long silence, but May can be patient when she needs to be. Eventually Julia clears her throat. ‘I suppose it all goes back to Charles.’
‘I thought as much.’
‘But really, I don’t see why we have to drag bad memories up after all this time. Can’t we just draw a veil over it?’
‘Well, we could, if I had some idea what it is. And what’s Charles got to do with you not liking me?’
Julia gets up and goes over to the window. With her back to May, she says, ‘I told you, it’s not about whether I like you or not. Look, I’m not ready for this sort of talk just now, May. It’s hard enough to get through the days without Don. I can’t tackle any more emotional memories. Can’t we just get on with the letters?’
May sighs and gives in. They start to work their way through the heap, putting the photographs on one side. The rush of memories is potent, and May is soon overwhelmed. She realises she mustn’t start reading the letters properly otherwise she’ll be comatose before long, so she settles for just checking the dates. Even so, she can tell her face is giving her away. She can’t stop smiling.
‘We’ve done enough for now,’ says Julia, after an hour of intense sorting. ‘I’ll just read you a bit of this one, though. It’s from Elsie.’
She clears her throat.
Thanks for having us to stay again, Don. I know it wasn’t one of our more successful visits. Blame Will and his weird moods for that. I can’t believe he dashed off like that before the holiday was even over. I had to come home on the train alone, which wasn’t much fun, and to think he hitch-hiked all that way in the middle of the night! I still haven’t got to the bottom of it, and now he’s jacked his job in and gone off to Ireland. It’s that Catholic Church at the root of it. He’s never been the same since he turned his back on the Methodist chapel and started going to Mass.
‘What’s all that about?’ May asks. Something’s tugging at her memory, and it’s making her feel sick.
‘I have no idea. The date’s 15 March 1963. Does that mean anything to you?’
May closes her eyes, suddenly dizzy, and Julia leans forward.
‘You look a bit … well, Emily would probably call it “spaced out”. Are you OK to work a bit longer or shall we have a break?’
May really is feeling quite peculiar now. The thought of a little lie-down on the bed is very tempting. March 15 1963. Her eleventh wedding anniversary. And the day after Charles drowned.
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