Burley Cross Postbox Theft (19 page)

You know where I am.

Bax

PPS Oh yes… And before you go to the unnecessary effort of wheeling out that whole, rather tired ‘working undercover’ dodge, there was nothing
remotely
‘undercover’ about the kind of activities that scoundrel was engaged in. Trust me.

B

Highbank
2 Shortcroft Rd
Burley Cross

21 December, 2006

Dear Nadia,

This simply has to stop! I just can’t bear it any more! I’ve had enough! And when I say stop, I mean stop – no more phone calls, no more letters, no more tantrums, no more tears, no more threats…

If you
do
come over on the ferry and turn up at the house, unannounced, then I shall hurt myself. I shall slash myself with a razor. I
mean
it, Nadia. I’m desperate. I have nothing left to lose. I carry it with me at all times, tucked into my bra, just in case. It’s there right now – right this minute, pressing against my skin – wrapped up in a little piece of tissue paper.

Every time I hear a knock at the door I reach for it. Every time I answer the door – or Peter answers – I have it hidden in my hand. I will use it, Nadia. I swear on everything I hold sacred. I
will
use it.

It’s over. It’s
over
. Why don’t you understand? How much more plainly can I state this? What more can I say? Why won’t you just listen? (What’s
wrong
with you? Are you deluded?
Insane?)
I want you out of my life! There! I’ll say it again! I WANT YOU OUT OF MY LIFE!

Is that plain enough for you? Is that clear enough?

How did you track me down? How?
How?!
And
why?
Why did you persist when it was so obvious – so
obvious! –
that I didn’t
want
to be found? I changed my name, my hair colour, my accent, my religion. I changed it all. I
lost
it all. I
wanted
to lose it, don’t you see?

I’m a different person now. I’m someone else. I play bridge.

I do tapestry. I sing in the church choir. I raised £235 on the Walk for Life. I’m a good person, a stable person.

And I’m
not
your mother. I was
never
your mother. I never
wanted
you. I’m sorry to have to say that – to write that down in black and white – but it’s the truth. I’ve given everything I had to give. I’m very sorry if it wasn’t enough for you. I apologize. I truly apologize – but this is
who I am
, Nadia. This is me. I’m sorry if you find it disappointing. I’m sorry if you’re angry. But have you ever bothered to think – even for a second – about what you’re putting
me
through? You only seem to think about yourself –
your
feelings,
your
rights. But what about mine? If you honestly cared for me – as you insist that you do – then why can’t you just show it by
LEAVING ME ALONE?!

I didn’t ask for this, Nadia. I didn’t ask for any of this. It’s making me ill.
You
are making me ill. I am very depressed and on edge. I can’t sleep. I can’t eat. I can’t seem to concentrate my mind on anything. Peter has noticed. He’s started asking me questions. I swear to God, if you turn up, unannounced, and ruin the life I’ve struggled so hard to build with him, I shall never forgive you. Never.
Never
. I shall hate you. I shall spit in your face and then slash my own throat.

I’m sobbing as I scribble all of these terrible things down, because I’m sorry. I am sorry. I’m sorry that it has had to come down to this. I’m not a maniac, but this situation is in danger of turning me into one. I have lost all sense of self-control. I keep bursting into tears. I am a different person. I can’t seem to recognize myself.

This isn’t normal for me. But I’m cornered, like a trapped animal.
You
have cornered me.
You
are in control of my destiny. You hold it in your hands.
My
destiny!
My
destiny! Not
your
destiny, but
my
destiny!

LET ME GO! LET ME GO! YOU HAVE
NO RIGHT
TO DO THIS TO ME!

I am afraid, Nadia. I am terrified. And I shall do anything –
anything –
it takes to survive this. I shall come out baring my
teeth and my claws. I shall scratch and bite. You’re giving me no other option. There is no other way.

And don’t think for a moment that it’s because I care for him
more
. Why do you keep on saying that? Why?! I don’t understand the logic of your way of thinking! It’s so stupid! It’s so selfish! I don’t care for him
more
. I care about the
work
I’ve invested! I care about the
years
of
work
I’ve invested. I won’t have you just turning up and ruining it all for me. You ruined it all for me once before, thirty-six years ago. I won’t let you do it again. I’d kill myself first. I won’t go through it all again. I can’t. I can’t! Don’t you understand? I can’t!
It just isn’t fair!

