Nest: Letter Four
Enough. I will not take any more of your nonsense.
This is one favour too many, Flynto. Our parents did not bring us up in a spirit of dependence. You need to stop asking things of others, and you must start being honest with the ones you love. Oyla’s a gem, you idiot. And she’s getting tired. I overheard Trinitia at the golf club telling Brenda that Oyla’s marriage is ‘going through a rough patch’. Oyla won’t let on, I know - she was all smiles when we went to help with the trough. But I can see that her smile is stuck at a certain angle. It’s almost as if it’s strung up, held up by a puppeteer. It’s nothing like the one you gave her on your wedding day.
I shall no longer keep your secrets safe, unless you agree to tell Oyla everything. And when I say everything, I mean Everything. The monthly payments, the deal you struck up with the MI5, where you really go when you’re ‘away’. Tell her, or I will have to. Do send me a letter when you’ve come clean. With evidence, if possible. A bit of broken crockery will do.
You will find the nest and the egg next to this letter (unless that devilish egg has decided to go walkabout again). I am also leaving the extra twenty pounds that you added to my monthly due. I don’t want it.
You know, Flynn, it’s a shame. I might just have helped you out with this nest thing for a little longer if you hadn’t been so nasty to my boys. I don’t know what’s got into you since you found that nest, but I don’t like it. Your eyes have the same mad glint in them as Dad’s did that one time, when they accidentally gave him too much morphine. Remember, the hallucinations, the little devils on the windowsill? Well, that’s what you looked like yesterday when you came to check up on your stupid egg. How dare you tell my Paddy that you preferred him to my Greg. How DARE you have told my poor baby Greg that he was an incorrigible ugly duckling (like you can talk with that mangled nose of yours). Greg locked himself up in his room for hours. And now he’s not talking to me or Paddy. He worships you, Flynn, and you know what, I think you’ve just about broken his heart. Happy now?
I don’t want this nest in my house, anyway. I couldn’t sleep last night for the racket, even though it was stowed away in the garage. The egg was knocking about all night and I swear that at one point it made a ghastly high-pitched wail. I’ve never heard anything like it. You’ll notice that it’s looking particularly sweaty today. Ugh. It’s simply oozing. You know, when I tried to pick it up this morning, it ran away. I swear to you, it bounced and rolled away from me at a high speed. It ended up under the car. I had to move the car to pick it up. Don’t worry, I didn’t run it over - I didn’t want scrambled egg on my tyres, or whatever’s inside that thing. There’s something truly repulsive about its shell- Oh gosh, it’s wailing again, geez, yowtch.
You’ll be coming over soon. I’ll make sure to be out, I don’t want to see you (or be with this damned egg one minute longer).
I’m starting to think that one of Dad’s little devils is living in your egg. I can just see a little pitchfork pricking at the surface.
Right - I cannot bear this screaming any more. Have fun with your beloved nest (and please do The Right Thing by Oyla).
By Alicia Davies
Nest is our epistolary project, written collaboratively by students and staff and published every fortnight right here on Falwriting. You can find out more about Nest here, and read Letter Three here.
We have released the second episode of our Nest podcast, where each writer will read the newest letter and talk about their writing process and influences. You can listen to the Nest podcasts here.