Winter Wayhaught

Chapter 22

Nicole sat in Waverly's chair, an A4 notepad on her lap, a pencil in her hand. She preferred pens, but wanted to know what it felt like revealing her thoughts by the same method Waverly used. The blank page stared back at her. What to write, she wondered. How could she put what was in her heart on paper?

Dear Waverly,

I'm so glad you came to the store. You changed my world for the better. I am sitting in your chair writing this, with a pencil and paper which has lines. It feels odd.

She looked at her first effort, tearing the sheet off the pad, screwing it in a ball.

Dear Waverly,

You are my world. I know you are currently travelling the world, but to me I don't need to travel the world when I have you.

Robin approached. "How's it going?"

"Fucking impossible. I write like I'm putting together a business proposal. This is hopeless. She's going to think I don't love her."

"Relax. We got this. Give me the pad and pencil. Tell me what you want to put."

"That she's my north. That I could listen to her voice for eternity. Stare into her eyes, caress her hair when she's sleeping. That I thank the Universe for allowing an angel to fall into my life. That my world was without colour, without music until she arrived. Are you writing any of this down?"

"Nope. That's your job. I was drawing an airplane with me waving from one of the windows."

"I seriously, seriously will fire you."

"I will leave you now to pencil your masterpiece. Don't come down until you've written your first letter."

"OK boss."

Nicole sat for the rest of the morning desperately trying to put words to her thoughts. A pile of scrunched-up sheets littered the floor around her. She stood, stretching her body, finally understanding why Waverly complained so often about having a sore neck after hours of sitting in the same position.

Robin was by the cash register. "You done?"

"Think so. At least, I hope so. It feels odd writing my feelings down. Like they're exposed."

"Remember, the objective of this exercise is to get you exposed in Berlin, preferably in a hotel room, with an equally exposed girlfriend."

"Right. Full exposure."

One hour to go before Waverly was due to call. Nicole didn't know what to do with herself, half-reading a book, making herself a sandwich, leaving it uneaten, pouring a glass of whiskey for courage. She opened the wardrobe in their bedroom, taking in the scent of Waverly's clothes, running her hand over the items, feeling her connection to the wearer. The love letter in her hand.

Her phone rang. Waverly's face appeared. She looked tired. "Hi, it's me. Forgot how hard travelling is. How's the bookstore?"

"It's fine. I've written you something."

"I don't have long. I'm due to meet journalists shortly."

"I need to read this to you. Can you hear me?"

"Yes. Go on. What is it?"

"A love letter."

"Wow. OK, definitely listening."

"I'm really nervous. I hope you like it."

"I'll love it."

"I don't have to read it. I can save it for when I see you in Berlin."