Dear Darling
Authors: Elle McKenzie
Elle McKenzie
Elle McKenzie
© Copyright 2016 Elle McKenzie
All Rights Reserved
This book is a work of fiction. Any references to real events, real people, and real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, organisations or places is entirely coincidental.
All rights are reserved. This book is intended for the purchaser of this e-book ONLY. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping, or by any information storage retrieval system, without the express written permission of the author. All songs, song titles and lyrics contained in this book are the property of the respective songwriters and copyright holders.
Cover Design © JC Clarke.
Editing by AW Editing.
Interior Formatting by Jo Matthews.
ISBN-13:978-1533095237
ISBN-10:153309523X
I’m a British author and this book has been written in British English. It contains a lot of British colloquialisms and British spellings. If you need any help with any of the words or phrases, please feel free to message me on Facebook (links provided at the back of the book). I won’t bite, I promise ;-)
I can’t start without first thanking my husband, David. Without your love, your guidance, and your strength I wouldn’t be here today. You’ve supported me, not only financially, but emotionally while I live out my dream job. You are my everything, my constant, and I will always love you.
To my babies, Sean, Thomas, and Lucie. Okay, you’re not babies anymore but you will always be to me. I love you more than air. I’m so very, very proud of each of you. You are individuals with different strengths and you’re all amazing children. I couldn’t ask for better kids.
To my Betas, Dawn Vickers, Marian Girling, Michele McKenzie, Sian Trigwell, and Vicki Roberts. I love you all so much. You’re always there for me to moan to, and laugh with. You let me rant, and you tell me when to shut up. You guide me on my journey and don’t let me give up on myself. Thank you.
Thank you Sian for your help with some of the difficult scenes.
To Michele, my PA. We’ve only just started out of this journey together, but we are getting the hang of it. Thank you for all that you do, not just as my PA but as my friend too. I love you!
To my Mum & Dad. Thank you for your support throughout all of this. I love you both very much.
To Ashley, my editor. It hasn’t been easy, but I have learned so much more. The cultural differences between the UK and USA have been a struggle at times, but we got there in the end. Thank you so much for everything you’ve done to make Dear Darling what it is today.
Finally, to my readers. Without you none of this would be real. Every review you write makes me happy, every message you send lights up my world. You’re my stars in the vast galaxy, twinkling brightly, giving me hope. Thank you so much.
I hope you all enjoy reading Elias & Saffron’s story as much as I enjoyed writing it.
Elle xox
Tapping the pen against my soft lips, back and forth, back and forth, my hand shakes as the cool plastic skims my mouth. Time is passing slowly as I sit at the kitchen table, trying to write the hardest thing I've ever had to write. My relatively short life has been full of happiness, trauma, anguish, loss, and hope. But it has mostly been full of love, which has been enough to get us through all the other stuff. Love isn't enough to stop this pain, though.
I don't know what to write. What do I say to the man I've loved fiercely for twenty-one years? How do I tell the man I adore I'm leaving him? Any way I do this, whatever I write, it's going to break his heart. My heart is shattered. It’s been dusted into a thousand tiny shards, which are splintering inside my broken body, and I don't think it's repairable this time. I can't keep putting it off, though. He needs to know the truth, and I have to be the one to tell him.
Looking around at our house at our belongings and all the things we have accumulated during our time together, I feel a tightness in my chest. It's not a lot, but it's ours. It's our home, it's where we have raised our children, where we have laughed, where we have cried, where we have fought for our marriage. It has memories. Some of them good, some of them bad, but they ar
e
ours
.
Together.
As a family.
We may not be a perfect family—we've been through things most families would have been broken by—but we are a family, and it's hard to imagine how they'll feel when I'm no longer here. When I walk out that door and don't come back.
When I leave them.
A tear trickles down my cheek, burning my skin as I imagine my children's faces when he tells them I'm gone. The guilt threatens to overwhelm me, but I shove it away. I have to do this.
I have to go.
My mother once told me, “Your time on Earth is measured by the number of times you smile and laugh,” and I've done both of them. Lately though, I've found it hard to smile. Nothing excites me any more—not now that Iknow the truth. The truth is ugly, it's hard to bear, and when I think about it, bile rises from my stomach. The truth is too hard to handle. In fact,
I
kno
w
I can't handle it.
That is why I have to go.
Running my hand over the soft sheet of paper, my fingers trace over the indentations from the lines as they travel down. Taking a deep breath, I grasp the pen tightly in my hand and position it onto the first line, which seals my fate. My hand shakes and the words stain the page like soot on snow. The ink melts onto the paper as my heart freezes, and two little words pour out like a fountain of tears.
Dear Darling,
I don’t know how to write this letter. I don’t know what to say to you. The words are so hard to find lately, and no matter what I write it won’t make it any easier.
As I sit at our table, in our house, and look around at our things, all I picture is our life together. It’s been a good life, hasn’t it? Yes, we’ve had our ups and downs, maybe more than most, but we’ve always had love. The Beatles said it best, “All You Need Is Love”. I used to think they were right. But, sometimes love isn’t enough.