Why all these questions about your father? What more do you feel you need to know about him? Why don’t you just
let these things alone?

It’s almost like you
blame
me. You call yourself a victim, but
I
was the victim. Don’t you understand?
I
was the victim. I am
still
the victim.

Of course I don’t know what the medical implications are! Speak to your doctor! How am I meant to engage with all of this? It’s monstrous! It’s obscene! He was my uncle. I already
told
you he was a blood relation. My mother’s brother. I already told that to the adoption people. I was
twelve years old!
A
child!
They swore to my mother – they swore to
me –
that they would maintain my anonymity.

I have rebuilt my life. I have paid the price. I was never able to conceive again. My womb was too small to go full term. The baby should have been aborted but my parents wouldn’t hear of it. I nearly died in the delivery. I lost five pints of blood. I told you all of this on the phone. I never wanted to have the baby. It was a mistake, a terrible mistake.

I’m sorry the baby was you. But I never wanted you. I wanted another baby, my
own
baby, but that was never to be. I was denied a child of my own.
Peter
was denied a child of his own. I have been punished – by God, by him, by… I don’t know… I have suffered enough. I have kept the secret all these
years and I’m damned if you’re going to spoil everything for me. I won’t let you. I’ll do anything,
anything
it takes. I am beyond fear. I am beyond care.

Please,
please
, let this finally be an end to it.

Please.
Rita

A dispatch from the desk of:

Baxter Thorndyke, Cllr
The Old Hall
Burley Cross

21/12/2006

Brian,

REMEMBER TO DESTROY THIS LETTER AS SOON
AS YOU HAVE READ AND MEMORIZED THE
CONTENTS!

DON’T BIN IT.

DON’T SHRED IT.

BURN IT!!

I thought it was probably advisable to pass on the details of the Sex Hex by post, under the ingenious disguise of ‘Boring Council Business’. We don’t want Petra accidentally happening across it – in the form of a stray email – while idly going through the online receipts for your annual tax return, do we, now?

As I told you when we conversed on the issue in the bar after council: I’m not prone to handing out information on the Hex to just anyone, willy-nilly. Consider yourself lucky. Consider yourself ‘blessed’.

The Sex Hex works. It is
powerful magic
. Don’t play around with it. It is deadly, deadly serious. Use it at your own peril in other words.

Got that? Good. So let’s get down to business…

For a successful Hex, you will need:

1. A SHEET OF PLAIN, WHITE PAPER FROM A PREVIOUSLY UNUSED BASILDON BOND NOTEPAD.

(Basildon Bond are a good quality paper manufacturer. The original spell demands ‘virgin parchment’ – which could just as easily be a stray page ripped from a scruffy student notepad. But where’s the fun in that? I find the spell is at its most potent, its most powerful, when each individual ingredient you use is as good and as ‘pure’ as it possibly can be.)

2. A MATCHING ENVELOPE (AS ABOVE).

3. A DOWNY FEATHER FROM THE BREAST OF A TURTLE DOVE.

I have a casual acquaintance (the husband of Tammy’s former acupuncturist – greasy little chap, also an aficionado of the Hex) who happens to breed grouse and doves. He has kindly provided me with a ready supply of downy feathers. I have taken the trouble to enclosed one for you, here.

4. A HAIR FROM THE HEAD OF THE OBJECT OF YOUR DESIRE.

A good technique to acquire one, I often find, is to get into a lift (or on to a bus – if you ever use public transport) with the Hex-ee and stand directly behind them. You can then remove a stray hair from the back of their dress/jacket with relative impunity.

5. ORCHIS MASCULA
.

This is the Early Purple Orchid (or ‘Cuckoos’ as it’s often called in the Midlands). It’s fairly widespread all over the UK and can be found in both woods and on meadowland. It flowers from mid-April to mid-June, but the flower’s of no interest to us. What we need is the tuber (i.e. the root).

