A few days after posting her letter, Marion woke up to find a reply pushed inside the mailbox outside the trailer. Waiting till it was dark, she sat in bed, and read.
Dear Kate,
How good to hear from you, and how unexpected. Things are well with us all here at VicMu. Not much has changed – Lorna Corbett has gone, and we've got some new girls, but we're still rolling out the bombs for our boys.
Betty doesn't hate you, she never has. I think she might hate herself. She says to say that there's no need to say sorry – nothing to forgive! We miss you. As to why she was up with you – she's taken to travelling about at weekends this year. Hopping on trains and exploring. Anywhere away from the coast, you know. Stops her being bored and boring, she says. If you want me to, I can tell her to stay away from your new place, she'll understand, but I really don't think you need worry. If you don't want her to find you, she won't. You know her well enough to realize that, I think.
Michael sounds swell, a real keeper! It's always great when your family likes your beau – Congratulations on your engagement! It's odd to think you're no longer Kate Andrews, and will be changing names again soon. I confess, you'll always be Kate to me.
I can't tell you whether you're in love, and I shouldn't, even if I was able. When I'm in love, I think about them all the time, plan various future lives together, imagine 100 times a day new ways to make it obvious. And yes, that heart racing, blood pumping, sweaty palm feeling is part of it, but not all. The main bit to get right, I think, is being on the same level, knowing what the other needs, and be willing and able to give it. You want a communication of souls, as well as the physical stuff. But that's just me – I'm a terrible old romantic at heart. There's all kinds of love in the world, and what you feel might not be what I feel, but it still can be love.
I had friend, recently, who lost the love of her life. Now some people, they'd cry and scream and not get out of bed for a month. If something happened to James, that's what would happen. But my friend just got up the next morning and went to work, battered and bruised but carrying on. Did she love any less, was she any less heartbroken? No, and, in the end, she'll be alright. She's that kinda gal. So if you think you're in love, you are, and good luck with it.
If you ever wanna come and see us hacking canaries, there's always a place to stay. I must rush – lunch break is almost over.
Love always,
G -x-
Kate read, and reread the letter. Despite the closing line, it didn't look as if it had been dashed off in a hurry – the penmanship was neat, no scribbles, crossings out, or blots, as though its author had taken great care over this, their final draft. The handwriting was less elaborate than Kate had always imagined Gladys' to be, solid and upright, with no swirls or curls or slants. When Kate looked closer, it seemed to her that the signature, and the address on the envelope, was in a different hand, less practical, and more flamboyant. She knew, then, who had written the letter. After all, the style was distinctive. Kate read the letter, for a third time, and cried.