Postscripts (Chapter 4)

Dear Louisa,

I’ll admit it, it was a bit of a surprise to get your letter. Not that I wasn’t happy to hear from you, but it definitely wouldn’t have occurred to me to write to you like this. It’s a nice idea though, and I like the idea of staying in contact in this way. So here I am, writing back to you. I’m kind of stuck with this loose leaf paper from school, and I’m kind of feeling like I’m writing an essay or something. School, ugh. I wish I had something like the purple paper you used. I’m going to have to go to the newsagent’s, I think.

I guess that keeping busy is a good thing, isn’t it? As opposed to having nothing to do, that is. I’ll admit I’m a little jealous of you being busy – things have been pretty dull around here. Chris and Meg are still living with us, and the house is as crowded-feeling as ever, but that doesn’t change the fact that I haven’t really gotten up to anything more exciting most days than walking the dog. I’ve watched lots of really bad day-time TV these holidays, now I think about it. More than I’d like to admit.

Really living the high life out here.

Mind you, yesterday was something a bit different. Mostly because Chris had a friend of his come over, and then somehow managed to con me into going ‘adventuring’, as he called it, with them. I don’t know how he managed to twist the conversation from talking about Alistair – his friend – to my recent lack of a social life, but I ended up heading out with them, and it was actually pretty fun. A place around the corner was having a garage sale and they had some really interesting stuff. I reckon you’d have liked it, with all the books they had there.

I mean, a lot of it was your standard old furniture and faded plastic toys, but they had all these old clothes too, and it must have been ages since they last cleared out, because some of it was seriously ancient. Some of it was cool, and you could probably call it vintage and get away with wearing it, but at the same time, there were so many shoulder pads and flared pants. And the shirts… I think psychedelic is the word to describe them. The patterns made my eyes hurt. I’ll have to send you a picture of Chris wearing one of them. It’s hilarious. The shirt is a really awful shade of orange, and I can’t believe that anyone would wear it in an non-ironic way.

It was pretty nice to get out of the house, I’ll admit, and actually get some sunlight. Might as well enjoy the blue skies while they’re still there. Our weather hasn’t been all that bad lately, and (touch wood) our air-con hasn’t repeated its behaviour from last year. It’s sunny, but not super hot. I’ve still managed to get slightly sunburnt – my nose is pretty red, just from spending the afternoon outside, which probably says more about how much time I’ve been spending inside than the actual weather – but it’s pretty survivable at the moment. Hopefully the same will be true of February. Fingers crossed, huh?

Mum just poked her head in and told me to say hi to you from her. I think she’s pretty chuffed about this whole letter writing thing, and keeps talking about the pen pal she had when she was younger. She even pulled out some of her old pen pal’s letters to show me. All the ink had faded to this really weird indigo colour and the paper’s a little yellow, they had been sitting in her wardrobe for so long. It’s cool that she’s kept the letters for so long. I think it might take me a while to get used to writing though, if I’m honest. I guess I’m a bit more of a speaker than a writer, because writing this feels a little unnatural. I’m trying to write as though I’m talking to you, but it feels a little one-sided. I still want to give it a chance, but if this letter’s sending you to sleep, that’s why.

Actually, I just thought of the one thing I really wanted to tell you about. In your letter, you were kinda right – I did do a fair bit of googling about where you’re living now. I’m not sure how much exploring you’ve done since you sent your letter, but apparently there’s this one street near you, called Archibald Street, where there’s supposed to be a whole bunch of cafés and boutiques and independent shops that sounded like they’d be your sort of thing. I also found some info about some old theatre that’s maybe a train stop or two from where you’re living that was built in the early 1900s. It looks really pretty, and I think they hold film festivals and play old movies there, which I figured you’d really love. I saw something about it maybe closing down, but there wasn’t all that much information about that, so maybe it was just a rumour. Chattleby’s Theatre, it’s called, if you want to go. It’s supposed to be next to a park that’s basically all green grass, with a few trees here and there. If you visit it, let me know how you go.

Depending on how long this letter takes to reach you, you might have started school, so I’d just like to say good luck. Not that you’ll need it, because you’re awesome, and the people at your new school would have to be idiots not to see that, but still. I’ll be thinking of you. Give me a call, when you get the chance to.

Until next time,

Tish.