The panicked hustle and bustle of the breakfast table was enough to overcome the gentle sound of the morning post dropping onto the soft, royal red carpet. There were five letters all together, three addressed to Levi Faulk, one to his wife, Sarah, and one was addressed to their eldest daughter Marie.
The youngest of the four Faulk children, Joe, bounded down the stairs, late as usual, with his tie hanging untied around his shoulders. He spotted the post, in its usual place and went over and picked it up, allowing the ends of his tie swinging irritatingly into his eye line. He slipped off the red post office elastic band which bound them and glanced quickly at the names on the envelopes. Three for Father, most likely from a bank, one for Mum, probably from Grandma, and one for Marie. There was never any post for Joe, and this irked him somewhat, so he carelessly tossed the letters onto the busy kitchen table.
Levi opened his letters, while munching his way through an overdone slice of toast, sighing disinterestedly at each one, and Sarah read hers with great interest.
“Mother’s got another all clear, Levi. Isn’t that fabulous news?”
“Yes dear,” murmured Levi thoughtlessly through a mouthful of toast.
“There’s a letter for Marie, Mum,” chirped Rachel, the third oldest of the children. “Shall I take it up for her?”
“Yes, but don’t wake her. She worked until four AM in that rotten bar last night.”
Rachel walked up the stairs, fresh with morning energy, and placed it carefully outside of Marie’s door, where it stayed until the early afternoon.
***
Marie rose around midday, but spent over an hour in her room, pottering about tidying up. As she applied her makeup, she smiled gently at the small photograph of the young man in the mirror. He had warm eyes, a cheery smile and what one would consider a boyish mien, and it was this man, who three weeks ago, had proposed to Marie on the sun-drenched banks of the canal.
She had duly accepted, but had since, at times, thought maybe it was a mistake. Her problem with him was that he seemed rather plain. He had little edge. Her parents loved him, and she thought she did too, but faced with the prospect of spending her entire life with this man, certain doubts had begun to grow. That said, she desperately wanted a family of her own, and the Romeos and vagabonds of her youth had all either settled elsewhere or disappeared into the night.
He was due to arrive at the family home soon for a spot of lunch. He worked nearby, and took great pleasure in popping by to visit his beloved, even for the shortest of times. Marie left the room, and busy thinking about preparing the meal, totally missed the letter waiting outside the room.
Marie was frying eggs when she heard a key turn in the door. She knew it must be Guy, as she had made him a copy, and everyone else who had a key was either at work or school. He walked into the kitchen and they kissed briefly, but Marie had to return urgently to the stove. They ate and talked, and as the meal ended Marie mentioned she had made a list of possible wedding caterers, and asked if Guy might call them for some estimates. He agreed, and they went upstairs to fetch the list.
On reaching the landing, Marie spotted the envelope outside her door, and with an inquisitive look picked it up and walked into her room. The envelope was marked with an airmail stamp, and her address was printed in sharp block capitals in the centre. She gave a puzzled sigh, and proceeded to open the envelope as she sat down on the bed. Guy sat opposite her at the desk, and began glancing at scraps of paper, trying to ascertain which was the list.
Marie’s confused visage didn’t change as she read down the letter.
Dear Marie, I imagine this won’t reach you, but in case it does, please understand the faith I have in the content of this letter and the act of sending it. Yesterday a vision of you came to me while I was reading, and I cannot shake the image. I feel you near through the memory, and it makes me more happy and more miserable than I have been in years. I write simply to say that that particular moment resiliently haunts me, and the idea of repeating it makes my heart leap. I’m sorry to burden you with this torrent of adolescent emotion. Hope you are well. Love Matthew.
“Who’s it from,” asked Guy, reading her expression.
“Oh, just an old friend,” she replied, “She’s congratulating us on the engagement.”
The memory of Matthew was still with her, but it was nothing other than a fond recollection. She had no intention of reconnecting with him, and so she crumpled the letter into a ball and tossed it towards the waste paper basket, where it bounced off the rim and landed on the carpet.
“That’s the list there.” She said pointing at an A4 sheet pinned to the cork board, hanging above the desk.
Guy pulled it off, they said goodbye, kissed once more, and having reminded her of their dinner reservations the next day, he left.
***
The bar where Marie worked was quiet that night, as it always was on Thursdays. On Wednesdays the bar was filled with students, but Thursday was the day of the seasoned drinkers. Aside from pulling the occasional pint, she spent the majority of the evening, propped up on the counter staring into space, and soon she turned to thinking of the letter.
Maybe she was making a mistake by settling. Maybe Matthew was the man who would sweep her off her feet and make her dreams come true. He had never seemed the spontaneous, romantic type at school, in fact he had seemed rather dry and timid, but maybe she was wrong. He had written a letter to tell her how she haunted him, and to that had relit a flame in her. She felt desirable again, and it coursed through her like electricity, but this feeling only served to make her feel more trapped in her engagement.
She thought about life with Guy. An entire life with Guy. But Matthew, living abroad, globetrotting, the Mediterranean lover. She dreamed of walking the seafront with him in the warm evening sun, laying in vineyards at night and drawing pictures with the stars, and swimming in the cooling waters of a mountain river.
What nonsense, she thought. Matthew was a shy meek man. He probably spent a year drafting that letter, to-ing and fro-ing as to whether to send it. For her to leave Guy would be such an absurd decision. It made no sense, to run after a man whose personality she felt fairly certain she was inventing entirely, or at the very least embellishing.
