A Letter

I went for a long walk this morning, along the seafront. It was very early, even before the fisherman had gone out, although some of them were getting their boats ready. The sea air gave me an appetite and I stopped at the café for breakfast. I got chatting to the woman who runs it and she says she might have a job for me. Washing up again.

I ate my bacon and eggs outside, watching the boats bobbing off to the fishing grounds. It looks like a good life, being a fisherman. Living your life with the rhythm of the sea. Being a part of its ebb and flow. Like breathing but much much more.

When I got home to the cottage, there was a notice on the front door. “Dr Flingle’s surgery closed due to bereavement.” I unlocked the door and went in. There was a strong smell of licorice.

“Lock it,” a slurry voice said. It was Dr Flingle.

I locked it behind me and peered into his office. “Are you OK?” I asked.

“Hadbit toomuch ‘f thegreenfairy,” he slurred.

“Pardon?”

“The Green Fairy. Absinthe.” He lifted the bottle to show me.

“Has something happened?”

“She’s gone, gone. Run off with that efffffffff’ing Polemite Preacher.” He put his head down on the desk. “Left me for a bloody preacher.”

“But it says bereavement on the door.”

He lifted his head. “’S’right. She’s dead to me.” He picked up the bottle and poured another glass. “Dead and gone.”

“If there’s anything …”

“No, I’ll be fine. Fine. Fffffing fine.”

I turned to go.

“Oh,” he says, “Oh Tanya.”

“It’s Toni.”

“Oh yes, Toni. For you.”

He handed me an envelope, a bit sticky and stained from the absinthe but with my name clearly handwritten on it. I kept turning it over and over as I went up the stairs. Behind me I could hear Dr Flingle muttering, “Always said she was plastic. Always.”

Inside the envelope was a lot of money and a note:

Dear Toni

It worries me that you’re going to get yourself in too deep working for Morgan, especially as it was my idea. It’s tough, even for people like me and I can tell that you aren’t as strong as I am. I’m giving you this money in the hope it will encourage you to break free while you can. Take yourself back home to England and pay off those debts. Be a nurse again and help people instead of doing them harm.

When I told you this was an easy way to make money I was wrong. I realise that now. If I could get away from it I would but it’s too late for me. It’s not too late for you.

AP


It’s made me feel really guilty about AP. I know now I shouldn’t have accepted that extra job from Tristan. But it can’t be helped.