Do you remember when we first met? I was so scared being in the big smoke all alone, I didn’t know anyone. Then, those big brown eyes of yours found me across the crowded pub, and I knew right away that I would never be alone ever again.
College had been a lonely place for me, full of pretentious, impertinent, snotty girls who looked down their noses at the common girl from the wrong side of Manchester. University was my escape, and I was so happy to finally arrive. It was a fresh start, somewhere new where nobody knew me.
Bursting through the doors of my dorm with my arms full of boxes, I was met by a voluptuous, red-haired girl with emerald-green eyes and a kind smile.
“You must be Saffron?” she greeted me in a southern accent.
“Hi, call me Saff or Saffy, I hate Saffron.” My parents were hippies back in the sixties, and although they had grown out of that culture before I was born, they still decided to name me after a spice. “I'm guessing you're Melissa?” I threw my boxes on the spare bed and then I held out my hand to my new roommate.
“Call me Mel, I hate Melissa.” She grinned, taking my hand and bringing me into a warm hug instead. It was a bit awkward but blissfully short. When she released me, I sat on my new bed and glanced around the tiny room that was to be my new home for the next few years: two beds, two wardrobes, two desks, two lamps, and two chairs. It wasn't very homely, but I would make it a home. Mel had already hung posters of Oasis, Radiohead, and Nirvana on her side, which made me smile as I busied myself unpacking boxes. We had the same taste in music. I knew at that moment we were going to get on great.
Kurt Cobain's death had been a tragic moment in my life, and I'd only just gotten over it. I’d worshipped him and his music, which had helped me to overcome some of my darkest times in college.
Unpacking my boxes, I placed the small silver frame containing a photo of my parents on the desk next to my bed, running my fingers lightly over my mother’s face. I missed them already. Eighteen years old and I had never been away from home. It was going to be hard to get used to my parents not being around when I needed them. But, I had to do this, I needed to find myself, follow my dreams, and work hard for the opportunities they had presented.
“D'ya fancy goin’ down the road to that pub? I know a lot of the new starters are meeting there later,” Mel asked.
“Yeah, sure. Sounds like a plan. Let me finish putting a few essentials away, and I'll get changed.” I smiled at her, but I still felt a bit awkward. I was more of a wallflower than social butterfly. I wanted to try to change that, and what better way to start my new image?
“Cool, I’m going to call my parents to let them know I’ve settled in. Not that they’ll care.” She rolled her eyes dramatically, exited the room, and closed the door quietly behind her. I looked at the closed door and allowed myself a moment to be relieved that Mel was nice, before throwing my underwear in the dresser and hanging my clothes up in the wardrobe. Thankfully, my mum had forced a set of clean sheets and a duvet cover on me, otherwise I would have been sleeping on a bare mattress.
It didn’t take me long to finish unpacking, and as I emptied the final box the door creaked open. I was still sitting in front of my small mirror, trying to do my make-up and failing, when Mel walked in and started to strip. Looking away, horrified that she was unashamedly naked, I tried to carry on with getting ready. With such a small room and no privacy, I’d have to get used to no boundaries.
“So, what's your degree?” Dabbing my eye with a wipe, I tried to get the mascara that had smudged all over my eyelid off. I'd pulled my long, dark brown hair into banana clip and curled the ends before adding a little flower clip on the side. There was nothing unique about me, I was a plain-looking girl, but I loved my hair.
“Photography and journalism. I've always loved the press and celebrities. My dream job would be to travel the world, taking photos and interviewing people for a top magazine. What's yours?”
“Can't you guess? It's fashion.” She grinned, twirling around so I could get a good look at the outfit she had thrown on. I should have guessed, the dress she put on was a contender for London fashion week. She looked like she was about to walk the catwalk of Milan not to the local university pub. The dress hugged every inch of her voluptuous figure, her large breasts peeking out over the top of the silky fabric.
“Are you ready to go?” she asked, eyeing the T-shirt and jeans I was wearing.
“Yep, as ready as I’ll ever be. Let’s go and find out who we’re going to be spending the next three years with.” I smiled as she looped her arm into mine and led me out of the dorms and down the street.
* * *
I knew I would marry him the moment I walked through the door of the Dog & Bone pub. The soft lights illuminated his deeply tanned skin, highlighting every muscle, line, and indentation on his body. His strong jaw widened with his smile as he laughed at something one of his friends had said. My eyes travelled the length of his body, and when he looked up, our eyes locked. Then I was lost in his big chocolate-brown eyes, like I was cascading down the waterfall in Willy Wonka's factory. Quickly, I looked away ashamed that I had been caught staring. From the corner of my eye, I could see the grin starting to form on his beautiful lips. I could
feel
his eyes following me, burning into my back as let Mel lead me through the crowds of people sitting at little round wooden tables. We took the last two bar stools, and Mel ordered a round of drinks. The entire pub smelled of stale ale and cigarette smoke, the sound of chatter surrounded me, igniting the atmosphere.
