The Forgotten Letters of Esther Durrant - Kayte Nunn Page 0,57

to lie awake every night wondering if he’s eaten his supper, if he’s warm enough, if he’s sleeping peacefully? To be hundreds of miles away from him, hoping he isn’t missing you, isn’t crying out for you?”

Robbie said nothing but stepped forward and took her in his arms. Caught off guard, Esther submitted to his embrace, not caring that he was soaking wet. He smelled of tobacco, earth, and salt, a comforting mix that enveloped her, made her feel unaccountably safe. She found herself clinging to him, reveling in the strong feel of his shoulders beneath her hands. It had been months since John had touched her, and even longer since she had felt desire for anything or anyone. Its sudden flare, sending heat coursing through her and causing her to turn her lips toward his, took her by surprise. As their lips met, she came to her senses, jerking herself away violently and turning to run back up to the house before her wayward body could betray her any further, before Robbie had a chance to say anything.

Chapter Twenty-Four

Little Embers, Spring 2018

Leah handed Rachel a rolled-up ball of socks. “There are a few pairs of boots by the front door. They’ll likely be too big, and some of them have been here since before I arrived, so the rubber might have perished, but it’s the best I can offer I’m afraid. Not that you should be going out today though.”

Rachel bit her lip and allowed herself to be told what to do. She was a guest of Leah’s, she reminded herself.

Leah watched her struggle, one-handed, with a sock and then knelt down in front of her. “Here, let me.”

Rachel felt momentarily embarrassed that an almost-complete stranger was putting socks on her bare feet, something even her mother hadn’t done since she was little, but she relinquished them and let Leah slide each one on. They were huge, and sagged around her ankles, but they would keep her feet warm.

“Breakfast is ready. Porridge. I usually eat in the kitchen, but it’s warmer in here so I’ll fetch yours for you.”

Rachel didn’t even have time to mutter a thank you before Leah left the room. She eyed the suitcase again. She was itching to see what the letters contained but didn’t know how long Leah would be gone.

“Like I said, I’m all out of sugar until Tom comes again,” Leah said when she returned after only a few minutes, setting a tray on Rachel’s lap. Rachel looked at the steaming bowl of oats and milk and took a tentative spoonful.

“It’s delicious,” she said, and to her surprise it was. Rich and creamy and just a hint of salt. She wolfed it down and looked up to find Leah watching her with the barest twitch of her lips.

“More?”

She nodded. “Yes please.”

* * *

After breakfast, Leah disappeared, the back door that led from the kitchen slamming shut behind her. Rachel reckoned on her being gone for a fair while: she remembered Leah had mentioned a number of chores to be done every morning about the place, so as soon as she’d left, Rachel shuffled forward on the sofa and reached into the suitcase again. Her fingers closed on the book and she pulled it out from under the clothes, placing it beside her on the sofa. She rested her elbow on one of the envelopes and used her good hand to pull out the pages it contained. They had been folded in half, and she carefully smoothed them flat. “My darling E. . . .” it began. She glanced at the top of the sheet. “August 1952,” she said aloud. Hoo-eee. The letter had been written more than sixty years ago. After the Second World War. Before the Vietnam War. Before man landed on the moon. Before the fall of the Berlin Wall. Before mobile phones. Before the internet.

When her mind had stopped boggling she read on. “I count the days since you left, and wonder how it can be that the sun still rises and falls, that your heart beats so far away from mine. I am filled with despair when I wake and know that I will not see your secret smile, the one I like to imagine that you reserve only for me, that I will not hear your laugh, walk with you to the jetty or the beach, never wrap my arm around your waist again. Your absence tears at me until I can no longer breathe and I