Page 40 of Big Nick Energy
‘I do not resemble your other lovers, my lady
Should another give you a cloud
I give you rain
Should he give you a lantern, I
will give you the moon
Should he give you a branch
I will give you the trees
And if another gives you a ship
I shall give you the journey.’
He looks at me as he finishes, slowly closing the book. Do not react. It’s a good- looking man reading you love poetry in a sort of husky growl that makes me want to weep. It’s nothing.
‘Corny?’
‘Yes,’ I say, trying to joke.
He starts to wrap it.
‘Meanwhile, more corn here,’ I say, picking up the next book on the pile, a rather hefty cookbook, slightly dusty and untouched. ‘Look at this whopper!’ I say a little too enthusiastically. I see him smile out of the corner of my eye. This is what I do, I cover up awkward moments with my weird sense of comedy. I flick through the pages of the book. One thing I’ve found out is that people donate books without checking themfirst. I’ve found travelcards, receipts and, well, a library book that should have come back to us in 1994. Worse are the books with inscriptions, the thoughtfulness given away to someone else. That always hurts. I hold the book to the side shaking it out, when a letter floats out.
N,
My wonder, my joy, my love. You are my heart and I do not want to spend another day without you next to me. I think about us all the time in some future drenched in light and happiness. Love you, always.
K x
I pause as I read it and the emotion makes my eyes glaze over to see the coincidence of the initials, this wonderful testament to someone’s love in my hands, separated from its owner. I flick through the remaining pages of the book and find several other letters in there, as if they’ve been put in this heavy tome to flatten them out or keep them safe. Deep down though, I know that maybe I shouldn’t have them.
‘Is someone not a fan of the River Cottage then?’ Nick asks, noticing my hesitation.
‘It’s just… this…’ I pass him the letter and he reads it. ‘There are more, dozens of them from N to K and back again,’ I say, holding one of them gently to my chest. I can’t put an age on them but sometimes the paper is thick, and other times they’re on paper ripped out of what appears to be a school notebook. I scan them, they do go mildly erotic at times but what comes across most strongly is the depth of feeling. You get the idea this was a love story for the ages.
Nick reads through some of the letters and I see a glimmer of a smile. ‘Love you, always. Even when you steal my duvet and leave cold cups of tea everywhere.’ He looks up at me earnestly. ‘Is there any way to trace the writers?’ he asks.
‘I could try, but these books came in from a lot of different places,’ I say, wondering whether it’s possible.
‘Got to be worth a shot though, eh?’ he says. And again, he gives me a look. He seems to want to say more, ask more. If not then why is he here, wrapping books for people he doesn’t know, weeks before Christmas? And for a moment, Old Nick comes into view, the way he laughed all of this off. I’ve never seen him wrap a present in his life. What if he’s shit at wrapping?
‘Nick… I…’
‘Shit,’ he suddenly says, looking at his phone. ‘How is it eight already?’ There’s confusion in his eyes. ‘I have to get back to the farm. We’re on a late opening.’ He reaches for his hat and rises from his chair. ‘I’m sorry to rush like this,’ he says, collecting up the plastic netting on the floor. ‘I wish I could have helped you hoover or something.’
You also hoover?I need to stop this. ‘I’m sorry, I should have ordered in dinner or something to thank you.’
‘No thanks needed. I came because…’
Say it. Then I’ll know. I’ll know for sure.
‘I… you know…’ he says mumbling. He looks at me intensely. ‘Charity.’
My face drops. Oh.
