Page 5 of Be Less Panda

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Nancy closed the door to her study and sat down in her chair. She put the letter on the desk in front of her and took a deep breath to steady herself. She hadn’t seen that neat handwriting for over 50 years, and she’d never expected to see it again.

She picked up the letter again and sniffed it. It smelled of paper.Did you expect it to smell of him, you old fool? No point looking at it, Nancy Smith. Open it!

Smith. Funny how her inner voice admonished her using her maiden name. She’d been a Farnham for how long? 49 years. She and Xander would be celebrating their golden wedding anniversary next year if he hadn’t had that stupid heart attack. Not that it was much of a marriage. He’d probably been faithful to her for a year at most. But she knew all about his flirtatious ways with women before she married him. After all, he’d used his charms to get her into bed with him as well. She should never have marched into that register office and said, ‘I will’. But then, if she hadn’t, she wouldn’t have Nigel and Mark. And after all that funny business in Paris, at least becoming Mrs Farnham had given her an air of respectability.

Stop procrastinating!She put the envelope back on the desk while she searched in the top drawer for her father’s oldletter opener. If this letter was from the person she thought, it deserved to be opened neatly. She found the miniature silver sword with Joan of Arc clasping the handle at the top lurking at the back of the drawer behind a large roll of parcel tape. Her father had probably used it all those years ago to open the letter she sent him saying she wouldn’t be coming back to Coventry.

She carefully inserted the tip of the blade into the small gap at the top corner of the envelope, slowly eased it under the flap, and then angled it away from herself, quickly pushing it away from the envelope. It made a satisfying tearing sound as it cut through the first half of the flap. She repeated the movement to complete the job. She sighed. It was open now.

She took another deep breath before slipping her fingers inside the envelope to pull out its contents - a matching single sheet of good-quality paper. It was filled with writing in the same hand as the address. She unfolded it and began to read.

Part Two

1964

4

‘Happy New Year!’ Olivia shouted in Nancy’s ear as the crowds jostled around them.

‘Happy New Year!’ Nancy shouted back just as she was shoved in the back by a drunken man trying to make his way to Nelson’s column. ’Whose idea was this again?’ she laughed.

‘It’s still better than being stuck at home with my parents. I should have stayed in Paris. I bet the celebrations are a lot more civilised there,’ Olivia replied as they watched another drunken reveller attempt to climb the Trafalgar Square Christmas Tree.

‘Happy Christmas, darlin’!’ A man clutching a beer bottle staggered up to Nancy.

‘I think you’re a week late for that.’ Nancy said, rolling her eyes.

‘Stuck up cow,’ he growled and walked off, managing to spill some of his beer down Nancy’s new coat as he went.

‘Not the best start to 1964.’ Olivia handed Nancy a handkerchief.

‘No,’ Nancy said thoughtfully as she dabbed at the damp patch left by the beer. ‘Let’s hope it improves.’

‘We may as well head back home before things turn nasty.’ Olivia grabbed Nancy’s hand, and they weaved their waythrough the crowds and onto Pall Mall. ‘The tube’s going to be a nightmare. Let’s walk.’

They headed in the general direction of Chelsea, where Olivia’s parents owned a large townhouse with views over the River Thames.

‘So what’s your New Year’s resolution?’ Olivia asked as soon as the crowds had thinned enough for them to walk side by side.

‘To save enough money to join Patty’s yacht crew.’

‘Has she still got that mad idea of sailing around the world?’ Ever since Olivia and Nancy had first met Patty at school, she’d been hatching plans for ambitious sailing trips.

Nancy was annoyed. ‘It’s not mad at all. Men have been doing it for centuries.’

‘In big sailing ships, not little yachts.’

‘Patty’s bought a big ocean-going yacht, nothing like the little things you’ve watched me manoeuvre around Dashford Bay.’

‘I don’t care how big it is, the only way you’re getting me on a yacht is if it involves a champagne reception with canapés.’

‘I’m sure we’ll get champagne at the end. ‘ Nancy laughed.

‘After months at sea! You’ll be positively feral by the time you get back to Portsmouth.’

‘We get a few stops en route. It will be a big improvement on spending the winter sitting in an office. You’ve got no sense of adventure!’

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