I’ve been thinking about you so much since you left. It sounds silly I know, but I miss you. That time we spent together sheltering in the old ruins keeps turning around in my mind. The memory of you in my arms and your softness under my hand won’t leave me. I know I’m probably not the man of anybody’s dreams but I can tell you for sure, that you are the woman of mine.
When do you think you might visit again? The thought of seeing you is all that is getting me through these dark cold mornings. Let’s plan another trip as soon as possible. I want to touch you and put my lips on yours so badly it hurts.
I have never felt like this before. Please write back soon.
Warmest regards,
Edward
*
Patricia didn’t know what to think when she finished the letter. The things he talked about had happened but it was just that he had experienced them in such a different way from her. For every flash of connection between them, a shy glance or a hand touched accidentally, there had been hours when Edward seemed completely oblivious to her existence. Her memory of the weekend was spending most of her time with Edward’s mother or hiding in her room. She knew she hadn’t much experience of men, but surely they weren’t all as confusing as this one. Then she wondered if she was being unfair or if her expectations were too high. She had read horrific stories about men and at least Edward was sweet and hadn’t tried to stick his fingers in her knickers the way she heard fellas did the second you let them kiss you. Patricia folded the letter and put it in the small pile with the others. She would write back but she wouldn’t encourage him. Edward Foley, she decided, was not the man for her.
The next day, a Thursday, Patricia was taking advantage of the dry weather by hanging a few things out on the washing line that sagged between the walls of the small yard at the back of the house. Her efforts were interrupted by the doorbell. She hurried through, still with a couple of clothes pegs in her mouth. Patricia opened the door to find a slim, oily-haired man almost obscured by the largest bunch of flowers she had ever seen outside of a funeral procession.
‘Patricia Keane?’
‘Yes,’ she replied, the pegs falling to the floor. She found herself backing away from the large collection of red and white blooms.
‘These are for you,’ the man said, thrusting the bouquet into her arms.
She tried to protest. ‘But who are they from?’
‘There’s a card.’ The man was already heading back towards his van emblazoned with an enormous Interflora logo.
Patricia’s hands were trembling with excitement as she ripped the card from its doll’s-house envelope.
‘Happy Valentine’s Day, Lonely Leinster Lady, from your Munster admirer!’
It was Valentine’s Day! Patricia had completely forgotten. In her life she had received two Valentine cards, both of which had come from her uncle after her father had died. When her mother discovered who had been sending them she asked him to stop and he did. Now she was holding a huge bunch of flowers from a real man who had actual feelings for her. The scent of them filled the hall and their sweet fresh fragrance banished all her negative feelings. She wasn’t a spinster. She was a woman who was desired by a man. He wasn’t perfect, well, he was so very far from perfect, but he was kind and worked hard and he had sent her flowers!
Patricia knew she was being silly but over the next couple of days the fantasy of her wonderful boyfriend took shape. Old Mrs Curtain had seen the Interflora van and asked about her secret admirer. Rosemary had shrieked like a bird in the zoo when she saw the arrangement displayed reverentially on the unused dining-room table. Even her sister-in-law Gillian had heard about the delivery and asked about her ‘love life’。 After all the years of watching the other girls walking with their boyfriends, showing off engagement rings, pushing prams, Patricia felt as if she had finally joined some sort of exclusive club. She had a man! Despite repeatedly trying to remind herself of who that man was and all his failings, she found she was developing feelings, if not for him, then for the notion of being somebody’s girlfriend.
When she wrote to thank him for the flowers, she found she didn’t attempt to draw a line under their courtship. She told him how much she had enjoyed their weekend. The pen also seemed to form the words that told him she would in fact like to come and visit him again. As she licked the envelope she wondered if it would be different this time.
Certainly in his next few letters Edward seemed to have found a new frankness. He spoke directly about how much he yearned for her physically and Patricia found that as she read his words she shared his desires. He promised to be more talkative and told her he was planning a couple of short day trips so that they could spend some time alone together.