Untold Story (20 page)

Then you came, with your bag of newspaper cuttings, and that was the most terrible and wonderful thing. A heart can’t actually burst, can it? I thought mine would. But there’s no limit to how much a person can feel.

When you’d gone, I think I went downhill. I hardly got out of bed and I don’t remember eating anything.

Eventually, I started setting myself little goals, like getting out of bed at a certain time, or showering and getting dressed before breakfast. Eating breakfast was another goal. Going to the shops before lunchtime. Rationing myself to a certain amount of television. I think the first ration was five hours. Doing some sort of cleaning task. Half an hour of practice with my voice tapes. Spending an hour in the garden topping up my tan. I know it doesn’t sound like a lot, but believe me, it was as much as I could do back then. If you thought you found me in a bad way in November when you came back again (I know, I saw the look on your face) you should have seen me before when I was hardly functioning.

And now I’m working. I’m actually going out to work! Another couple of weeks and I will even get paid for it.

Love from

Lydia

4 October 1998

Dear Lawrence,

I’ve just read the last couple of letters through, and I can really see how far I’ve come. Sometimes it has been one step forward, two steps back. I think you told me to expect that. You do think of everything, don’t you?

When you left me in Gravelton that was another shock to the system. Once I was in the States, I was supposed to begin my life. You prodded me, gently as always, in the right direction. Go and talk to the neighbors. Look for jobs in the local newspaper. Get back to some sort of exercise. I’m afraid I didn’t do any of those things.

What did I do? I bought a load of novels (you know, my usual kind) and I read and read. I walked past the school gates, morning and afternoon, just to hear the chatter of children. In the evenings I watched television or stared in the mirror, trying to see if I was recognizable from any angle, in any light, with my hair a particular way.

One or two people came over and introduced themselves. When I heard the click of the garden gate I’d panic. As if I was about to be flushed out. We’d have a little chat and then they’d go and I wouldn’t be relieved, I’d be . . . flat.

I was invited to a Christmas party and everyone was very polite and friendly but they weren’t exactly queuing up to speak to me. My first party in my new life and I’m not even belle of the ball!

I did get quite friendly with a couple of women. Sometimes they invited me over for dinner with their husbands and children. I think they felt sorry for me.

In the local grocery store they were advertising for a sales assistant. I thought maybe I could do that. It can’t be hard to learn how to work a cash register. I decided I’d go in the next day and ask about the job, but when I got there I couldn’t summon the courage. I turned around and went home.

I had a hunch, though, that if I moved to the city things would just turn up—opportunities. I was right, wasn’t I? Alicia came along. Skin Deep came along. You should see me at the salon. Alicia’s clients have started asking for me!

Better get my beauty sleep.

Your Lydia

5 October 1998

Dear Lawrence,

I am making strides, aren’t I? You taught me a lot of things about how to cope. Lots of practical stuff. Sometimes I found it irritating, because I liked to think I knew it all.

All the household finances—I’m managing very well now. Honestly, I am. I write it all down like you told me to. But I still had more to learn. You told me to budget for the monthly bills. I thought you meant the grocery shopping and the telephone. I suppose you did, but it was quite a surprise when the first bill came for the electricity. I don’t know what I imagined before—that the electricity came with the house? That it was free? You walk into a room and switch on the light in KP and nobody ever tells you how much it costs. When I walk out of a room now I switch off the light. You see, a whole new me!

Your semiqualified citizen,

Lydia

15 October 1998

Dear Lawrence,

I need your disapproval like I need a rash on my face. Take your stupid raised eyebrows and shove them. Go on, back off, go away. I’m not listening.

And do not tell me to calm down.

Lydia

16 November 1998

Dear Lawrence,

No, I haven’t been sulking. I just haven’t felt like writing to you. Either way, it’s silly. When I write to you, I’m writing to a dead person. When I don’t write to you, you still don’t go away.

I’ve moved. I lost two months’ rent that way, but I don’t care. I didn’t want to be in Charlotte any longer. Yes, I did fall out with Alicia, since you ask. Not that it’s any of your business. I’m making a fresh start. I’m committing myself to it. You’ll see. This time it will be different. I’m not letting myself get sucked down ever again.

Polite and friendly but a little bit aloof. That’s the way I’m going to be from now on. I’m glad I have your approval. Thank you.

My love, as always,

Lydia

18 November 1998

Dear Lawrence,

Guess what I did today. I went to Mark Twain’s boyhood house. It’s about an hour’s drive from where I’m living now, and it’s been turned into a museum. I haven’t read any of his books. I’ll bet you read them all, because you’ve read everything. Those books that you gave me got lost in a move. The removal company lost a box. I gave them hell, of course, but it didn’t bring the box back.

I went on a riverboat cruise on the Mississippi in the afternoon. So beautiful. I think I’m going to like it here. It was time for a complete change, and I didn’t much care where I went really, but I have a good feeling about my new home. I made a good decision, didn’t I?

Your Lydia

20 November 1998

Dear Lawrence,

The house I’m renting is one-story, brick, two bedrooms, in what they call a “ranch style.” It’s not the prettiest house ever but it’s clean and tidy and fine.

