Kept In The Dark

Chapter Five: Words of Love and Kindness

'Dear my love, my darling. How I wish I could wrap my arms around you and embrace you while you go through the trails of nature. More than anything I wish that I could be with you at this incredibly precious time. I wish we could be together like we were all those months ago. My heart aches for you and I long to see you and our child... Yours sincerely your wolfie'

"What? Wolfie? Who the Hell is Wolfie?" Mia spoke aloud as she read and reread the handwritten letters that sat in an old cardboard box in the attic.

Wolfie. Well, there was a name Mia didn't expect to see. As she stared at the signature and the tiny little kisses it quickly became clear that this letter was from her father. The words were written with love and care in the most wonderfully fancy handwriting that she had ever seen. She was surprised to see that the cursive letters were clear to see, not like other handwriting she'd seen before. It wasn't a complete mess like hers, nor were the words badly spelt like her mother's. Mia scanned the rest of the lengthy letter. It seemed to go on and on for page after page, full of words of love and kindness.

From reading the letter written by her father to her mother during the last few weeks of Donna's pregnancy, he seemed to be a loving man. Mature enough to want to be a decent father. So why this? The more she read the more Mia wanted to know about him and her desperation to get to the bottom of it increased. Mia wished she could have a proper conversation with her mother about the topic of Dad, but the more she tried the more Mum refused.

The small box was almost bursting to the brim with letters all addressed to Miss D Chandler, Donna Chandler, Mia's mother. Hundreds of them going back through the years. Mia flicked through them and although she didn't read the entire letter, the dates when they were written caught her eye. As she looked through them she noticed some of the ink appeared faded, but not all of them.

Mia's strong gaze settled upon an envelope. Written across it in fine handwriting, the ink was still clear as if it had only been written recently. The address was clear, and it was made out to Mrs D Meadows. Mia's suspicions forced her heart to slam against the walls of her chest. Her palms and forehead felt damp with sweat, but she knew she had to keep looking. She carefully reached inside the dark brown envelope, and with her thumb and index finger, prised the letter out. She caught a whiff of a strong scent that smelled like old musty wood with a hint of dampness and wet dog. It was strange. Neither her mum, stepfather, or grandparents who lived there before her ever kept a dog.

Fish, yes, and hamsters for the twins, but never a dog. Dogs were one animal that Mia couldn't stand. At the sight of a dog, especially some of the larger breeds, her stomach would tie in knots. Sweat would pour from her skin and her head would feel as if it was full of air. Mia found herself struggling to breathe, one breath more painful and difficult than another.

Over the years Mia felt as if she'd seen every shrink and councillor that money could afford, from ones on the NHS to those that cost more than her mum earned in a year. No one could help her and she felt like a lost cause.

Instead of being cured of her cynophobia Mia would cross the road if a dog came from the opposite end of the street, not out of fear of the animal, but out of fear of herself. Some things happened to Mia in her life, creepy things that she dared not even tell her friends, let alone her flesh and blood.

People had been sectioned, locked away in mental health clinics with the keys thrown away for saying less and no way would Mia let that happen to her.

Mia carefully read the letter, her attention focused on the date in the corner that sat just underneath the handwritten address. As she looked from one corner to the other, she began to wonder why only one address was visible. Surely when someone wrote a letter they wrote the recipients on the left and the senders on the right. That's what she'd been taught at school, anyway. Whether or not her teachers were right, that was a different matter.