stash of savings.
What was the worst that could happen?
I finished my food, wandered down to the water’s edge, and, for the first time in as long as I could remember, I allowed myself to dream.
That night, after managing to snag a lift back to Sunflower Barn in Taylor’s taxi, I wrote the most important letter of my life.
I then read two of the saddest.
10 November 1988
Gabriel,
I waited by the phone all morning, yesterday. Whenever else you’ve missed our scheduled call, at least you’ve left a message as soon as you can, so when I get home from work, I know you’re safe and well. I barely slept a wink all night. Has something terrible happened, or did you merely forget it was my birthday, that you’d promised to call?
I honestly don’t know which would hurt more.
I even called the phone box in the hope someone else would answer, and at least tell me you were still alive. I stayed up, listening for the buzzer, in case you’d flown home to surprise me.
What a fool, imagining the farm or your family could spare you for even this, my fortieth birthday.
I know you’re working hard. I’ve experienced how the farm can devour all your time, your energy and every waking thought. But I am your wife, Gabriel. You have said many times that I am your everything.
What emergency arose that is more important to you than me?
Is a broken fence more urgent than my broken heart?
Did your mother ask you to change a light bulb or request a lift to her odious Island Wives club?
I will not apologise for being angry. Unless you are dead or incapacitated. In which case I shall merely redirect my anger towards your family for not immediately informing your wife.
Are you ever coming back to me?
Do you even want to any more?
Nellie
16 November 1988
My dear Nellie,
I’m so very sorry. I know you’re angry. But please, if our marriage means anything, if I mean anything to you, read thisletter. You know how easily my words come out wrong unless I write them down.
I didn’t forget. I woke up with a smile on my face because I knew I’d get to wish you a happy birthday that morning. I couldn’t eat my porridge, I was that excited. Like a child on Christmas Eve. A young (old) boy in love.
And then the tractor wouldn’t start, so I needed to help Da with that. One of the cows had fallen sick. Ma had already asked me to pick up Richard’s prescription if I was heading into the village, and the queue at the chemist was that long. So, it was already late morning by the time I reached the phone box, only to find it broken. On my way to ask James Madden if I could borrow theirs, Lander flagged me down to say an auditor had turned up and I was needed straight away.
I meant to call as soon as I could, to leave a message. But with one thing and another – I won’t bore you with the details, I know they only sound like excuses anyway – I simply couldn’t. And then it was so late, I was exhausted. I knew you’d be upset, so I convinced myself it’d be better to call in the morning, when I had the energy to talk properly.
Only, Ma was ill – properly ill for maybe the first time in her life, so I had to help with Richard, tend the chickens, wait for the doctor. And before I knew it, it was afternoon, you were working, and I could only speak to your answerphone. I don’t even care that the whole island knows about Gabe Hawkins using the Maddens’ phone to leave desperate messages for his wife, proving all their predictions about the rushed mainlander marriage to be true.
I know it’s not good enough. I hurt you, and I’m that sorry. I can’t imagine how you felt, waiting for me to call on your birthday.
I only hope you liked your present.
I’m going to keep calling every day at 9a.m. until either you answer, or it’s Christmas, in which case I’ll be seeing you anyway.