To complicate matters, the plant has two of them (both fleshy and egg-shaped). The difference between them is that one feeds the plant (then shrinks as the plant matures), the other receives all the excess nutrients that the plant accumulates throughout its growing season and so
expands
as the year progresses (thereby providing the energy the plant will need in order to germinate the following year).
This
is the tuber you want. The withered one is sometimes used in spells to ‘check wronged passions’ (the last thing you need). The fresh one is ‘under the dominion of Venus’ and will certainly serve our purpose.

6.
ORCHIS MASCULATA
.

It looks very like ‘Cuckoos’ (just to add to your misery) but flowers slightly later (July). You’ll find it on heaths and commons. It’s generally known as the Spotted Orchid
(Mascula
also has spotted leaves, so whoever you get your supply from certainly needs to know the difference between the two. Try looking on the internet if you get desperate).

The important distinction between the two species lies underground.
Masculata’s
tubers are divided into several ‘finger-like’ lobes (as a consequence, it is sometimes called ‘Dead Men’s Fingers’ or ‘Palma Christi’ – I believe there’s a reference to it in
Hamlet
. Ophelia is wreathed in them when she drowns).

This root is also referred to as ‘the Female Satyrion’. The myth is that they were the special food of satyrs and excited them to terrible excesses. Once again, it is the plump tuber that you want (and to distinguish between the two types they must always be harvested in autumn).

Both kinds of tubers need to be prepared in the same way. First you’ll need to immerse them in boiling water (briefly scald them, in other words - but be sure and keep the sets of tubers strictly separated throughout this process, or you’ll forget which batch is which). The skins must then be rubbed off and the
tubers placed into a pre-heated oven for around ten minutes (180 degrees Centigrade – 160 if your oven has a fan. Never, never microwave).

Once you’ve removed them from the oven, place them somewhere cool and airy for a few days (away from any damp). During this time they will change from looking ‘milky’ to transparent and ‘horny’.

When fully dried they can be stored (indefinitely) in a glass jar or a plastic bag (remember,
do
label them correctly to forestall any future heartache).

For the Hex to work you will need a small slither of each, approximately the size and width of your littlest nail.

7. A SAMPLE OF THE SALIVA OF THE OBJECT OF YOUR DESIRE.

Sounds tricky, but this is easier to manage than you might initially imagine. Just invite the Object/Hex-ee out for a meal, or buy them a coffee, or – if needs be – just follow them around until you see them partaking of a random beverage and then acquire the can/glass/cup after they have gone and simply wipe a clean white tissue around its rim (a good quality tissue: white, pristine, with a high ply – none of that recycled rubbish). It is this tissue that you will employ in the Hex.

8. PAGE 85 OF THE
KAMA SUTRA
.

This is the Numerological part of the equation. The page number is acquired (a detail that had always deeply perplexed me before I finally worked it out during that especially long and boring debate about the future of the Ilkley Lido last spring) by adding together the numerical value of each individual letter in the words SEX HEX, i.e. nineteen for S, five for E etc. etc.

When I initially used the Hex I bought a new copy of the
Kama Sutra
for each fresh conquest. Now I just photocopy the page. It seems just as effective.

Using a black pen, draw a large vagina on to the sheet of plain white paper – in as much detail as you like – and then print the name of your Hex-ee – in capital letters – around its perimeter (if you don’t know their name, then their title will do just as well, so long as you keep a
clear vision
in your mind of them all the time as you are drawing, e.g. LOLLIPOP LADY).

Underneath it, draw a large, erect penis, pointing directly towards the vagina (try and give it the characteristics of your own penis), then print your name in clear, strong, capital letters along its immense, distended shaft.

Next, fold up the tissue, the page of the
Kama Sutra
, the hair, the feather, the two slithers of dried orchid tuber and place them all into the envelope alongside the drawing you have made. On the front of the envelope write SEX HEX. Underline it. Twice.

Take this envelope outside to a quiet corner (or if you have an open fireplace inside which is sufficiently private, use that) and set fire to it while repeating the phrase: COME TO ME! COME TO ME! (- - - - is the name of your Hex-ee, obviously. If you don’t know their name then – once again – use the appropriate phrase, e.g. SEXY BRUNETTE IN THE POST OFFICE COME TO ME! etc.).