Dear Rosie Hughes: This is the most uplifting and emotional novel you will read in 2019!
Rosie
To: Aggie
Date: 15 January
Hi, Aggie.
Poor you. But I’m not sure your mum has quite reached ‘old trout’ status yet. Try to see her good points? Surely she has some?
I know I keep asking for favours, but can you buy me an MP3 player and I’ll settle up with you when I get home? Everyone else seems to have remembered to bring music. And can you please put a couple of compilations on a disc for me, like the old-fashioned mixed tapes you used to do for us, and can one of the songs be Forgotten Dreams, by Leroy Anderson, and also the English version, Life in Rosy Hues. As you know it’s a very special song to me, not just because Mum and Dad sang it when I was little (and because we nailed it as a duet masterpiece), but because it was also the ‘slow dance’ song at my wedding with Josh. Listening to it will be a kind of self-harm, but it’ll match the mood I’m in right now.
Also, Mum and I made a pact just before I left. I said I would write to her with the truth of my situation – she knew I’d dumb the whole thing down for Dad. I said I would get letters to her via Mrs Jenkins at the Post Office, but can I send them via you, instead? Perhaps you could find an excuse to drop by and put the letter in her hand out of Dad’s sight? Do you still bake? Maybe you could drop round with a cake? I know if you go to Scotland you won’t be able to do this, but in the meantime if you could keep an eye on them I’d appreciate it. I’m sure Mum would love to see you. She was upset when you stopped coming round after the Simon thing.
Take care and please don’t let your mum upset you. I don’t think she means any harm.
Rosie
P.S. Regarding Scotland, you do know it can be even colder than Yorkshire up there, and you hate the cold, right?
‘E’ Bluey
From: Aggie
To: Rosie
Date: 18 January
Hi, Rosie
Jobs completed as requested. MP3 player dispatched. You’ll find mainly upbeat tunes but with a few memories on there from our melancholic teens, and obviously Ella Fitzgerald – to remind you of me, and the snow shovel is in position. I do think listening to La Vie En Rose is a mistake, I know I find it difficult to listen without welling up thinking of our duetting days, but if it was my song with my ex-husband, I’d probably end up rocking in a corner (just sayin). Anyhow, your wish is my command, and it’s on there as requested. I also downloaded an English translation version, which I think is lovely, although there really is no competing with Edith Piaf, is there?
I went on another date last night (internet, obviously). His card was marked from the off due to his terrible choice of pub. It smelt of stale beer and regret. And remind me never to go for a meal on a first date again. He ate like a wild animal and I really didn’t like his hands. It was not the best of nights (am I an unreasonable cow-bag?). Truth is, I’m not sure about this whole Internet dating malarkey. Mum is addicted to it and treats dating websites like other people treat clothing catalogues – tries something on for size then sends it back (worn). I know, I’m a big fat hypocrite, but I’m not a mother yet, she is. And surely there’s a moral code that dictates mothers should behave better than their daughters?
I’d love it if I could meet someone the old-fashioned way, with eyes across a crowded room, just like in South Pacific when that foreign chap - is he French? - sings, Some Enchanted Evening. But that kind of thing never happens to me. When I stare around a room hoping to catch someone’s eye I just look like I’m stalking my prey. They’re doing a spot of speed dating at a pub in Huddersfield next week, so I might give that a go – that’s a crowded room after all (and Huddersfield is sufficient distance from home to avoid the gossips).
Life here is just the same, except for the minor fact that the village is now at complete loggerheads over the school issue. Every time I go to the shop or the petrol station I’m roped into the debate, but I can see both sides and intend to keep well out of it. Having said that, there’s a meeting tonight in the village hall and I’ll have to go or that bloody Janet in the shop will scowl at me every time I go in. But on the plus side, we may witness the lobbing of rotten fruit and the burning of effigies, so it might be a worthwhile trip after all.
Well, must go. This book of mine won’t write itself, more’s the pity. Still no news on Scotland, but I really do hope I get to go.
Love, Aggie
P.S. Is Gethyn a bit of a cock?
P.P.S. I’m working on the bucket list for you – next one, swimming with dolphins!
Bluey
From: Rosie
To: Mrs Hughes (via Agatha)
Date: 18 January
Hi, Mum
Sorry it’s taken me a while to write. I’ve been waiting for things to settle down a bit. The truth of the matter (and I’m still taking you on your word that you only wanted me to write the truth) is that we’ve embarked on an express train headed to war, and as the train builds momentum, the desert floor is definitely beginning to rumble with the vibration of western military might, and whatever the politicians are saying at home, I know with absolute certainty that this runaway train is moving too fast to stop now.
It’s hard to describe how I feel about all of this without seeming cold because I feel utterly detached. Fox News plays on a constant loop inside the HQ tent, and it all seems so artificial. When the war starts, the guys I work with in HQ will dictate the pace of the operation. But just like the rest of the world, they too will watch the horror on the front line – just three kilometres away – unfold on TV. Try to imagine a tented prison – a prison with no showers, no light relief, no time off for good behaviour; a prison that is far too cold at night and far too hot during the day. And just like a prison, if I step outside I can see no horizon, no people, no life, just a wall of sand and it gets in, on and around everything.
I’ll sign off there, but can you please send more wet wipes, sanitary towels (super-plus) and Tampax? I started taking the pill before I came out so I wouldn’t get my period, but stupidly left the pills in the side pocket of my big rucksack which I ditched because it was too heavy, so I’ve missed taking the pill for a couple of days which means I’m bound to get my period in a week or so.
Thanks mum. I’m so sorry to be putting you and Dad through the worry of it all. I realise now how selfish it was of me to come.
Miss you both so much.
Love you, Rosie x
Bluey
From: Rosie
To: Aggie
Date: 18 January
Hi, Ag
Nooooo, Gethyn is not a cock. Not even a bit of a cock. He’s lovely. He’s just quirky and very intelligent. Why? Did he write to you? What did he say?
Things have changed quite a bit out here. We’ve left the American camp behind and have hit the Baghdad Highway and are now in the middle of the desert closer to Iraq. I sleep on a camp bed on the sand next to an army truck. It’s still very cold at night and my sleeping bag just doesn’t cut the mustard. I wear every item of clothing I have (which isn’t much) and that just about keeps me warm enough. Please do not imagine me swanning around in Lawrence of Arabia style sand dunes. Imagine a flat landscape like Norfolk but covered in a layer of sand with black stuff (oil presumably?) rising out of it sporadically.
The Army have built a berm around our camp. A berm is a long pile of sand in the shape of a square pushed into a mound that wraps around the perimeter of the camp – a bit like an inverted moat. As we drove north from Kuwait city I noticed that the desert is strewn with abandoned berms – and litter – which is either dumped where it’s created or buried by the Army. As far as toilets go, the army dig a deep trench then place a row of portaloos across it. There’s no bottom in the loo so your business