start of Somewhere Only We Know
🐟A simple taxi running over familiar grounds felt both strange yet comforting after having been gone for so long. The London black cabbie driver was spilling cockney opinions and other shit passengers mostly don't listen to, but Saskia kept up a relatively decent conversation nonetheless. It was very early morning and, on Saskia's request, Neil didn't disturb Marcus for a pick up. As he felt somewhat jet-lagged despite having never been in the air, he lolled back his head and closed his eyes, blocking out the chit-chat and not opening his eyes again until the cab's twisting and turning gave enough body-intuition to sense they were almost home.
The concierge lad noticed from reception that they were back from their cruise and swiftly joined them outside to help with the vast luggage pile. Some pleasantries were exchanged; the good tan, nice time, glad-to-see-you-back kind of stuff, and once inside the building, Neil swapped his mail pile for a bottle of duty-free, joking with concierge not to be tempted to open it until his shift was over. The offer of seeing them up to their apartment was dismissed, and he shoved the mail under his armpit and between them managed their wheeled suitcases up the lift and through the door.
Abandoning their luggage in the kitchenette for the time being, Neil chucked the letters on the coffee table as they collapsed in unity down onto the sofa where she curled into his side, head resting on his shoulder.
'Feels kind of weird being back, doesn't it?' she asked him, the room they had previously occupied still fresh in her mind.
'Aye, it does. Feels like we've been away forever too, though I'm glad to be back. Let's just sit for two minutes and I'll see if the coffee machine has rusted over or not.' he joked.
'Ugh!' Saskia gave protest, she had actually drank so many coffee's, from so many countries, under so many versions, that the thought of even an instant one grossed her out. 'You've got to be kidding... it's a cup of that peely-wally Scottish tea you make that I'm having!'
'You really meant that, then?'
'I'm staying off coffee for a while - seriously! Actually... ' she sat bolt upright and headed straight for the toilet. 'I think it's that that has been giving me this dodgy tummy.'
'Not the excess cocktails and ice cream, then?' Neil shouted after her as he watched her go, to which she stuck out her tongue at him before shutting the toilet door. 'Charming!'
Smiling at this jocundity, he felt good at how relaxed they'd become with each other. Being their own constant company did both a world of good; helped in bowdlerizing the past, and ratifying the smallest of changes - even in appearance. She had returned with most of her blond hair grown back to its natural shade of brown that highlighted her green eyes even more, whereas she'd convinced Neil to have his gauged shorter at the sides with a little length still on top. All they’d gone into that little salon in Florence for was an inch or two trim for her. And while she came back still as svelte as a pencil, he now sported the beginnings of a paunch—something the gym in the building’s basement would be eager to help sort out!
Thinking it better to wait until she was done before making the beverages, the pile of letters took his notice and with Neil being Neil, they held his attention on first glance. Guessing she'd probably be in there for a short while he grabbed the envelopes from the table and flicked through them one by one to determine their importance. His hand motions stopped at a particular one; the handwriting on the front noticed straight away, he'd drawn out her previous correspondence time and again before making any decision. Besides, the post-mark confirmed suspicion further. It was from Beverly, to Saskia but c/o Neil.
What did the woman want now? It had to be something other than pleasantries - out of the blue niceties were not quite her style. Had she fallen out with her sister, the move regretted and now wished to return home? After just two months, surely not. What if she were hurt or ill? No. Anything real bad and his work would have been bombarded with calls, no doubt; and strict emergency-only contact was to ever reach them. So, what did she want, then? Maybe she was just homesick or missing Saskia, but that was even more unlikely.
Shortly after Beverly had arrived in Spain, both Neil and Saskia decided that their sojourn was to mark a new beginning for them, a fresh starting point. Both had upgraded their phones, and Saskia chose to log only a select few contacts in hers that wouldn't include Beverly; having made a pledge of no contact, no interaction, not even a mention of her for at least six months, and she promised to stick to it. Her old phone would still have all its history to fall back on if need be.
The next few weeks were to be spent devising a covenant that included work, probable retirement, and/or scholastics if she so desired - she was still young enough for further education. Buying her a shop was a likelihood, but marriage wasn't a poke-through possibility at the moment. That would all be under consideration at some point perhaps, but it was the right here and right now that needed bearing.
He sat with the envelope flat there before him, and was fighting torturous curiosity. His hands were clasped, pushing up and biting down on both thumb tips at the same time. What to do, what to do? Fuck it, he thought, fed up with all the crap this she'd already given them, he was opening it; his name was on the front of the envelope too, so he could always say it was accidental.It would probably be related to money and he wouldn't put it past her to have overspent already. But what he read instead utterly floored him.
Hey there, Saskia.
I've been trying to reach you for a couple of weeks now, with no luck in doing so via either of your phones, or via Neil's work number. I was being told that he either wasn't in today or he wasn't available at all. Someone even said he was on holiday. Avoidance as much as this suggests to me you both prefer no contact at all, and I get the drift if such excuses have been put in place to see me off. But this is important, darling, and sending this letter here was the only other way I could think of to reach you. I know and respect the life choices you have now made, and please believe me when I say that I'm not trying to throw any spanner in the works.
Saskia darling, your mother at long last broke the news to me that she is highly certain as to who your father is. She was too afraid of upsetting Gran and Grampa and was trying to spare them more heartache and vowed never to burden her family again - hence her returning back to Spain after your birth.
We are hoping that you can make a trip over here to be with us, so we can discuss things. You need to hear it and you need to hear from her. A few days is all we ask. It's beautiful here, and Corrine's apartment is a corker, you'd love it! Please, please come over?
Of course, I understand there is the chance you may not want to and have already decided to cut ties with us altogether, and I wouldn't blame you. This is something that is owed to you, and it's only right you should know. If you prefer, you can call, but I think this is something needing done in person. No back up letter, or phone call attempts will be made after six weeks from the date on this one. I promise to leave you both be, although my offer of a visit or permanent residency will always stand.
Love you,
Beverly
p.s. I'm assuming any move you may have made would have a forwarding address. I added our new address at the back of the letter. xx
Quick as a flash, Neil flipped over the envelope to find a post date; it was stamped five weeks ago. Flipping it back again, he saw that a return address for Spain had indeed been added at the back.
Saskia swanned from the loo, the smell of sweet, pure perfume following her out. As she headed straight for the kettle, her dehydration worsening, she picked up the sound of something mechanical - gobbling and grinding - as she passed the settee.
'Neil! she squealed, having a high-pitched go at him. 'What in bloody Nora's name is that paper-shredder doing there? Can you not just leave things until you're back at work next week?'
He watched until the very ends had disappeared down the combs in the slot. 'I know... but you know I like getting things out of the way.'
She grabbed the machine from the table and whisked it up abruptly and slammed it into one of his stationary drawers set into the bedroom wall. 'You... oldish man... are hereby banned from doing any work-related nonsense at home for the rest of the week, we're technically still on holiday!'
Aye... aye, you're right. It's really only just one more week. By then we'll be well sorted... and hopefully, so will your tummy!' he teased. 'Want me to cook dinner tonight?'
'Ooh, yes! Cod and chips, a la flat, please. '
end of Somewhere Only We Know
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