Page 73 of Mad About You

‘Yes. My grandad gave it to me on my thirteenth birthday and somehow, I’ve never steeled myself. I know it sounds insane. Or heartless.’

‘It doesn’t sound that way.’

‘It became a “straight away or on my own deathbed” deal. It snowballed into this thing I couldn’t do. Now, the moment is never right.’

‘Are you worried about what it says?’

‘Not exactly. It’s just … I’ve built it up too much. I don’t know what I fear, really. Crying a lot, obviously. Missing her. Which I do anyway, always, at some level. In my head the letter needs to say everything and how can it, when I don’t even know what “everything” is? If it’sbe polite to your grandparents and work hard in your exams, lots of love, I’ll be … I don’t know. And I’m reading it over twenty years late, which I know is awful.’

‘No, it’s not, stop beating yourself up about that. You were a kid. You were doing what felt right. How do you know if it’s the wrong decision, until the day you read it?’

‘Thanks.’

‘… What if it’s not what’s written in the letter that matters to you?’

‘How do you mean?’

‘Until you’ve read it, there’s always one more thing to be said, something left between you.’

Harriet swallowed and felt something shift inside her. She knew this was true. It was powerful for someone else to say it.

She didn’t know she was crying until felt the tears drip off her chin.

‘Oh shit!’ Cal said, with the unmistakeable blind panic of a man who’s made a woman cry. He looked like he thought he was going to have to explain himself in his line manager’s office. ‘I didn’t want to upset you!’ He reached over and held her shoulder. The warmth of his reassurance steadied her and made her feel more vulnerable, at the same time.

Harriet said in a strangled voice: ‘It’s OK, it’s alright, honestly. You’re right. I’ve never admitted that to myself. It’s good to have someone else’s thoughts.’ She sat forward, on the pretence of digging for a tissue, but with the desired effect of dislodging his hand. She couldn’t cope with the flirt-jangles while crying.

‘Oh God, I feel absolutely awful,’ Cal said. ‘Trying to show off I’ve had counselling, after all your perceptive observations, and completely overdoing it.’

Harriet gasp-laughed, wiping the tears away. ‘It’s fine! I like having that insight. It makes me feel better. I’m saving it as our last thing.’

‘I’m sorry I’d never asked about your parents.’

‘Hah, don’t worry! Why would you?’

‘You were raised by your grandparents?’

‘Yes. They were a very characterful pair.’ She sniffed and laughed. She couldn’t do more agony, right now. ‘They did a great job in difficult circumstances.’

‘Evidently.’

All things considered, on a fraught day, Harriet decided to accept that with a ‘thank you’.

‘What were they called? Your parents, and your grandparents?’

Harriet paused. ‘That’s … that’s the kindest question.’

‘Is it? I thought I was being nosy.’

‘Yeah, it is. My mum and dad were Stephen and Rose, and my grandparents were Frank and Mary.’

They sat in a peaceable silence, underscored by a loud hover mower a few gardens away.

‘I know I’m a very shit Yoda, but about your letter. Let the time to read it, arrive. Maybe it’ll be the night before you get married or something. But it’ll come. You don’t need to force it.’

‘If you’re Yoda shouldn’t you say “come, it will”?’

‘I don’t want you to actually slap me.’

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