Round Robins

Dear Friends  

Well it's that time again. I've been so looking forward to my annual letter! It's been such a busy year so I haven't been able to keep in contact with you all as much as I would have liked and so I welcome this opportunity to tell you all the Simpson's news. The twins are well and happy and making Seth and I very proud. They are both due to graduate next summer; Michael with a business studies degree from Aston and Antonia is doing geography at Kent for those of you who need reminding. The three years have gone so quickly I can hardly believe that we need to look at prospectuses again for relevant Masters’ courses (gosh how grand!) for each of them.  

I was worried of course (like all mothers who give up their own careers to devote their time to their children) that the nest would feel empty but it's been a busy and fulfilling time for me too. I've enjoyed dusting off my administrative skills for my part-time job at the local GP surgery and of course it was very flattering to be approached by Dr Adams as soon as she knew that I had some free time. I’ve loved getting involved with the local Am Dram group too and was elected to the planning committee this season; it looks like we might do a P. J. Woodhouse in the spring. Such fun!  

It's a good job I'm SO preoccupied as Seth has had a full few years also. Especially this last 18 months. You might remember that he was promoted to deputy director of the company last year and I feel like I've hardly seen him since then as he's up with the early birds to go to breakfast meetings and in with the owls after evenings entertaining new clients. It's been so full on for him that we didn't even manage a summer break this year. Still at least I get to watch what I favour on the TV with my supper on my lap on the odd nights I'm not busy.  

It will be a quiet festive season for us as both the children are off with
friends. So a small duck done Delia's way for Seth, me and Seth's mother (still vital and feisty at 85 and counting). Good for them (the children) I say, you're only young once and I have, as you all know, always deplored those parents who attempt to cling onto their children when they are ready to fly.  Oh, I've just realised just how many references to birds there are in this letter. What a lark, tee hee.  

Well I must close now as there's lots I must do and I'm sure you're all to busy to bother with more of my ramblings. I'd love to hear your news when you've got time. 

With seasonal best wishes to all. 

Helen (Simpson) and family. X

***

Clara picks up another batch of Christmas cards from the hall floor. Eleven this time. Most just contain a few words, rushed seasonal greetings, promises to get in touch that won't be upheld, all written in between shopping, cooking and preparation for guests or for travel. These perfunctory salutations suit her fine. Clara posted her own cards the previous week. 'Best wishes from the Campbell's' written in them all. 

On opening the penultimate envelope a folded piece of blue paper floats to the floor. It’s a high quality photocopy of Helen’s letter. Clara picks it up and reads. Skimming her friend's boastful, smug and rather juvenile account of her year she wonders briefly why in this age of Facebook and Twitter Helen bothers at all with this form of communication. She's clearly so accomplished and up-to-date it's a wonder she hasn't requested a Skype meeting or Facetime with all her old acquaintances. The next generation will have no need for such old fashioned missives; what’s left of the next generation anyways . . . . 

Clara and her husband Philip’s son Ben is in Afghanistan. Having always found schoolwork hard he opted for a trade rather than an academic career and has been in the army for five years now. The phone call to let them know that Ben was ‘Missing in Action’ came in early December the day the first Christmas cards arrived. They have a personal liaison officer and information about a local support group but Clara is using most of her emotional energy just to breathe and doesn’t want to speak about Ben’s situation with anyone. Talking about it will make it real. She wrote and posted her own cards just so no one would wonder at the lack of one from them and pick up the phone to check up on her and her family. Sighing she puts Helen’s letter and the cards in the hall cupboard drawer, along with all the others. The eleventh card, which unbeknown to Clara also contains another (shorter) letter, remains unopened. 

By the middle of February Clara and Philip know the worst and the best.  Ben is alive, safe. He’s injured and will never walk on his own legs again, but they can do wonders with prosthetics now. He’s in good spirits too, their beautiful, brave boy, and as a family they are rebuilding their lives and adjusting their expectations of the future. Able to face the world again Clara is contacting extended family members and friends to update them on the last few months and to assure them that the Jones’ will ‘get through Ben’s rehabilitation together’. She realises that she has not heard from Joanna whose baby was due in early January but surmises that her friend must have been too busy both preparing for and coping with her new child to get in touch. The two women have always been close but have had less contact since Joanna and Martyn moved 200 miles away a couple of years ago. Clara makes a mental note to look for a card; perhaps one depicting flowers or a spring-type scene with room for a good bit of chatty news. Then she’ll be sure to follow it up with one of their long telephone calls once things are a little less busy.   

Despite her good intentions by the time Clara gets around to writing to Joanna it is well into March and the card arrives the day before Mothering Sunday. Martyn is out doing the weekly shop when the post arrives so Joanna is alone when the pretty pink envelope falls on the mat along with their bank statement and various items of junk mail. She reads the first few lines and the tears begin, silently dripping off her nose onto the card. 

