Negative feelings

It was a photo that I was never supposed to see. I think it was a photo that nobody was supposed to see. It was the photo that solved the mystery that started with the letter which I found in a book completely by accident. Finding the photo was a bit harder!

I looked closely at this letter and realised that it was actually a love letter. Did people write love letters anymore? Surely everyone communicated by email or by what’s app message. Maybe it was older than it looked and had been stuck between the pages of the book for many years.

I should explain. I had been volunteering in the charity shop for just over a month. One of my jobs was to check through any books that had been donated. Just a quick skim through the pages to see if anyone had accidentally left some money or something important. Usually there was nothing. Once or twice I found an old bookmark or a tatty scrap of paper such as a shopping list. Anything like that went straight in the bin. I had never found any money. I had never found anything interesting. Until now. A love letter. I started to read it through. Couldn’t help it. Knew that I shouldn’t. Knew it was private. Should I just throw it away? Or should I try to work out who had left it? Lots of questions ran through my head.

An hour later I was on my lunch-break and read through the letter in more detail. And then it suddenly struck me. The book must have been left by my next-door neighbour. I’d seen him come in earlier with three or four carrier bags full of books. The book was an old travel guide to Cyprus and he and his wife always went on holiday to Cyprus. Every year. Without fail. It must be his book. It must be his letter. The letter didn’t mention his name but he must be the recipient of this love letter. The letter wasn’t dated so I had no idea when the letter had been written.

The letter was full of very intimate details so it sounded like it had been written during a very passionate affair. I kept reading the letter over and over again. I knew it was private but I couldn’t help it. I had to keep reading it.

There was just one question I couldn’t answer. The letter was signed by somebody called Lorraine. Who on earth was Lorraine?

That night I could hardly sleep. I was becoming obsessed. I had to know the identity of this mysterious Lorraine. But what could I do?

The next day I went back to the bookshop. They were surprised to see me. It was not my regular day for volunteering but I came up with a story to cover my unexpected appearance. I pretended that I had lost my keys. It was a pretty limp excuse but it was the best that I had been able to come up with overnight. In reality I wanted to find out who Lorraine was. The only idea that I had come up with was to look for more evidence, maybe another letter or something that would give away the identity of the mysterious Lorraine.

So I spent an hour hunting through the storeroom pretending to look for my keys but actually trying to find some evidence that would reveal the identity of Lorraine. Finally I found a photo. It had been thrown in the bin and underneath the discarded tea bags and a couple of old banana skins I found it inside one of the carrier bags. I carefully hid it in my jacket and pretended that I had found my keys in the bin. Nobody suspected a thing.

On the way home I studied the photo. This was the photo of Lorraine. She was beautiful and written across the snap were the words, “All my love Lorraine xxx.” The more I looked the more I thought there was something about the photo that was familiar. I was sure that I knew her. Her face rang a bell.

In the middle of the night I woke up and suddenly I knew who Lorraine was. She worked in the library. The photo was at least 10 years old but it was her. I was certain of it. So my next-door neighbour and Lorraine from the library had enjoyed a steamy romp. The mystery was solved. I chuckled to myself and fell asleep.

That night I had the strangest dream. I was in a big car travelling somewhere. The car stopped outside a strange building that looked like a palace. But inside it was the local library. At the library desk was Lorraine. I had a big bag full of library books with me that I was bringing back to the library. I was asking her to accept the books but she kept saying that I had brought them to the wrong library. I offered to pay the fines but then I got upset and was shouting at her. Then a zebra ran into the building. It was turning into a nightmare.

When I woke up the next day I was feeling very guilty. I knew that I was totally in the wrong. I had exploited my position of responsibility working in an important charity shop for my own personal gain. I had to do the only thing that I could. I had to go to my next-door neighbour, hand back the old love letter and the photo of Lorraine and beg him for forgiveness.

So I put the letter and the photo in a bag and went next-door and rang on the bell. The door opened. Standing there was Lorraine. She was in her dressing gown. I was confused.

“Er, what are you doing here?” I asked nervously, imagining that perhaps the affair was still going on.

“Just staying here for a week while my flat’s being decorated. I’m so grateful to these guys. They’re my oldest friends. And they’ve been helping me sort out my flat, decluttering it, taking stuff to the charity shop – that sort of thing. They’ve been so helpful.”

Suddenly I realised that I had put two and two together and made five and a half.

“Anyway,” she said, “what did you call round for?”

“Well, it is a bit of a long story. Maybe I had better come in?”