legends · 6 min read ·
Letters from Ferry Road
Letters between siblings follow a dead father's voice reading crossword clues from a back bedroom.
**Letter 1 · From: Caro Hale, Ferry Road, Millbrook · To: Ben Hale, Leeds · Postmarked 3 March**
Ben,
I know you said you'd come up for Dad's funeral and then didn't, and I'm not writing to have a go. I'm writing because the house is quieter than I expected and I've been finding things. The kettle is always still warm when I come down in the morning. There's a second cup on the drainer, clean, upside down. I haven't got a second cup. I threw the old set out.
Come up when you can. It'd be good to have someone else in the kitchen.
Love,
Caro
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**Letter 2 · From: Ben Hale, Leeds · To: Caro Hale · Postmarked 9 March**
Caro,
Sorry it's taken me a while. Work's been mad. I'm glad you're not on your own, even if the kettle's haunted. You always did get the place going on your own, you know that? Dad used to say you were the only one who could make the boiler behave.
I'll come up at Easter. I promise. Don't fret about the cup.
Ben
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**Letter 3 · From: Caro Hale · To: Ben Hale · Postmarked 14 March**
Ben,
It's not the cup now. It's the sound from the back bedroom. It's Dad's voice, the one he used for the crossword, when he was trying to get an answer and didn't want anyone to help. He's reading the clues out loud, slowly, and he stops every few words, as if he wants someone to fill in the gap.
I haven't been in that room since the funeral. I've been sleeping on the sofa. But last night I could hear him clearly, and I could hear someone else, very quiet, answering him, and I think it was you. I think you were in the back bedroom, Ben, and you've been there since the funeral, and you didn't tell me.
Please say if I'm wrong.
Caro
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**Letter 4 · From: Ben Hale · To: Caro Hale · Postmarked 20 March**
Caro,
I'm not in the back bedroom. I'm in Leeds. I haven't been up since January. You know that. You're upset, and I understand that, but please stop writing these letters, they frighten me. The crossword thing is just you remembering Dad. It's what grief does.
I'm going to come up at Easter. I'll bring the bottle of whisky you like. Please don't go in the back room.
Ben
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**Letter 5 · From: Caro Hale · To: Ben Hale · Postmarked 22 March**
Ben,
I went into the back room this morning. I didn't mean to. I just opened the door and the light was on and the bed was made with the blue blanket Mum knitted, the one with the hole in the corner you always used to pick at.
Dad was sitting up in the bed. He had the newspaper open at the crossword. He looked up when I came in and said, "Did you get the postcode, love? I'm stuck on that one." And then he looked past me, at the door, and said, "Ben's not here, is he? He's still in Leeds."
Ben, I know you're not in Leeds. I know you've been in the house the whole time, and that you're the one who's been answering him.
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**Letter 6 · From: Ben Hale, Leeds · To: Caro Hale · Postmarked 25 March**
Caro,
I'm writing this at the kitchen table in my flat. I'm alone. I can see the kettle from here, on the side, and it's cold. I want you to know that I've been trying to come up for weeks, every time I get as far as the station, the train stops and I can't remember which platform I'm supposed to be on.
I've been dreaming of the back bedroom. In the dream I'm lying in the bed under the blue blanket, and Dad's reading the clues out loud, and I know the answers, but I can't say them, because my mouth won't open.
Please don't let him finish the crossword. I think once he gets to the last clue, he won't be the one who has to wait anymore.
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**Letter 7 · From: Caro Hale · To: Ben Hale · Postmarked 28 March**
Ben,
The last clue is "Nobody's home." Seven letters. He's been trying to fill it in for three days. I keep telling him the answer's already in the house, but he doesn't believe me.
I went up to the back bedroom again last night. The bed's empty now. The blue blanket's folded on the chair, the way you'd leave it for someone who's coming home from a long way off. The newspaper is on the pillow, with the crossword finished in pen, every square filled, except the last clue, which has been written in the handwriting I'd know anywhere, yours.
*Ben.*
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**Letter 8 · Solicitor's note (Lowe & Ferrier, Millbrook) · To: Ben Hale · 2 April**
Dear Mr. Hale,
We are writing on behalf of your sister, Caroline Hale, who asked us to forward the enclosed letters and a copy of your father's will. Your sister has asked us to say that she is leaving the house at Ferry Road to you, on the condition that you come up and collect the blue blanket from the back bedroom, and sit with your father until he finishes the crossword.
We have been unable to contact her since 28 March. Her car is still outside the house. The kettle is on, and there are two cups on the drainer, both clean, both facing the door.
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**Letter 9 · From: Ben Hale · To: Lowe & Ferrier · 6 April**
Dear Sir or Madam,
I accept the house. I'm coming up on Saturday. I've packed the blanket and the whisky, and I've told my flat-mate I'll be back on Monday.
Please tell Caro I'm sorry for not coming earlier. Tell her I'm in the back bedroom now, the light's on, and I can hear Dad reading the clues. He's on the last one. He's got it nearly. I'm listening for him to say the word, and then I'll say it for him.
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**Solicitor's file note (Lowe & Ferrier, 9 April)**
Ben Hale was not seen at Ferry Road on Saturday. The house has been checked by the police, at our request. The back bedroom is empty and made up. The blue blanket is folded on the chair. The crossword on the pillow is complete. The last clue reads: *Nobody's home.*
The answer, in ink, in two hands, is *Ben*, and under it, smaller, *Caro*.