The Things That Stay

Letter 4: Holly - February 11th, 1965

I apologize for the delay in my response—there’s a great deal of paperwork that comes with renting a flat, so forgive me if this letter isn’t as long, ornate or intricate as you hoped. But I did receive my book, and I find the notes and messages you’ve scribbled in the margins quite entertaining (though I wish you had not done them in permanent ink).

Old Faithful sounds lovely—I’m sure she is a very agreeable and entertaining person, and I will have to look into her condition, for I must admit that it sounds very intriguing. Well. As you can see, I’m not exactly an expert at casual letters. Not an expert at casual anything, really, so you’ll have to be a bit patient with me. But as I believe you once said, patience is a virtue, and correct me if I’m wrong, but you don’t seem to have a great deal of it yourself, Simon Dalaigh.

God, I really don’t know what to say next, so I suppose I’ll just slip into your “ill child pen-pal” formula myself. My name, as you know, is Holly Halliburton, and my middle name is Joyce, which I actually fancy a lot, though it gives an air of grace and elegance that I certainly do not have. And my hobbies? Since yours seemed to be sarcastically morbid and dull (and I apologize if I’m mistaken), then I’ll try my best to emulate your tone. My hobbies include leaving coffee rings on every surface and material in my possession, shutting myself in my room for hours upon end while reading, and, of course, losing my glasses and buying new ones only to discover the old ones hidden in plain sight right where I had left them. I also smoke around two cigarettes a day, though it’s an expensive habit that I’m trying to stop (though to no avail).

I suffer from a mild sort of short-term memory loss, I bite my nails too much and I have a habit of drawling on about things that are only of interest to myself, like the effect strong emotion has on the human pupil. I can go on forever about that, honestly. And my favourite colour is green—like the cardigan you complimented so sweetly last Thursday. And I would have every intention of showering gifts upon you just like everyone else, but unfortunately I live in a world where every shilling you earn for yourself goes to the rent, food and family. But if you’d like me to send you my heating and electrical bill, I’d be more than happy to oblige. …Sorry for that—that was incredibly rude! All of my payments are making me tetchy as of late, but I’ve already typed this up on my typewriter and it would be a terrible waste of ink if I started over and removed that bit.

           

            So how have you been fairing, Simon? I haven’t received any calls from your doctor, so I can only assume that that means you are doing well. Or at least better than you were Wednesday. The tone of your letter seems chipper enough, anyway. I am pleased to inform you that you are indeed my most vigorous client, considering—well, you’re the only one who’s alive. That sounds a bit creepy, but I’m having a go at this dark, tongue-in-cheek humour of yours. Not doing too well, but it’s the thought that counts.

            Anyway, my roommate, Sahdri, gives you her best regards—after reading your letter and hearing some firsthand accounts from myself, I dare say she’s half way in love with you, though I can’t imagine why your self-affirming cynicism could stir such affection in a sensible girl like her. Some things I suppose must remain a mystery. Then again, since she came here from the Indies, she has had a habit of romanticizing even the soggy, over-crowded and rough-hewn place that you call Liverpool and I call my natural habitat. I do think you’d like her, though: she’s much more pleasant and friendly than I am, that of which my dear brother up in Kirkham never failed to remind me whenever he paid me a visit.

            In any case, there really isn’t much news hereabouts. Work at the café is a bit slow and I’m finding it harder and harder to find time to study for my possible go at nursing school admission exams, but hopefully this too shall pass and I’ll have a steady job that can at least supplement I and Sahdri’s pitiful attempts to pay the rent. While I do not envy you your tricky lungs, I would venture to congratulate you on avoiding things like renting flats—it’s tedious and I have decided that being an adult is overrated. Anyway, I’m sure I’ll be receiving a letter of reply from you within the next few days, and I once again apologize if I’m not able to respond punctually, since I’ll very soon be taking the tube down to Chester for the agency—a man dying of heart disease, I’ve been told, though I can only hope that he’ll fare as well as you. Perhaps a bit of your affinity to avoiding death will rub off on him.

Yours Truly,

Holly (Joyce) Halliburton