Boxed In

The man whistles to himself as he unfolds the newspaper and turns each page. He glances at the headlines until his eyes are drawn to a story in the top right corner.

Setting down his cup of chamomile tea, he extracts a pair of scissors from the middle drawer of his desk and with slow, even movements, cuts out the article.

He reaches into his jacket pocket and removes a pair of half-moon spectacles. As he tucks the metal arm behind each ear, he smooths out the piece of paper and reads the report again.

Safety campaigners are demanding improvements at a notorious accident blackspot following the death of a Suffolk man one year ago. Spencer Hamilton was killed instantly when his car was struck by a lorry as he crossed two lanes of traffic on the A53 at Stanton.

The 34-year-old from Ipswich was on his way to church to get married when the accident occurred. His mother, Sue, said: “Spencer’s death will not be in vain. This section of road is unsafe, and it needs to be changed...”

The man skims over the rest of the story, until he reaches the last line. He traces each word with his index finger: “Spencer’s fiancé Mathilda Quinn was still too devastated to speak to The Chronical about the accident.”

**************

It’s the same dream. She calls out to him, but her words are lost in the traffic. She stabs her arm in the direction of the road, but he thinks she’s waving at him, and he smiles back at her. She tries to run to his car, but her treacherous legs refuse to work. As she screams his name, he finally looks to his left and sees the lorry thundering towards him…

… Mattie’s eyes snap open. The room is in darkness, and it takes her a moment to remember where she is. Her cheeks are wet with tears, and she feels the familiar ache in her chest. As she rolls onto her side, she reaches for her phone on the bedside table. It’s just after half past four – way too early to be on the move, but she knows that sleep is pointless now. Especially today.

She kicks off the blanket and swings her legs over the edge of the bed. Grabbing her dressing gown that’s hanging on the back of the door, she tip-toes along the hallway.

She presses the kitchen door closed and switches on the kettle. Whilst she’s waiting for the water to boil, she rests her arms on the breakfast bar and stares out across the river. She watches as the sun sneaks up over the horizon chasing the night clouds away and turning the sky vivid shades of red and orange.

It used to be Mattie’s favorite time of day. She’d creep out of bed, still wrapped in her blanket, and watch the sunrise. She’d feel like nature was handing her a clean slate. A chance to start over each day. But sunrises are all about hope thinks Mattie and she doesn’t feel she has much of that left now. At some point, she’s going to have to sort her life out. She can’t hide away in Sasha’s box room forever. Her friend needs her own space too.

Distractedly, she stirs her coffee and thinks how different her life was a year ago. She’d had no doubts about marrying Spencer. Only butterflies. And despite her reputation for habitual lateness, she’d surprised her dad by being dressed and ready to go half an hour early for the short drive to the church.

But Spencer wasn’t there. At first, she hadn’t worried. The best man had even joked that he was probably getting his own back as Mattie hadn’t been on time for a single date.

But soon after, the laughter stopped, and people started checking their watches and whispering to one another.

She remembers being confused when a police car pulled up and two somber looking officers stepped out of the vehicle and asked to speak to her and Spencer’s parents. She’d caught snatches of what the policeman was saying, but none of it seemed to make sense. It wasn’t until she heard his mum scream that she knew it was real.

Mattie couldn’t cry for weeks. Numbly she’d boxed up and returned all the wedding gifts and moved out of Spencer’s rented house and into Sasha’s spare room. Then the tears came, and it didn’t seem like they were ever going to stop. It’s hard to believe that she’s managed to limp through an entire year without him.

Mattie winces as she takes a sip of cold coffee. As she stands up to make herself a fresh cup, she hears a strange whirring sound outside. She peers through the glass panels of the door before unlocking it and peeking outside. Her eyes look up in the direction of the noise and she realizes it’s the chopping sound of a drone’s propellor blades.

It hovers just above her friend’s front door, before dropping to the ground and depositing a box at her feet. It’s very early for a delivery. It’s probably another one of Sasha’s Amazon orders – she spends so much with the company that she’s probably single-handedly paid for Jeff Bezos’ space adventure.

But it’s not Sasha’s name on the box. It’s hers. Puzzled, she carries the box into the kitchen. The package rattles when she shakes it, and she doesn’t recognize the spidery writing on the label.