We chatted with a few people in the bar, who seemed nice enough, but I wasn't interested in them. I wasn't interested in anyone other than the dark-haired boy on the other side of the room. Neither of us had plucked up the courage to talk to the other. We continued to play the game where I'd stare at him and then look away when caught out, and then he would do the same. It would have been quiet comical if it weren't for the aching pain inside me that just wanted to walk over to him and kiss the life out of him. Eventually, I watched him get up from his bar stool and follow his friends to the door. Before he exited, he turned, looked at me, and winked, leaving me in a puddle on the already sticky floor.
I would never forget the atmosphere, the lighting, or the smell of that bar. It was ingrained in my memory as the moment my life changed forever. The moment I met “The One”.
* * *
Three excruciating weeks passed us by. Thoughts of him invaded my mind, each and every day, taking hold of my entire being. Classes became monotonous, repetitive. Everything I did reminded me of him somehow. A picture of the sun beaming over the park reminded me of his sun-kissed skin. Eating chocolate reminded me of those gorgeous cocoa-coloured eyes. I was a goner, completely under his spell.
“What is it about this lad?” Mel asked one night when I'd dragged her out to the Dog & Bone once again. It had been the third time we had been there that week. I had been hoping I'd bump into him around campus, and I had even asked around for him with no luck.
“I dunno. There's something about him, I can't get him out of my head. I doubt I’ll be able to concentrate again until I speak to him,” I said, blowing away a strand of hair that had fallen against my mouth. I'd never felt like this before. It was alien to me, and I was starting to think I was going mad. I knew straight away he was different from everyone else. I needed to find him.
“I'll ask around campus and try to find out who he is, or at least get you a name. I'm sick of seeing you moping around like a lovesick puppy.” She winked at me as she flipped her long red hair over her shoulder. We ordered our drinks and then sat to join some of the girls that Mel knew from her classes. It wasn't surprising that they didn't like me, every time the door opened, I would stop mid-sentence or turn from the conversation to see if it was him. This attitude wasn't me, though. I was normally attentive and never rude.
What had this boy done to me?
It didn’t take long for me to realise university wasn't what I'd expected it to be. There were some people who were kind and acted like they wanted to get to know me, but there was this falseness about them. It was like they were trying too hard. Mel was the only person I felt like I could trust to be real with me. She told it how it was, and she never lied or portrayed this falsity. She was herself all the time. The rest were snobs who thought they were above me.
I didn’t know what kind of aura I was presenting, but they all looked down on me like I wasn't worthy of their time. Maybe it was my common, northern accent or my clothes that portrayed me as the poor, working class girl. Or, maybe it was my reclusive attitude towards them. I didn't care though; there was only one person whose attention I wanted, and I didn't even know his name.
“Get dressed, love. We’re going out,” Mel announced as she walked through the door with a smile as big as the Cheshire cat's.
“Where're we going?” I asked without hesitation as I jumped off the bed and headed towards the wardrobe to look for something clean to wear.
“There's a house party. I found one of the fliers with the address on it.” She winked at me. I knew this meant we were about to gate crash, but I didn't care. I was hoping the boy who had stalked my dreams for the past few weeks would be there.
“Do you know who’s throwing the party?”
“Nope, but I would dress to impress. I know the neighbourhood and it’s nothing to snub your nose at. My parents tried to get me to rent there while I was in school, but I wanted to live in the dorms. You know, get the whole uni experience.”
This was the first time since I met her that she mentioned her parents, and my hand stopped flipping hangers.
“Tell me a bit about your parents, you haven’t mentioned them much.” I asked as I continued to search for something decent to wear.
“What’s to tell? They’re upper middle-class folk from Sussex. I never fit into their lifestyle, although the clothes are a bonus.” She winked, throwing on yet another pretty dress. “Mum is a retired councillor and Dad is a copper. My grandparents were affluent. Granddaddy made some money in the early fifties on some company. I never paid any attention to it.” She blew it off like it was no big deal. I had already guessed that she came from money, but she never acted like it. She was down to earth, and didn’t care who had what.
“What do your parents do?”
“Mum’s a retired secretary and Dad’s a postal worker.” I smiled with pride. I loved my parents and didn’t care that they had working-class jobs.
“I bet they were both around a lot when you were a child? My parents were hardly ever there. Not that I minded. I guess that’s why I’ve settled in so well, I had to do everything myself from an early age. I can teach you how to use the washing machine if you like?” She looked me up and down as I pulled on my shirt.
“Yeah, that would be great.” I wrapped my arms around myself, before heading back into the wardrobe to find something else to wear.
When I finally found something that met Mel’s approval, we headed out. We had taken two buses with a man who smelled like a sewer to get there, but it was going to be worth it. The street was filled with cars on either side, and people were milling around on the pavement, chatting and laughing. Halfway down the street, Mel gave my arm a tug, and when I looked at her, she pointed to a house on the other side of the road. My mouth opened wide. The house was enormous and opulent, with bay windows and columns surrounding the large wooden double doors. There was a balcony on the second floor, where several people gathered shouting at the people below.
This was the kind of house I aspired to live in. I had been brought up in Manchester by two working-class parents. We didn't have much, but what we did have was ours. We lived in a small terraced house in a relatively safe neighbourhood. Kids played in the streets, but stray dogs rummaged through the bins scattering rubbish around like a whirlwind. It was nothing like the grand house I was staring at right now.
