Page 41 of Birds of a Feather

Elise recognised it immediately. The photo had sat on Gerry’s bedside table at college, but was often placed face down or turned around when one of them – usually Elise – became uncomfortable with an audience to their lovemaking.

The photo depicted Gerry and her sister standing behind their seated parents. As per the style of the time, their expressions were serious, sombre even, but there was a sparkle in Gerry’s eye that transcended the picture’s monochromatic tones and hinted at her warmth and sense of humour. It was like she was sharing a private joke with the viewer.

‘Feels like a million years ago now,’ Gerry said, placing it back on the sideboard. Elise wasn’t sure if she was referring to the time since the photo was taken, or since when Elise would have last seen it.

‘Come on,’ Gerry said, gesturing through the door to the loungeroom and picking up the cups of tea. ‘Let’s sit.’

They sat side by side on a large plush cream sofa decorated with plump pale-blue cushions. The cushions had a gold detailing that matched two resplendent gold club chairs to their right. Gerry cupped Elise’s hands in her own.

‘I’m so glad you’re here,’ she said, her eyes locked on their united hands. ‘But …’ Her voice trailed off.

Elise held her breath in anticipation of what might come next.

‘I know it was a long time ago,’ Gerry said, ‘but I’ll kick myself later if I don’t address the elephant in the room.’

The wings of the butterflies that had been lying quietly in Elise’s stomach since they’d left the hotel began rousing.

‘Why didn’t you write?’ Gerry asked finally. Firmly.

Elise instinctively let go of her hand. ‘Why didn’t I write? I did! I wrote every second day for weeks, and then every week for months. Until I finally gave up.’

Gerry stared at Elise, her eyes wide.

‘It was you who didn’t write,’ Elise continued. Her tone was a little more shrill than she intended.

‘Elise,’ Gerry said in a low, slow tone that Elise recognised from the few occasions they had exchanged cross words in college. ‘That is simply not true. I wrote to you even before I left the country. I wrote you a letter and gave it to Miss What’s-her-name, the house mistress, to give to you after I left. Then I wrote week in and week out, but you never replied. I assumed you’d received them; they were never returned to me.’ Her words began to speed up, tumbling out of her. ‘I thought you’d had a change of heart; that you couldn’t see a future with me. Then, when I read in the university alumni magazine that you’d got married, I assumed you’d chosen a path for your life that could never involve me.’

Gerry shifted ever so slightly away from Elise, who immediately felt like a chasm had opened between them. If Gerry had written, why hadn’t she received her letters?

‘I even phoned you a couple of times.’ Gerry’s voice was high and breathless. ‘But the house mistress told me you were out. I didn’t know if you were, or whether that was what you’d told her to say.’

Elise sat with her mouth agape. Why hadn’t she known that Gerry had called? Rapidly, the pieces of the puzzle fell into place.

‘Miss Turniss,’ Elise said finally, with a hiss. ‘The house mistress’s name was Miss Turniss. But we called her Miss Too-Priss because she was a stuck-up old cow. Remember? And she didn’t give me anything from you.’

‘But, I … But, she …’ Gerry started. As she sat back against the sofa, Elise saw her expression change. The penny had dropped for her too.

‘That bitch,’ Gerry said viciously. ‘She promised she would give you the letter after I left. But she didn’t. And then, what? She must have intercepted my letters and lied to me about you being out when I called.

‘But that doesn’t explain why I didn’t get any letters from you,’ she continued.

‘Of course it does,’ Elise replied. A wave of anger rose within her like volcanic lava. ‘How do you think I posted them?’

Gerry closed her eyes. ‘You put them in the tray outside her office to be sent.’

Elise nodded.

They sat motionless, processing the gravity of what they had learned.

‘Do you think she knew about us?’ Gerry asked, wringing her hands.

‘I guess she must have. Why else would she have done that?’

Elise felt dread in the pit of her stomach as she imagined Miss Too-Priss reading her letters. It was the same feeling that had perverted her feelings for Gerry all those years ago – an ugly mixture of shame, embarrassment and guilt. She had spelled out her innermost feelings across the pages of those letters, which she had decorated with doodles of flowers and birds. Miss Too-Priss was such a nauseatingly pious woman; she must have been outraged to discover the true nature of their relationship.

‘That fucking bitch,’ Gerry said, her shoulders slumping. ‘All these years, I thought …’ Gerry’s sorrow-filled words melded into a deep sigh.

‘I know,’ Elise replied, taking Gerry’s hand again. ‘Me too.’

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