The twelfth installment of The Crossing
At school to improve my writing the tutor suggested I write a letter. I had carefully composed a letter of introduction to no one in particular. The tutor had seemed pleased with the result and took my photograph and I had forgotten all about it.
A few months later Gai and I were working out – he had kept his promise to help me build some muscle but it was a slow process. Having said that it had only been a few weeks and I could feel a difference even if I could not see it. Arina called out ‘Kip! Kip! You have got a letter!’
I looked at Gai, ‘Who’d write to me?’
‘Only one way to find out!’
I pulled a sweatshirt on, mid-October and the cold winds of winter were on their way. I went into the kitchen and Arina looked at me, holding the letter out. ‘It’s from England!’ she said. I think she was as excited by that as I was if not more so.
‘I don’t know anyone in England.’
I looked at the envelope. It was pale airmail paper, neatly written in black ink. On the back was a lady’s name and address of somewhere called Hampshire. I opened it carefully. My tutor had sent my introduction letter to a pen pal organisation and this lady, Lynne, had chosen me to write to. She had included pictures of herself, her husband and their baby son.
Linda worked for a charity which was supporting refugees who had escaped from the System. They knew about that in England, did the whole world know?
© JG Farmer 2014