—50—
The Complete Poems of Winnie-the-Pooh by AA Milne
Frankston train line to Melbourne Central
‘So, today’s my last day.’
Frankie was carefully applying mascara while talking on the phone to Cat. She wore her favourite green silk shirt that made her eyes pop, paired with her ‘I’m a published author’ pom-pom coat, black skinny jeans and heeled boots. Everything had to be perfect for her meeting with Marie.
‘Last day of what? Bad choices? Regret? Abstinence?’ Cat joked.
‘All of the above, my dear friend. All of the above.’ Frankie carefully drew a black stroke ending with a dramatic flick along her lash line. Today called for a fierce winged eye. ‘It’s going to be my last day of dropping books. Of trying to win Sunny back. It’s been weeks. I have to move on.’
‘And you’re okay with giving up?’ Cat asked.
‘I’m not giving up. I’m letting go.’ Frankie tied her hair into a ponytail and stepped back to look at herself in the mirror. ‘Sunny obviously doesn’t want anything to do with me. And that’s … well, it’s okay. Look at Gone with the Wind, Doctor Zhivago, The Sun Also Rises. Everyone has that one person that got away. Now it’s time for me to look for my new person. And you know what? I think I’m going to give Tom another shot.’ Frankie puckered her lips, layering them with a thick, plum-coloured tint.
‘Boring Tom?’ Cat said through mouthfuls of what Frankie imagined to be sashimi, soft cheese, or most likely both.
‘He’s not boring. He’s just not Sunny. And that’s probably a good thing. He’s kind, smart and sensitive, not to mention well read.’
‘Well, he sounds perfect.’
‘Exactly. Plus, today’s all about new beginnings. Cat, I have an okay feeling about life again. Is that weird?’
‘Well, this all sounds fabulous, Frankie. You know I’m all for it. But it also slightly sounds like you’re having a mental breakdown.’ Cat panted now, as if she were running.
‘I’m not.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Yes.’
‘Positive?’
‘No.’
‘So, you could be having a mental breakdown?’
‘Yes.’
‘Okay, well, I’m glad we have that sorted then,’ Cat said.
‘Cat? What was that?’
‘What was what?’ she said evasively.
‘Was that a boarding call in the background? Are you at an airport?’ Frankie asked.
‘Ah, sorry Frank, I have to run! Love you. Good luck with the emotional meltdown!’ Cat hung up. Frankie tried to call her back, but it went straight to voicemail. She would have to deal with Cat and her escapades later. Right now, she had to focus on the meeting with her publisher, which was in exactly one hour. She spritzed her wrists with her ‘special occasion’ perfume, grabbed her polka-dot handbag and let herself out of her apartment and into the big wide world.
It was another excessively cold Melbourne day, and as soon as Frankie left the warm embrace of her apartment, the harsh air gnawed at her skin even as she wrapped her coat tightly around her body. She checked her handbag again to make sure she had her train ticket, and then took out her phone, refreshing her emails. Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted somebody lurking in front of her.
‘Dad?’
Rudolph smiled sheepishly at her. He was dressed in nothing but shorts and a T-shirt, even though it couldn’t have been more than 8 degrees outside. Typical.
‘What are you doing here? I can’t be long. I have a really important meeting to get to,’ Frankie said, a little too tersely.
Rudolph handed her a small parcel wrapped in brown butcher’s paper, with a plain blue card stuck haphazardly to the front.
‘For me?’ Frankie asked, taking it from her father’s rough hands. Rudolph nodded. She carefully removed the card and read it out loud.
Dear Frankie,
I know that Mum and I sometimes drive you nuts. All right, all the time. But know that we love you more than anything and are so proud of you and all that you have achieved. Here’s a little something we found when we were moving house. It reminded us of how many of your dreams you’ve already made come true.
Love always,
Mum and Dad
‘Oh, Dad.’ Frankie wiped a runaway tear from her eye. ‘This is so unexpected.’
Rudolph nodded his head towards the present in Frankie’s hand. She pulled at the twine holding the parcel together, and the brown paper unfolded gracefully as if it were a magic trick, revealing a piece of thick blue cardboard. On the cardboard, stuck messily to the right-hand corner, was a photo of Rudolph, Putu and Frankie, who looked about six years old. Scribbled next to the photo, in her own childlike scrawl, it read:
My dream in life is …
To be a writer and a good human like my mum and dad. They are the best humans in the world. Also to own a chocolate farm and eat chocolate every day for the rest of my life. Also I love hamsters.
Frankie looked closely at the photo. Her eyes were closed, mid laugh. Her head was resting on her father’s shoulder, and Putu was looking at her with that same look she had seen so many times before. A look she had naively come to believe was filled with judgement. But now she knew it wasn’t that at all. It was adoration.
‘Oh, Dad. This is too much. Thank you for this. You’ll tell mum how much I loved it?’ Frankie smiled. Rudolph kissed her cheek before bringing her into his arms for a full embrace.