Mattie grabs a pair of scissors from the drawer and scores the tape along the top of the box. She pulls the flaps out of the way and empties the contents onto the kitchen counter. Her brow furrows as she stares down at the notepad, fountain pen and a roll of packing tape. She looks inside the package again and notices that a letter is caught in the bottom corner. Unfolding the paper, she reads the note:

“My dear Matilda, I was extremely sorry to read about the death of your fiancé. Please believe me when I say that I understand your pain and how hard life feels after experiencing such tragedy. I hope that I will be able to help you. I am sending you this notebook with detailed instructions about how to fill it in. Once completed, please place it back inside the package and tape it up. It might sound strange but writing down your feelings and locking them in a box is an effective way of managing grief and starting the healing process. The drone will return at 7pm promptly this evening to collect the box. Wishing you all the best Mathilda Quinn.”

The letter was signed from ‘A Friend’. A friend? Some friend thinks Mattie as she knocks everything off the counter and watches the pen roll underneath the refrigerator. Don’t they know how hard it’s been just getting through each day? She swipes away the tears as they roll down her cheeks.

She jumps as the kitchen door creaks open and Sasha steps into the room, yawning.

“You’re up early…” she said. She stops when she sees Mattie’s face. “What’s happened?” As she gives her friend a hug, she almost steps on the notepad. “And what’s all this on the floor?”

“Someone sent me a notepad to write down all the things that make me feel sad about Spencer and then if I seal it in a box, I’ll miraculously be happy again,” said Mattie crashing down her mug. “I wish people would just mind their own bloody business.”

“And you’ve no idea who sent it?”

“None.” Mattie clenches and unclenches her fists. “I’ve been dreading today, and this is the last thing I need.”

Sasha bends down to pick up the crumpled note. Smoothing out the paper, she reads the stranger’s words.

“The letter isn’t wrong,” said Sasha looking down at her feet to avoid Mattie’s narrowed eyes. “You do need to heal. It’s like you’re punishing yourself for being alive.”

She pauses and looks across at Mattie, but she’s staring into the distance.

“What about all your plans to go backpacking? And you’ve still got the chance to take up your training place with the Suffolk Fire Brigade? You’d make a fantastic firefighter.”

The coffee mug jumps as Maddie slams her hand down on the counter: “I can’t. I just can’t right now. But I know I’m cramping your style and I need to get my own place sorted.”

“That’s not what I meant,” said Sasha touching her friend’s arm. “I just want you to be happy again. I miss seeing you smile and hearing your laugh.”

“You didn’t send the box, did you?”

“Nah, mate. I’m an engineer. I wish I was that creative!”

Mattie smiles and shakes her head: “I’d better get a move on. I can’t believe I was up so early and now I’m running late for my shift at the café.”

************

Mattie throws herself down on the sofa and stares up at the ceiling. With Sasha at work, the house feels empty and silent. She’s not sure what to do with the rest of the day after Rita sent her home early. Her boss had scurried into the kitchen and thrown the plate of sandwiches into the bin before asking if Mattie had been watching too many experimental cookery programs.

Mattie had gasped when she found out that she had made beef sandwiches with strawberry jam rather than mustard.

“It’s ok Mattie. I honestly wasn’t expecting you in today. Why don’t you go home and rest? I’ll see you in the morning,” said Rita patting her arm and grabbing a fresh loaf of bread.

And now she’s back home with only the ticking clock for company. She sighs and wishes she knew what to do with herself. She’s already thrown her book onto the coffee table after reading the same paragraph five times. And she’s flicked through every TV channel only pausing for a second to watch a woman giggle as she extolled the virtues of fur lined slippers. Good luck selling those in August thinks Mattie as she hits the off button on the remote.

She jumps up and heads into the kitchen. Maybe she just needs something to eat. As she pops the bread into the toaster, she notices the box on the counter; the notebook is sticking up over the side. Her cheeks redden. Sasha must have cleared up her mess after she’d slammed out of the door earlier.

“Fine. I’ll look at the bloody notepad,” she said out loud, removing it from the box.

As she flips through the book, she’s surprised at how many questions there are. When did you first meet Spencer? When did you know that you were in love? What were his annoying traits? It’s way more detailed than the application form she’d filled in for the fire brigade.

Maybe it won’t hurt to write down a few things decides Mattie as she scrabbles underneath the fridge to retrieve the pen. She wipes it on her shirt to remove the cobwebs.

Pulling out a stool at the kitchen counter, she chews on the end of the pen and remembers the first time she’d met Spencer. She’d been loading her groceries into the boot of her Fiesta when the shopping trolley vanished into thin air. She’d looked up and down the car park and was horrified to see that it had rolled away and was now wedged up against a shiny black BMW. Mattie had stood there biting her lip, wondering if she could just get in her car and drive away.

As she’d walked towards the BMW, the car door opened, and a tall, muscular guy had peeled himself out of the front seat. She laughs when she thinks how nervous she’d felt and how she’d just stood there hopping from one foot to the other. But Spencer had taken off his sunglasses and smiled. His green eyes twinkling in the sunlight.

