Dear Nobody Read Online Free

moody.
    â€˜I’m cold and I’m fed up and I’ve missed my tea for this.’
    â€˜It’s supposed to look like a ball of blood,’ I told her. ‘That would be something to see, wouldn’t it?’
    â€˜Yuk,’ she said, and started to walk down the track, which was so rough and stony that she kept losing her footing. I could hear her grumbling away to herself. ‘Are you staying out here all night?’ she called.
    I caught up with her and held her hand in my pocket, snug as a glove. ‘Imagine seeing the dawn from up here! Why don’t we do that one night?’ I felt warm at the thought of it. She was scuttling along with her head down and I stepped right in front of her so she had to stop close up to me. ‘We could bring a tent, Helen, and we could watch the sun go down, and see the moon and stars coming out. And the next day we’d watch the dawn… Imagine watching it spreading pink and golden across the sky…’
    â€˜And then we’d stagger into school for registration and tell my mum that we’d missed die last bus home.’
    â€˜We could come in June. We could just sleep out in the heather – we wouldn’t need a tent, then. There’d just be us…’
    â€˜And a few sheep nibbling at us.’
    â€˜We could come on the longest day. There’s a cave along the edge – we could sleep in there.’
    â€˜Meanwhile, let’s go home and have some beans.’ Helen pushed past me. ‘I’m famished, Chris. Actually, I feel sick, I’m so hungry.’
    When we were on the bus I showed her the letter. I’d been waiting for the right moment to share it with her, but I gave up on that. I kept looking at her, waiting for her to show some of the excitement I’d felt when I found the letter on the hall floor that morning. I’d known who it was from even before I looked at the post mark. I think I even recognized her writing, which is the sort that looks really artistic from a distance and is just a scrawl of shapes when you get close to. It had arrived just as I was setting off for school, and I’d pushed it into my pocket quickly before my dad saw it. I didn’t want him to be hurt, whatever happened. I had read it at school during form period and, predictably, my mate Tom had seen me reading it and had snatched it off me. He’s so infantile at times.
    â€˜Chris’s got a love-letter,’ Tom had said, waving it in the air.
    â€˜Get lost,’ I told him. He was trying to taunt me into having a scrap with him for it, but then I think he must have recognized something’ in the way I looked at him. I really hated him at that moment. I wasn’t laughing.
    â€˜Hand it over, Wilson.’
    â€˜Can’t read it, anyway.’ He just dropped it on the floor for me to pick up. It was a bit screwed up by then. So was I, to tell the truth. During the day I kept stealing furtive glances at it. She really does have terrible handwriting. I’d had to guess at most of the words. I tried to put a picture of my mother in my head, and couldn’t. I remembered a blue coat with little velvet buttons, and how it smelt of cold air when she came in at night.
    â€˜Want to see this?’ I asked Helen on the bus. I handed itcasually to her as if it didn’t matter really whether she did or not, and waited for her expression to change. She peered at the letter and handed it back to me.
    â€˜Is she a doctor or something? I can’t read a word of it.’
    â€˜It says, “ Dear Christopher ,” ’
    â€˜Christopher! That’s a bit formal.’
    My voice was shaking a little as I read on. I cleared my throat and took a breath. ‘ “ Thank you for your letter. It was a great surprise ,” I think it says. “ I’m sorry I didn’t reply straight away but I’ve only just returned from the Alps. I don’t know if you know but I’m