It takes several months for Joanna to come out of the fog that envelopes her after the birth and death of her baby. It was a late pregnancy, one that she and Martyn thought they would never achieve after years of tests and treatments in an attempt, not to cure, but to bypass the fertility problems that lay between them and the football team size family they had laughed about, but both secretly hoped for, during the early years of their marriage. Martyn’s low sperm count and Joanna’s inability to maintain a pregnancy beyond the first trimester had squashed their dreams and just as they were giving up hope a determined sperm led to months of bed rest for Joanna with their friends rejoicing with them as the pregnancy developed. In the last months before the birth Joanna felt healthier and happier than she ever had with, it seemed to her, the energy of an Amazon. How cruel then that this last chance of familial fulfilment, because to try again would be too distressing for both of them, should be dashed; their baby girl born dead six weeks early.  Family and close friends had rallied round though most were unsure of what to say, how to react; the death of a child before it has a chance to live often causes embarrassment as well as distress to those who hope to celebrate with new parents. Martyn took on many of the practical tasks for the first few months following this unwished for anniversary including writing short notes to friends and family who were not part of their daily inner circle. Most arrived alongside Christmas cards. Joanna withdrew from the world. She went to work and got through the days, just, but the effort it took her to manage to hold her emotions together in the outside world meant that she had little left to give to those close to her. The couple, once the envy of their peers for their closeness, their intuitive and happy relationship, grieved apart. Eventually though as spring moved slowly into early summer and the days and nights became lighter Joanna too felt a little, just a little, lighter herself. Turning to Martyn for the comfort she needed was enough to begin to thaw his frozen heart too and once more they began to work as a team.  

By end of summer Joanna feels able to get in touch with friends that she has ignored for many months. She remembers then the card from Clara who she knows will be mortified by her crass mistake. She decides to ring instead of write and the friends spend more than an hour on the phone. Clara cries when she hears Joanna’s news and is able to share her distress at her own child’s changed circumstances in a way that she hasn’t with anyone else. The conversation ends with an arrangement to meet up and both women are satisfied that their relationship – which in recent years has been conducted mostly on paper or via email – has taken a new direction. The reunion is easy and they both regret the time they have lost. The comfort they each feel in the company of the other is in part due, they each realise, to a shared understanding of loss.  

In December Clara pours herself a large glass of good red wine and begins to write short messages in most of her cards. She doesn’t need to write more to Joanna who she is meeting in a couple of days for a girly night of pampering in a mid-way spa hotel. Christmas won’t be easy for either of them but they’ll get though it with the help of each other and others that they love and who love them. She doesn’t wish to write more to Helen who she has little desire in ever meeting again. In fact this might be the last year she keeps her on the Christmas list.

***

Helen, as is her practice, sits down with her best paper and her fountain pen. She begins to write. 

Dear All  

A bit of a year this one. In fact it’s been coming for a while. As you might remember I wrote of forthcoming graduation celebrations which, although looked forward to, might be hard to fit into Seth’s and my busy schedules. Well we did have one such event to go to but it wasn’t really that much of an occasion. Michael managed to scrape a third class degree after his resits but this meant he couldn’t graduate with his friends so the ceremony was a small one in a cold guild hall in rainy November rather than the July outdoor fest we’d been hoping for. He never really wanted to do business studies but Seth and I both felt he’d have more of a chance of a secure future with such a qualification rather than the modern music diploma he really wanted to obtain. He’s travelling now with his band, we get a postcard now and then. I send him what money I can, it’s the least I can do. Antonia didn’t even complete her studies; again we pushed her into them for appearances sake. She’s living nearby with her boyfriend Pete. He works for ASDA and the baby is due in May. They’re happy, I’m glad.  

I continue to work at the local GP surgery, although I find it rather stressful. I don’t really understand the new technology and the younger receptionists cover for me somewhat. One more mistake and I think Dr Adams might let me go. I’ve given up my theatre nights. I couldn’t act for toffee and I’m not much better at set construction and it was only out of kindness that the group continued to involve me. I felt too much of a liability so retired: gracefully I hope. It’s a good job I enjoy the soaps as Seth is out more and more. I suspect, and have for quite a while, that some of his ‘business acquaintances’ know him pretty well. He’s happy for me to wash the smell of perfume off his clothes and cook his meals on the nights he’s home. Neither of us discuss the possibility of divorce. I think this arrangement suits him and I don’t know what else I would do, where else I could go. 

Barbara will becoming for Christmas again this year. It will be as hard as ever, as she’s never thought me good enough for her darling son. Little does she know. Oh well, I guess I’ll get through it as ever. 

I hope your year has been better than mine and your Christmas is happy. 

If any of you feel like getting in touch I’d love it, I’d be grateful. 

Regards. 

Helen Simpson. 

After reading the letter through Helen tears it up and begins another. 

Dear Friends  

What wonderful wintery weather we are having. I do hope you are enjoying it as much as I am! Too busy this year to write very much. All the family are well and happy and I’m currently organising a big Christmas party to mark the end of a happy, successful year. I’ll try to write more next year! 

Good wishes of the season to one and all. 

Helen.  

On behalf of the Simpson family.