After a few long moments she reluctantly pulled away with a smile. She carefully deposited the gift in her bag, gave her dad a final warm kiss on the cheek and raced down the street, as Rudolph soulfully waved goodbye.
Frankie halfheartedly dropped a copy of To All The Boys I’ve Loved Before on the station bench beside her. A woman wearing a beautifully embroidered dress and heels sat next to her, reading a clothbound copy of Pride and Prejudice. Frankie analysed her face, trying to imagine which part of the book she was up to. From the slight frown and the white of her knuckles, she guessed it was Chapter Eighteen – Oh, how Frankie loved that chapter! – the Netherfield Ball, when Elizabeth finally wins the chance to exact revenge on Darcy. She wondered if this was the first or, like her, the eleventh time she had read the book.
She looked away and up at the information board: the next train would arrive in two minutes. That should give her plenty of time to make it to the Simon & Schuster office. She cracked her knuckles and tapped her feet; the nerves were settling in, rendering her unable to read. If this meeting was a success, it could herald her next big break, her foot back in the door of the exhilarating world of published writing. Her heart twisted at the thought of her dad’s gift. Ever since she was young, she had wanted to be a writer. She had made it happen twice, and now she was (fingers crossed) about to make it happen again.
As the train arrived, the woman placed her copy of Pride and Prejudice in her bag and stood up abruptly. Frankie followed, scurrying towards the train. Frankie sat down, placing her handbag next to her, and silently recited the lines she had prepared for the meeting. I believe my time off from writing has enabled me to experience more of the world, and thus become a more skilled and sensitive author. It is important to me that this book reflects my experiences both as a writer and as an ordinary twenty-something woman struggling through love and life. Please, please, please, sign me. Okay, maybe not that last one. Frankie continued to run through her lines when something caught her eye. A stray book sat on the seat in front of her. She stood up to get a closer look, and saw that the same book was scattered on even more seats throughout the carriage. She took a deep breath. Is someone copycatting me? And if so, are they beating me at my own game? There must be at least fifteen books on this carriage alone!
She crept up to one of the books and looked to either side of her. A man had fallen asleep with his headphones on, and a woman was bent over, looking intently at her mobile phone. Frankie swiftly picked up the book – and gasped. In her hands, she held AA Milne’s The Complete Poems of Winnie-the-Pooh. She slowly opened to the first page, her hands suddenly trembling. And gulped as she saw handwriting that had become as familiar as her own:
In the spirit of AA Milne, I care too much – I think it’s love. Meet me at Sunbury station at eleven this morning. – Sunny
‘Oh my God,’ Frankie exhaled, to no-one in particular. She pressed the book to her chest, butterflies pounding within her. She took the book in her right hand and picked up another, which sat idly on a seat nearby. She opened the book to the first page. The same note. She ran to the next book, sitting on the seat in front, and then to the next. The same note was written in every single one of them. She opened the door at the end of the carriage and passed through, rushing down the aisle, picking up book after book. A copy of The Complete Poems of Winnie-the-Pooh had been strategically placed on every single aisle seat of the train. He must have left hundreds. Frankie edged to the train door, ready to hop off at the next stop and head full throttle to Sunbury station – but then she remembered her appointment with Marie.
She took out her phone and dialled the number she had promised herself she would never call again.
‘Hi, you’ve called Sunny. Leave a message.’ Shit. ‘Sunny, it’s me. I’m just on the train. I found your books. I can’t believe it. Talk about a romantic gesture! But I only found them now, and it’s already ten-thirty. You probably thought I’d find them on my way to work, but I didn’t go to work this morning because I have a really big meeting with my publisher at eleven,’ she rambled. ‘It’s sort of make-or-break. I’m not sure I’m going to make it to Sunbury on time. It’s over forty minutes away and—’ The voicemail cut out. Shit. Shit. Shit.
Frankie peered out the window, watching the buildings glide past as she cradled five copies of The Complete Poems of Winnie-the-Pooh in her arms.
Frankie: Sunny, I’m not sure I’ll make it to Sunbury station on time. I’m coming up to Flinders Street for an important meeting with my publisher. Please call me.
She paced the carriage, weighing her options as the train pulled up at Flinders Street station: she could jump off now and try to make it to Sunbury, or she could stay on board and get off at Melbourne Central, and make it in time for her meeting. The train came to a halt. Commuters pushed past her haphazardly, grunting at her to move. A little girl dressed in a floral puffy jacket clutched a copy of The Complete Poems of Winnie-the-Pooh in one hand, while her other was wrapped firmly around her dad’s leg. But Frankie was frozen. She stared at the open doors of the train, her heart racing.
‘Please mind the gap, this train is ready to depart.’ The announcement echoed throughout the station, ringing in Frankie’s ears.
Fuck it! She jumped out of the closing doors and onto the platform.