I wanted to believe her – really I did – but when one editor made Voldemort look kind-hearted and the other was about as fierce as Winnie the Pooh, the odds were pretty stacked against me. As for my blind date, Gwen’s taste in men was dubious at best, so this Greg guy wasn’t likely to be my soulmate.
The familiar tug of desire to rip the letter open and devour its contents resurfaced again but I batted it away. I wasn’t quite ready for the storm of emotions reading it would unleash.
It wasn’t long before the witching hour came. At midday, Miranda came oozing out of her office and approached my desk.
‘Ava, could you come with me please?’
I gulped and grabbed my mood-board. I flashed a terrified expression to Fran, who just made a “rock-on” sign with her fingers and turned back to her computer.
That was it. I was on my own. I followed Miranda to her office like an innocent fly wandering into a spider’s lair. The door shut with a finality I wasn’t altogether comfortable with.
Miranda took a seat in her large black executive chair. She crossed one leg over the other and her lips curved into a sly smirk. To her right sat Paddy, who looked typically clueless and unaware of the undertones behind his colleague’s supposedly sweet smile.
‘Hello there Maria, I didn’t know you were applying for this!’ he said in his jovial Scottish lilt.
‘I-It’s Ava, Paddy…’
‘So, Ava,’ Miranda said as she made a little pyramid with her fingers and rested her chin on in. ‘why don’t you take us through your lovely mood-board?’
My heart began to pound in my ears and my breath became short. I held my board in front of my chest so they could see it, my hands trembling terribly. The slick, polished speech I’d prepared had vanished from my mind. Shit, shit, shit. Why did this have to happen now?
‘We’re waiting.’ Miranda’s voice was terse and she looked at me with a malicious glee, as though she enjoyed watching me fail.
‘Oh y-yeah, sorry…’
I caught sight of Paddy’s shoulders slouching and his gaze travelling to the far corner of the room. Come on Ava, pull it together.
‘I-I…um…I-I…’
A cold sweat washed over me and I began to tremble with abject fear. An unwelcome but familiar burning feeling rose in my throat and I knew exactly what was going to happen next.
‘Would you excuse me for a minute?’ I asked.
Neither of them looked impressed but I was past caring at this point. I looked for the nearest escape route but knew my sickness wouldn’t wait any longer. I grabbed a wastepaper bin by the door and was violently sick in it.
I knew as I walked out of the room that the job wasn’t mine.
I took some time out to sit in the ladies’ toilets and cry. Today was supposed to be the day I landed the job of my dreams and instead I’d thrown up in front of the people who would either make my career or break it. I’d probably end up being stuck doing the wordsearches or the horoscopes: they were areas where only the worst staff were sent.
I went into my handbag to get my make-up and my fingers closed in around the letter. Given that I was already an emotional wreck, I figured that adding to it probably wouldn’t do any harm.
I was just about to open it when Fran came in.
‘Dare I ask how the pitch went?’ she asked, taking in my tear-stained face.
I let out a hollow chuckle. ‘Well I went in there, couldn’t say anything about what I wanted to do for the column and threw up in the rubbish bin.’
She clapped her hands to her mouth, presumably to hide the trademark Cheshire cat grin working its way onto her face.
‘Only you Ava, only bloody you!’ She pulled me close for a hug. ‘You’re a one-off, you know that?’
When she pulled away, she caught sight of the envelope in my hand. ‘What’s that?’
‘If I’m right, it’s a letter from someone I thought had forgotten about me a helluva long time ago,’ I answered.
‘Open it!’ Fran’s eyes widened with curiosity and she eyed me expectantly like a kid waiting to receive their birthday presents.
Hands trembling, I tore open the envelope and unfurled the paper. For a very long minute, I couldn’t look at it and viewed it instead through half-closed eyes.
‘Come on, I can’t take this any more!’
I took in a deep lungful of air and prepared myself to look at what was written on the page. Every fibre of me told me not to, that I should put this Pandora’s Box of words back in my bag and forget about it. However, Fran’s expectant stare and the niggling questions at the back of my mind made me look. When I did, my breath caught in my throat. In front of me was the most beautiful love letter I’d ever read.
Dear Ava,
How do you start writing a letter to someone, six years after breaking their heart?
It may seem strange that I’m writing to you again after so long, but I can’t ignore how I feel any more. If there’s one thing I’ve learned in the last six years, it’s that life’s too short not to go after what you want. And Ava, all I want is you.
Since that day I was supposed to meet you in Heaton Park, I’ve kicked myself for being such a coward. Seeing how upset you were afterwards killed me. Every fibre of me pulled me towards you that day but my stupid self-doubt stopped me. I was scared of not being enough, of disappointing you. Little did I know that by convincing myself to stay out of the picture, I ended up doing the very thing I was trying to avoid. Words can’t express how sorry I am for hurting you; I hope you can forgive me.
After trying to convince myself to forget you and telling myself to move on, I’m still totally and completely in love with you. Spending the best part of a decade thinking about what we could’ve had together has been torturous. It could’ve been me holding you tight or kissing you or showing you how special you are. Now, it’s finally time for me to do something about it. I know you could have built a whole life with someone else, but I’ll regret it forever if I don’t at least try. I’ll let you know who I am soon: for now just enjoy the magic of the letters. If anyone deserves a fairy tale, it’s you. Keep smiling, beautiful.
Love always,
?
A stray sob escaped from my throat; it was a happy sob, full of joy at what I’d just read and the chain of events it could potentially set in motion.
‘Who’s it from?’ asked Fran.
‘It’s from my secret admirer,’ I replied. ‘He’s back!’
