Lynsey James - Just The Way You Are

Dear Ava,

As I promised in the last letter, I’m writing to you again. I can see how happy the magic surrounding them is making you and it’s wonderful. At first, I was worried about starting the letters again. For all I knew, you could’ve met someone and built a life with them; in that case, a letter from me would’ve been nothing more than a temporary trip down memory lane. After I sent the first one though, I knew I couldn’t and wouldn’t be able to stop. When it comes to you Ava, I’m a different person. Normally, I’m afraid to jump in, of getting my heart broken, but not where you’re concerned. You could break my heart into a million pieces and it wouldn’t change how I feel about you. To me, you’d still be the same wonderful woman you’ve always been.

I’ve never forgotten you, Ava. Your smile, your laugh, the sparkle in your eyes; it’s all still so clear to me even after all this time. I also remember how you made me feel: relaxed, at peace with the whole world and like anything was possible. If I was ever stressed or needed someone to make me feel better, I went to you and whatever was bothering me instantly melted away. You made me look at the world differently and I can’t thank you enough for that.

So with that in mind, I’m going to make a promise to you. When you find out who I am and if you’ll have me, I promise that I’ll be there for you whenever you’re scared or unsure. I’ll wrap you up in my arms and tell you everything will be OK because it will. You’ve got an amazing knack for turning things around if only you’d believe in yourself a bit more.

I’m well aware that when I do finally tell you who I am, there’s a chance you might decide you don’t have feelings for me. That does worry me a bit but I’ve loved you for so long that taking the chance to create something beautiful with you far outweighs any fears I’ve got. Believe me, you’re more than worth it.

Keep smiling, beautiful

Love always

?

The world around me seemed to melt away as I lost myself in the words. Getting a glimpse of what our life together would be like when we found each other took my breath away. Knowing he would take care of me and be there for me no matter what made my heart yearn for him.

‘Why can’t you just tell me who you are?’ I whispered.

I held the paper between my index finger and thumb like it was a piece of delicate china I was afraid of breaking. A ball of frustration built up inside me and all I wanted to do was scream as loud as I could. How could someone who wrote so beautifully be so hesitant to reveal himself? He wrote about wanting us to be together and to show me how much he loved me yet he was the only one stopping that from happening. I gave a heavy sigh, stuffed the letter in my handbag then dashed out the door after realising how late I was running.

I got to Starbucks around ten minutes later than planned. Luckily, the person I was meeting hadn’t arrived yet. I went inside and ordered myself a medium mocha and a piece of lemon drizzle cake.

‘That’s £4.85,’ the scary-looking barista informed me.

I opened my mouth to protest at the ridiculously high price but thought better of it when her bushy eyebrows lowered even further. Instead, I shoved a £5 note in her hand, muttered something about keeping the change and took my tray to a table by the window. The chocolate-coloured tub chairs were so comfortable and I had a great vantage point for looking onto the High Street.

However, it was inside that really caught my interest. While I waited for my lunch companion to turn up, I sat round in my chair and gazed at the other diners. They were all so different; some were young, some were old, some were alone and others were with a partner or friend. Coffee shops really were the best places to people-watch. I scanned the room, looking at each person for no more than a few seconds. It fascinated me to think that there were so many stories in one room. For the next five minutes, I amused myself by making up little backstories for some of my fellow diners. One lady who looked like a librarian was confiding in her friend about a torrid affair she was having to escape her boring marriage, a smart, business-like woman wanted to tell her impossibly hunky best friend she had feelings for him and two mothers with buggies were thinking about each other’s husbands…

Just as I wondered whether to make an old man sitting in the corner someone who’d been stood up for a blind date or a widower who came to his wife’s favourite coffee place every day, in she walked. She looked as splendid as ever, wearing a crisp white blouse and fitted black trousers. Her silver hair was neatly styled and the trademark sparkle in her eyes burned brightly. All the diners stopped to look at her; Ivy St Clair knew how to make an entrance.

I waved so she could see me, and a smile illuminated her beautiful face when she did. She walked over to my table and took a seat opposite me.

‘Why hello there sugar! Nice to see you again, you look divine if I may say so.’ Her Deep South accent was a joy to hear and such a contrast to the Mancunian brogue I was used to hearing.

‘Thanks Ivy, so do you,’ I replied with a smile. ‘And thanks for agreeing to meet me today; the weather’s not the best is it?’

I gestured to the drab, grey morning we’d been greeted with. Dark clouds were gathering overhead and it looked like the heavens would open any minute.

‘No but that’s good ol’ England for you, huh? Still, back in New Orleans there were hurricanes like you’ve never seen before, so this is an improvement!’

‘Do you want a drink and something to eat?’ I asked.

‘No thank you honey, I just ate breakfast.’ Ivy patted her stomach and unwound the teal scarf from round her neck. ‘Got to watch the ol’ figure as well, especially at my age.’

I chuckled. Ivy couldn’t be any more than seventy and looked fantastic for her age; she definitely didn’t need to watch her weight.

‘Shall we just start the interview then?’ I rummaged in my bag for my tape recorder and accidentally pulled Mr Writer’s latest letter out. Flustered, I stuffed it back in as quickly as I could. Not quickly enough, however, judging by the smile forming on Ivy’s lips.

‘Something important?’ she asked with a knowing look.

‘G-gas bill.’ I stumbled over my words but still retained some hope I’d sounded convincing. I felt bad lying to her but the Mr Writer affair was something to be dealt with another time.

‘Honey, if it’s one thing I’ve learned from my seventy-two years on this earth, it’s that you never keep gas bills in your handbag. That letter either has something really good or really bad written on it. Judging by the way you’re smilin’ right now, I’ll go with really good.’

I blushed and tried to force my smile down but it wouldn’t leave. There was no doubt where my head was this morning: Cloud Nine.

‘Tell you what; I’ll let you read the letter after the interview’s done, OK?’

‘Child, you got yourself a deal.’

***

‘So was the jazz scene always big in New Orleans?’

‘Oh sure it was! I remember when I was a little girl, my daddy would always play Ella Fitzgerald records around the house. I fell in love with the sound right away and it was my dream to sing like her. When I was old enough, I started visiting the jazz clubs on Bourbon Street and when I was eighteen, I saw her perform live. She just… she captivated the room with her voice and I knew instantly that jazz singing was what I was meant to do. It all came together in that moment as I listened to her sing; I knew I was in the right place at exactly the right time.’