Clandestine

Chapter 20 - A Letter

The road north from Melbourne to Narooma, along the South Coast of Australia, is gorgeous. Travelling unhurried along the route I still stop at every nook, cranny, and crevice along the way. I get down to Melbourne less and less these days. My passion for teaching has all but disappeared. I am little more than a guest speaker at the naval base and instead have settled into my comfortable routine across the road from the Narooma golf and country club. I live approximately a well-struck three-wood away from the first tee and try to play every day. During the week I like to play early, alone, and quickly. It is when I am alone in the morning, walking up towards the second green and squinting as I gaze towards to the sunrise across the Tasman Sea, that I feel most content. 

As I approach my apartment in the late afternoon on this January afternoon, I catch a glimpse of the golf course across the street and check the pin position on the 18th green, already set for tomorrow. It is these small details that I live for now. With the car safely parked in the underground garage I emerge on the ground floor and take the stairway to my apartment. Uncharacteristically the mailbox is full. It contains the usual brochures and flyers that mark the trappings of civilisation but today I spot an unusual item, a letter from Scotland. It is a crisp, creamy envelope which originally hailed from Edinburgh and contains a return address but with the name of the sender unrevealed. There is only one characteristic that discloses the letter’s source. It is addressed to Callum O’Donovan but beside the title, in brackets, is printed “in care of Jack McCoy”.

The envelope does not display my address; instead it is addressed to the Kingston Heath Golf Club, a course I have not belonged to for five years. The address of Kingston Heath has been crossed out with an angry amount of black ink and in its place the letter has been re-addressed to the Narooma Golf Club along with my Golflink number which identifies me to every course in Australia. I have therefore deduced that the letter was forwarded to Narooma from Kingston Heath and carried across the street from the course to my abode, where it has been awaiting my return home from my visit to Melbourne.

I stared at the envelope for 20 minutes. If you had asked me at any time previous to this moment I would have told you that upon receiving correspondence from the love of my life I would have ripped it open and digested its contents, but instead I sat and pondered. Why now? How did she find me? What’s wrong?

I poured myself two fingers of whiskey and filled the tumbler with ice. I located a coaster from the living room and placed it precisely on the kitchen table to secure my drink. I removed all contents from the table until only the envelope sat proud and ordered in front of my chair. I moved to the bedroom, changed from my journey and clad myself in a fresh golf shirt and pants. I was preparing the room for the moment that would follow when I would connect with Eleanor again. I took the letter opener, which I had placed like a piece of cutlery beside the envelope, and began to reveal the letter with a fine cut which would preserve the envelope forever. Once the letter was opened and in front of me I took painstaking care not to skim and read on in the note. I enjoyed each word, one at a time, with the discipline I had built up from a lifetime of lonely moments and delayed gratification. Slowly I began to read the message.

Callum,

You are a difficult man to find. I located the name of your golf course from your father’s neighbour back home in Motherwell. Hopefully this letter finds you eventually. This indirect approach was my only hope of locating you.

Roger passed away 18 months ago. He was diagnosed with cancer in 1996. He was not sick for very long at all. He was active right up to the month before he died. It was very difficult for Sarah and Rachel, as you can imagine; Roger was a wonderful father. I miss him very much.

The girls are both out on their own now. Sarah is married and Rachel in following in my footsteps at the University of Edinburgh, not that they are very large shoes to fill. I finished teaching 2 years ago to look after Roger and I’m not keen to go back.