Polly

God, I wish you were here. It is absolutely beautiful but it would be even better if I could share it. I mean, I go jogging with Lorna and cycling with Clinton (I’m quite fit now – you’d love my tight butt) (that’s American for firm bum) but what I crave is a long, loping walk with you.

Damn – time and paper run out on me – and my juniors are about to have the surprise of their lives: they’re about to meet Chaucer and, while they adore my dulcet tones, I’m not sure what they’ll make of my Middle English accent.

I love you, Max-i-mine. My own ‘verray parfit gentil knight’, I miss you. Write soon,

Polly.

PS. pis send more Marmite – Kate’s gone crazy for it and is using it in everything – Bogey’s food included.

‘Yeah, hello?’

‘Chip?’

‘Jen! How are you? Hey, it’s great to hear from you. I was going to call you only there’s a hockey tournament soon and suddenly the whole team have gotten aches and sprains.’

‘Hey, that’s OK, I’ve been pretty busy too.’

‘So how’s it going?’

‘Good, good – how’s Hubbardtons?’

‘Pretty much the same. I think tomorrow’ll be Mountain Day.’

‘Hey – isn’t that classified information? Wish I could be there.’

‘You don’t have some day similar, in London England?’

‘Nope. Nothing that comes close. Something called Mufti when the kids can wear their own clothes – but that’s only the last day of term.’

‘Some way off.’

‘Sure is. You know, it’s kinda weird living in someone else’s apartment. There’re these crazy women above me – one is old, Swiss and nutty as hell, the other’s an out-and-out psycho. I haven’t managed to come in without one or other noticing – so I’m either sworn at or asked the date, time and year and the whereabouts of some guy called Franz.’

‘Sounds entertaining?’

‘I guess. I think I prefer being Dorm Mother to ten girls though. So, have you met Polly Fenton?’

‘Er, Polly Fenton. No, no, I haven’t as yet.’

‘Oh?’

‘No, I’ve been real busy.’

‘Sure. She’s pretty.’

‘How do you know?’

‘I met her boyfriend and he showed me photos.’

‘She has a boyfriend?’

‘Yes. Chip?’

‘Yeah?’

‘You there?’

‘Sure.’

‘You went kinda distant.’

‘I was miles away, I was just – you know. I don’t know, I’m bushed.’

‘Sure.’

‘So what’s he like?’

‘Who?’

‘This boyfriend guy.’

‘Oh, he’s really sweet and helpful – the boiler here’s a little temperamental so he’s going to have someone come fix it. He and his brother are making dinner for me and Megan this weekend.’

‘Great.’

‘Yeah. You want to know who Megan is?’

‘I’d love to but I gotta go – I have a kid for hydrotherapy in five.’

‘Sure. I love you, Chip.’

‘Love you too, Jen.’

Hampstead

Hallowe’en

Hullo Button,

Lovely to receive your letters – two arrived this morning though you sent them a week apart. Royal Mail – 1, USA Post – 0. You wrote beautifully about the fall and I wish so much I could share it with you. Maybe another year we could take our holiday there.

London is sludgy and slippery, and strolling over the Heath becomes a maudlin trudge without you, kicking the leaves, all rosy-cheeked and alive. There have been some great films on at the Everyman but all Dominic will be coaxed to see is Die Very Hard 27 and Star Trek 43. Plebeian.

Work has been going well; some new commissions as well as potboilers from the faithful. I enclose photos and a Lottery ticket – the acquisition of both being highly traumatic so I hope you’ll be grateful.

You’ll never guess who I bumped into.

Jen Carter!