WUTHERING BITES

Chapter Fourteen: Letters

Chapter Fourteen

Letters

From Kate to Heath

Dearest Heath

It's the night after the dance and I've been told to pack and be ready to leave in an hour. No one will tell me why I'm wanted at The Hall. It may be something to do with Harrison. No one can find you. I think you must be out hunting. Father insists I am to return home on the next train. My bags are packed and I'm writing this to you in case you don't arrive in time to catch the train with me. I want you to know what I have never told you enough - how much I love you. I am leaving this under your door to read when you return.

I keep thinking of the events that led to me being separated from you and wanted to clear up the misunderstanding that occurred... I'm going back to the beginning...

Annabelle stopped by (such a swat) on her way from the school library, to show me her dress. Don't ask me how we've become friends but I suppose that's what you could call us, until tonight. Anyway, I'd been trying to get her to wear contacts for ages, and finally she'd agreed. It was like a new person greeted me at the door.

'Kate, you look beautiful,' she said. I felt it was my turn to repay her compliment.

We sat together at my dresser, me in my pink satin slip, bought especially to go with my dress for the occasion (I can't believe I'm writing this down!) to impress you later as we planned! Annabelle had draped my dressing gown over her clothes and was trying on my slippers. We painted our nails to match our dresses. Afterwards, I did Annabelle's makeup. I was quite thrilled to have made Belle my personal project as I felt her transformation on the surface would lead to a more profound transformation of her personality.

I was so excited to see your band play in front of a real audience for the first time. I knew you'd rock the place out; you're so hot and talented, how could you be anything but amazing? And you were amazing, Heath. Don't ever let anyone make you feel different, just because you are.

When Annabelle emerged from my bathroom transformed in a cream and silver tasselled dress, I was surprised. Then I complimented my new friend.

'Wow,' I said, 'you look completely amazing!'

'Do you think so? Do you think anyone will notice?'

By "anyone" I was pretty sure she meant you and I ignored the insinuation.

'Of course, you look beautiful Annabelle,' I said, and meant it.

Annabelle smiled. She said she knew her pale, icy prettiness wouldn't last. 'I have a slim figure but I know I lack the... specialness that would make a boy like Heath, for example, sit up and take notice.'

I knew she wanted me to disagree, but I could never just let her think you were hers for the taking. Instead, I told her any guy would be lucky to have her. And I believed it, (unless that guy was you, of course). Annabelle was, or rather is, perfect girlfriend material, more perfect than me. She's perfectly boring, perfectly spoken and perfectly nice. How could you not like her Heath? Tell me what I saw never happened! Do you remember how much we hated the Hunts as children? How we used to laugh at them?

Of course, Edmund has always disliked you because you were braver than him – or so I thought. He called you "rough" but I know Annabelle secretly had a crush on you from the time we all met up at Hareton Hall during summer holidays and I put on a fashion show. Remember?

The fashion show began and ended with me showing off my new sports uniform. All of our school friends came and it was my idea to donate the door money to charity! Annabelle was invited to model also, but I went first. Edmund and Annabelle took their seats, open mouthed, on the floor. I'd set up the old ballroom like a theatre and forced you to grudgingly hold the curtains and shine the spotlight. You studied our neighbouring friends without hiding your irritation. You still hadn't forgiven their father for accusing you of harming their dog when we were small, and I don't blame you. You looked like you wanted to be anywhere but inside The Hall that day but this was a chance to "let bygones be bygones," as Greta once said.