She decided she would stay with Guy, and become a wife. It was the most likely to make her happy, and she had to follow those odds. She felt, however, that she should write back to Matthew, to thank him for the letter, and tell him that although the memory was special to her, she would soon be married. She owed it to him for his bravery.
The hours in the bar passed, and she decided she would write to him the following day. When she arrived home she straightened out the letter in order to copy the return address, and left it laying on the desk amongst the array of wedding plans.
***
Marie had always been fastidious about the use of words and the emotions they provoked. She had chuckled at the errors in Matthew’s letter, and as was her way, after almost an hour of prevaricating, for her reply she had only managed:
Dear Matthew, hope you are well.
She left the letter on the desk, next to his, and left for her dinner with Guy.
They returned around nine, and decide that as it was so early they might draw up a provisional guest list for the wedding. Marie was sprawled lazily on the bed, while guy sat at the desk again, and acted as scribe.
“Must we really invite my grandma?” Protested Marie. “She just says such awful things.”
“She’s family, darling,” replied Guy.
“Very well,” sighed Marie, and Guy turned to write her name on the lengthy list.
In order to fit her name, Guy had to flip the sheet over, and in doing so he caught a glimpse of the letters. He put the list down next to the letters, so he could read while Marie was extending the list. As he did so, an emotion he found hard to control welled up in him. Part anger, part confusion, part disappointment, this beast began slowly tearing him apart. He did not want to confront her tonight as it been such a lovely night, but he made an excuse to leave, and vowed to ignore the letter. Marie loved him, and that was that. They were to be married, and this Matthew was probably just a mistake from her past. Weeks later, he remembered this moment, and wished his resolution had been stronger.
***
Marie and Guy went out for dinner again the following week, and on they made their way to the restaurant by foot. En route Marie had dropped the letter to Matthew into the post box, and Guy had looked on, angry with his suspicious jealousy. She had taken great care not to offend Matthew in the letter, delicately drawing together words to build each phrase, but she had not told Guy anything about it. Why did he need to now? It was irrelevant, and it was over.
The meal passed without event, until Marie suggested ordering a second bottle of wine.
“Two bottles of wine is a lot between two people, Marie,” said Guy nervously.
“Yes but I’ve only had one glass. You’ve drunk most of that bottle yourself.”
It was a fair observation. The tense anger in Guy had left him in desperate need of a drink, and he had drunk three glasses with ease.
“It just seems a little extravagant is all.”
“I’ll pay for it if that’s the problem,” said Marie tersely.
“Don’t be argumentative, dear. It doesn’t suit you,” said Guy, immediately regretting his words.
“Don’t be boring Guy. It suits you fine, but it isn’t what a girl like me wants.”
Marie’s brusque words incensed Guy who sharply barked back:
“What’s the matter with you!? Nothing’s ever good enough for you! You live in dreams, you chase fantasies, but this is the real world Marie!”
All of their frictions suddenly became obvious, and they took savage relish in tearing each other apart
“Well at least I’m not living the life which I’ll be living in fifty years’ time. At least I’m not trapped on the road which I’ll travel until I die!”
“Leave my work out of this! Just because I do something I love! If you were to find something you actually wanted to do, you’d be the same!”
“But I need more to life! There has to be more to my existence than work! It just isn’t enough!” She was quite out of breath by this point and her heart was racing. “And if that’s all there is to you, maybe I need something different.”
“Something like Matthew?!” said Guy callously. “I know about him, and how you’ve written to him. And how he loves you, and you think you might too!”
Marie’s jaw had dropped. She was aghast.
“How dare you pry like that, Guy?! That was my business!”
“Marie, if you’re going to be mine I need to know about every one of you ghosts, past and present. You can’t cut me out like this.” He said weakly
“Maybe I don’t want to be yours. Maybe that’s why Matthew’s letter shook me so.”
“Well isn’t this a fine time to bring it up!” said Guy mockingly.
“Is this the man I am to marry?! I don’t love you, I’m just settling. I am far above this pathetic jealousy!”
Seeing that Marie had taken the upper hand, Guy’s approach turned from accusation to grovelling.
“Please Marie, we’ll work this out. What couple doesn’t argue?”
“No Guy. I’ve seen things tonight. I’ve seen a side of you that I can’t live with. I’m confused, and you can’t handle it. You aren’t the man I imagined you to be. I’m leaving.”
Marie ran home, buried her face into her pillow and began to weep uncontrollably. Guy ordered the bottle of wine, payed the bill and walked into the street, swigging the warming red liquid as he went. Later that night, once he had become really rather drunk, he too began to cry.
***
The engagement was officially broken off two days later, and a wealth of gossip swirled round the town, but Marie was hardened by her experiences, and shook it all off like light flakes of snow. Within a year Guy was engaged to the girl who worked in the local Bakery, Eleanor, and they married quickly. Marie often saw them in town, holding hands and talking with the ease that only love can bring. Each time she sighed heavily with the memory that she had never really talked with Guy in that way.
One day Marie was in town and saw that Eleanor was wearing a baggy floral dress, and that her stomach was heavy with the promise of motherhood. Marie thought about the dead end relationship she was now in. She envied Eleanor’s life incredibly, even though she herself had turned down the chance when she was so close.
Matthew received her reply, was pleased by her words, and felt he had been right to send the letter. He lived happily in this naïve daydream, never knowing that Marie often admitted to herself that she wished she had never met him, and blamed him chiefly for her downfall.
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