The neighbors are quiet and respectful, and you can set your watch by the yellow school bus and the postman’s van. Does it sound dull? I think I could definitely be friends with Maggie, and Liza Beth (not Elizabeth, thank you). Next door there is a Mormon family, the Petersons, who called on me after I’d been here for a week or so, all dressed in their Sunday best. If Mr. Peterson has a second or third wife (how many are they allowed?) he didn’t bring her around. Only one wife and five children. He said if I had any fixing up that needed doing he’d be glad to help. That’s sweet, isn’t it?

I’ve done some impossible things in my time, haven’t I, Lawrence? I know I’ve said this to you already—after the first date we went on, I told my friends I was going to marry the Prince of Wales. Well, it turned out to be no idle boast. Then I did the impossible again and divorced him. And now—living an ordinary life. Without being totally miserable. That’s what I want. Can it be beyond me to achieve such a thing? Sometimes it still seems like a distant dream.

In all my dark hours, when I could scream and howl, I find myself turning to you. When I swam out that night, one year, two months, and ten days ago, maybe I wasn’t in my right mind. It wasn’t only a folly but a kind of atrocity I committed. How can I live with that? By reassuring myself that you, sane, sensible, careful, rational Lawrence, didn’t tell me that it couldn’t be done. That it shouldn’t be done. I have more faith in your judgment than I have in mine.

Maybe it’s time for me to stop writing these letters. I should really be standing on my own two feet by now, shouldn’t I?

Affectionately yours,

Lydia

25 November 1998

Dear Lawrence,

You thought I’d never be able to see the boys again. Does it feel good to be right? Does it? How smug are you feeling now?

I’ll never be able to bring them to me. The idea is monstrous. You knew that. You should have made me see. I relied on you and you let me down. Why didn’t you make me see?

Lydia

27 November 1998

Dear Lawrence,

Less than a month until Christmas. The shops (the stores, as I call them now) are full of decorations and fairy lights. My second Christmas. I wonder if I will be on my own again this year. I should be used to it by now. They weren’t letting me have the boys anyway, were they?

I was a bit sharp with you in my last letter. That’s only the tip of the iceberg. There’s not a day, not an hour, when I’m not battling to keep it down. Yes, it’s always about my boys but I can’t write about them.

Maybe there will be a time, when they have children of their own (that’s what I keep thinking) when they would be able to understand. I have to believe that. They will come to me and I will explain. They’ll forgive me, won’t they?

I know it can’t be soon. I damaged them once and I can’t risk damaging them again. I have to be very, very sure. I have to wait.

I’m glad I can still talk to you. You’re the one person who never abandoned me. Sometimes I felt the boys had abandoned me. I know they didn’t. But those feelings came up. Have I shocked you? No, you already knew.

Yours in admiration,

Lydia

3 December 1998

Dear Lawrence,

I have spent the entire last week in a lather. Somehow I convinced myself that Maggie knew. I was having coffee one morning with her and Liza Beth and Elsa Peterson, and Elsa said, “How long did you say you’ve lived in the US, Lydia?” and Maggie said, “Lydia’s quite mysterious when it comes to her past.” She winked at me. I totally froze. I mean, that’s the first time someone’s said something like that. And the wink! Why wink like that unless you know something?

I glossed it over. But I kept thinking about other little comments she’s made. Like, one time, she said I was very maternal, a natural with her kids, and she kept asking about how much time I’d spent around children. I practically had my bags packed. For five nights straight I didn’t sleep at all. Joe Peterson came over to mend the kitchen tap that was dripping (he’s been a good neighbor and friend) and he said, “Lydia, you look all tuckered out.” I cried and cried. He sat me down at the kitchen table and we had a sort of heart-to-heart. I’ve been in desperate need of that. You can’t imagine how hard it is, not having a single friend in the world.

You’re thinking it can’t have been much of a heart-to-heart because there’s so much I have to hide. Well, for once, Lawrence, you are plain wrong. There was plenty I could talk about. Like how it’s difficult to be a woman living alone, how I hardly know anyone in the neighborhood, how my marriage never stood a chance, how I don’t know what to do with my life now that it is entirely mine, to do with whatever I like. Joe is a very easy person to talk to, very patient, very kind. By the time we’d finished talking I had calmed down. Maggie came around the next morning to ask if I’d like to help with the costumes for the school Christmas play. Of course she hasn’t a clue. I’m going to do some sewing. I haven’t done any for such a long time.

Isn’t it astonishing that even though I’m nobody now, people still think I’m worth knowing?

I think that eventually my boys could be proud of me. What do you think? Maybe all three of you will be proud of me.

With my love,

Lydia

6 December 1998

Dear Lawrence,

I got cracking with the costumes straightaway. Three outfits for three wise men out of three old sheets. Not exactly haute couture but I made a tidy job of them. Maggie’s coming round later with the next batch to be sewn, the shepherds. I know this is a big leap to make, but perhaps I will end up doing something professionally after all. Designing dresses, working in fashion. You did say I have all sorts of experience that I’ll be able to put to good use. You’re the fourth wise man.

Joe popped over last night and we had a lovely chat again. He’s offered to tidy up the yard for me, it’s running a bit wild. I said I’d pay him, but he wouldn’t hear of it. People can be so kind when you least expect it.