34 May's Corner
Castleford
LO6 1AR
Dear Lara,
I hope this finds you well. Or as well as you can be.
While I write, I imagine that you've just put the kids to bed and finally have the time to breathe and open the white, crinkly envelope containing the 2 to 3 (or maybe more, you know how I love to ramble!) pages of this letter; though I suspect 15-year-old (or is he 16, now?) Cam might still be awake, tapping away at his touch-screen phone as he texts or searches for something to watch. He'll likely be listening out for your footsteps, ready to hide his phone under the pillow and pretend to be asleep when you open the door to check up on him. You'll find that Aiden does this all the time, too, but instead of ordering him to go to bed, be sure to join my son in his little performance and pretend not to notice. That's what I usually do (yes, he will be cranky in the morning).
The sun is shining so brightly today. It's been so difficult to feel positive about anything lately, but it has been a week of constant sunshine and cool wind, that I feel like I really have no choice but to enjoy it, to savour it. Really, this kind of weather makes me feel so nostalgic.
It makes me think about school, can you believe it?
I think about those months between Summer and Spring, when the temperature felt just right, like the sun and the wind were working together to wrap everyone in a wonderful state of bliss. I could have the worst time at school, with teachers bellowing at me or giving me pages and pages of homework I could never understand, but then I'd step outside and the weather would put a smile on my face. It made me feel like anything was possible.
Of course, we both know I was much happier when school finally ended. I'd be out at the park or at Kaya's house by the time you were home, lugging both our coats and our school bags through the door. I don't know why Mum always insisted we take our coats. Even if it was a hundred degrees outside, she wouldn't let us leave the house without them.
Randomly, I found myself doing the exact same thing to my own kids. I didn't realise it at first, but Cleo, who you've always said is an old woman in an 8-year-old's body, threw her coat on the floor with a great big huff and said, "Mum! I cannot do this anymore!"
I stood there and laughed for a whole five minutes.
This might be dramatic but it was really eye-opening for me.
When we were younger, there were times I promised myself I wouldn't repeat certain things Mum, and even Dad, did, with my own kids; I'm sure you've also felt the same. But they raised us, and whether we like it or not, they've influenced us more than we realise.
You definitely picked up that habit of singing everywhere you go from Dad. It used to annoy me because it was constant, and it gets particularly worse whenever you are heartbroken about something or someone. You'd even turn studying into a musical, flashcards and passwords composed into songs so you'd remember them, and everyone else had no choice but to remember them, too, because for some reason they were always so catchy. It annoyed me back then, but now, I miss it.
I miss you.
I miss hearing you sing. I miss hearing you talk. I miss the attentive way you'd listen whenever I'd speak to you, so focused on every word like you were listening to a lecture and there'd be an exam on it afterward. My little sister, ever the student. I wonder if you'll ever wear thick, black frames again, like the ones you used to wear during school. My friends would always joke about how they could spot you from a mile away because of those glasses, and then I'd laugh because I could, too.
You were so quiet back then. Remember that one day Mum and Dad came back from your parents' evening, gushing about how one of your teachers called you a "vital and vocal member of the classroom"?
What was her name, again? Miss Lale?
I never liked her. She was so stuck up, and her voice was so snooty, it got on my nerves. She always acted like she was better than everyone else, and it's because I stood up for myself that she always tried to pick on me. But then again, I never liked any of the teachers, did I? Except for maybe Malik. He was that teaching assistant, remember?
I thought he was so handsome, and he explained the work much better than the teacher ever did.
That reminds me; do you remember when Kaya had that big crush in year 9, and you kept asking who it was but we never told you? It was Mr. Berk, the Maths teacher who taught the Year 7s and 8s. I know. I know.
I don't know what Kaya was thinking. He wore bow ties to school! Still, it was fun to tease her about it. We fell out during college, but I heard she's currently in her second marriage, can you believe it? Let's hope her husband has a better sense of style than Mr. Berk.
Now that I think about it, there's a lot I didn't tell you back then. None of it is important now, but I still wish I told you. I wish I let you in, so you could see how it was for me, so that all this chaos that has surrounded our family these past few years might just seem a little clearer. But now, I'm going to tell you everything. I want to tell you everything. And I also want to remind you about the good times, LaLa, because there were good times, and I don't want you to forget about them.
I know I'm the last person you want mentioning this, but, remember how Amir always bought you tulips for Valentine's Day?
Each one was a different colour, and I always wondered how he managed to do that. You'd always complain about how Valentine's was like any other day and there was no reason to celebrate it, but I know the flowers made you happy. That's why I always told you to be more appreciative whenever he bought you gifts or took you somewhere fancy, because it would encourage Amir to spoil you more.
You never did in the end.
But you did love him. Of course you did, he was your first love, the father of your children. And whether you accept this or not, he loved you, too, he really did.
I know Valentine's, birthdays, even weekends will be hard for you now. But they don't have to be, Lara. We were all so happy back then, and it angers me to think about the way everything changed, and I worry you and the kids won't let yourselves ever be happy again, but it doesn't have to stay like this, which is why I'm writing these letters. I want to help you.
I have so much more to tell you but I'll stop here for now. I want to give you time to adjust, for the shock to wear away.
I'm certain you'll read this letter. I know you want to hear what I have to say.
Send my love to the kids. I miss them with my entire heart.
Always your sister,
Ella