The jewellery never came. A letter did,five months later.
Dennis’ cord cursive was world-class. He apologised for his reply taking so long. He’d had to duck off to England for the 1983 World Cup,he wrote. Thanks for being such a big fan. The key to being successful in anything is never giving up. I’m thrilled to hear about your promotion and have no doubt if you work really hard you’ll play for Australia.
Chris sealed up the letter in a Perspex display case. He loved it so much. He’d bring it out for mates who would understand the significance of a treasure from Lillee’s hand. “I was making appointment times,” he remembers. “You’re allowed five minutes with the letter,three questions,no touching,then make way for the next group.”
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When his family moved house,the letter was lost. Decades on,when maudlin or having seen an aerial shot of Lord’s,Chris still reminisces about his lost Lillee,its glorious penmanship adrift in the world. It ties with a vanished photo of his late mum Jenny with Stevie Wonder for the physical thing he misses most.
By a certain age,we’ve all had losses. People,pets,places,health,youth. Friendships. Reputation. Big things and annoying niggly ones. Backs of earrings,mix tapes,perfectly worn-in thongs. A friend had a bespoke leather jacket his mum had made for him in Argentina. It was racked from a pub a few years ago and he still misses the memories of it as much as the jacket itself.
My loss list includes a marriage,a patch of back where the melanoma was,a copy of Andre Dubus’We Don’t Live Here Anymore. Mostly I’m someone who holds onto things for dear life. My 56-year-old teddy (Mama Ted,hairless,eyeless and so priceless my daughter has asked for her when I die);my first bra,yes,quite creepy;three positive pregnancy tests.