“You’re taking this incredibly well,” Mattie had told him as they exchanged insurance details.

“Ah, well it’s a courtesy vehicle. If you’d hit my car, then I’d have been livid,” he said laughing. “I’m joking. It’s just a car!”

And then he’d surprised her by asking if she’d wanted to go for a drink. They’d spent the afternoon in the pub opposite the supermarket and the few drinks had stretched into dinner and then more drinks. She hadn’t wanted the day to end. They’d talked nonstop, laughing at her pathological dislike of mashed potato and inability to control dysfunctional supermarket trolleys. And she’d teased him about his fear of heights and worms.

“Worms? How can you possibly be scared of worms?” she’d said giggling so hard that she’d nearly choked on her glass of white wine.

But they’d discovered that both wanted to go to Australia and snorkel the Great Barrier Reef and take a plane ride over Uluru and climb the Sydney Harbor Bridge – well Mattie wanted to do the bridge climb, Spencer had looked somewhat reluctant. But he’d laughed and grabbed her hand and said that they should go there for their honeymoon. Mattie had arched her eyebrow and suggested he was being a little presumptuous for a first date, but he’d shaken his head and put his hand over hers.

“This just feels right,” he said, as she’d blushed and smiled back at him.

And it did feel right. Less than a month later she moved into his rented house on the outskirts of Ipswich. And it was a good job she loved him, reflects Mattie, as he was one of the untidiest people she’d ever met. When she returned home from work, she would follow the trail of discarded shoes and jumpers and half-drunk cups of tea to his office at the back of the house.

He'd giggle like a naughty schoolboy as she berated him and would give her a mock salute as he promised to be less untidy in the future.

The future. Mattie lays the pen down on the counter and howls. She misses him so much. All their plans – all her plans – seem to have died along with Spencer.

She rubs her eyes and uses her sleeve to wipe away the tears. Taking a deep breath, she turns over the page in the notebook and looks at the last question: ‘What is the biggest challenge preventing you from moving on?”

She can’t think why she’s so scared. Or what’s stopping her. She knows Spencer wouldn’t want her to be miserable. He’d always encouraged her to follow her dreams. It was down to him that she’d applied to become a firefighter, although he’d shuddered a little when he thought about her climbing the high rescue ladders.

There isn’t a reason; it’s just that her life seems less fun without Spencer in it. She looks round the room and then starts to write again, half-laughing, half-crying as she fills page after page.

When she finally puts the pen down, she feels drained. She’s shocked to see that it’s almost six o’clock. Has she really spent the entire afternoon writing?

She closes the notebook and places it inside the box. After she’s sealed the lid, she leaves the parcel on the doorstep as instructed.

At precisely seven o’clock, she hears a familiar buzzing sound and steps outside. The drone hovers at eye level and Mattie half expects it to say something to her, but then it shoots downwards and grabs the box.

She watches it take off and fly into the distance until it’s just a small speck on the horizon, but she continues to stand there until she can’t see anything at all.

Mattie’s wanders through to the lounge and lies down on the couch. Her eyes feel gritty and swollen from crying. She feels exhausted.

********************

The sound of a key in the lock wakes Mattie and she flinches as the kitchen lights are switched on.

“Oh gosh, I’m sorry, I didn’t know you were in there,” said Sasha. “Did you get my text that I had to work late?”

Mattie yawns and stretches. “No, no, I didn’t. I can’t believe I fell asleep,” she said, shaking her head.

As she sits upright, she realizes that this is the first time in months she hasn’t woken up crying. She feels different. Hopeful even. Surely it can’t be down to that mumbo jumbo box.

As she hits the power button on the television remote, the screen bursts into life. The presenter is laughing as the koala chews on his microphone and a kangaroo jumps in front of the camera. Australia! She smiles. It must be a sign.

********************

The man puts down his newspaper and watches the drone fly closer. He waits on his doorstep and catches it before it lands. He gently removes the box from the drone’s mechanical arms.

Carrying the box over to his desk, he takes the newspaper cutting from the drawer and tapes it to the top.

As he walks along the hallway to his basement, he pauses by the wedding photograph on the wall. He smiles at the picture and reaches out to touch his wife’s face. It’s hard to believe it’s been 15 years since she was killed by a drunk driver. He didn’t think he would ever recover from the pain of losing her.

The man switches on the light in the room and stares up at the wall to ceiling shelving. It’s full of boxes with pieces of newspaper taped to them. He nudges a couple of them over to make space for the new one.

"Wishing you all the best Mathilda Quinn,” he said quietly as he turns off the light and heads back to his newspaper.