Burley Cross Postbox Theft (37 page)

Well, my chickens have certainly come home to roost, now…

You asked me about Divine Retribution, remember? I said I didn’t believe in it – and I honestly don’t think I do – but if I did, then, yes, Nick arriving home (dropping out of the clouds like that – completely without warning) was definitely a strong indicator!

I was so freaked out when I tried to say his name during our session and then found that I just
couldn’t –
began stuttering like a crazy-woman and then burst into floods of tears! I was mortified! It just stuck in my throat! It was like I could barely get it out of my mouth! Like I was choking on it! I had no idea (till that moment) that I was so cut up about the whole thing, that my feelings were still so strong for him.

After we talked, I really thought about what you said: about how it was crueller to keep Glenn hanging on if I still had such powerful, unresolved feelings for somebody else – no matter how much Glenn said he loved me, or what he was threatening to do to himself if I left (no matter how much of a bastard he was being; the fault was still mine, to some extent. The
power
was still mine, more to the point). Not that it’s even relevant any more – what with a baby on the way. Nick wouldn’t be interested now. How could he be?

Anyhow, it turns out that he has this amazing American girlfriend! She’s a biochemist or something. She speaks four languages. She’s a really great cook. He’s constantly coming into the post office to get stamps and envelopes for packages he’s sending her. It’s pure torture! He’s so devoted – so
dedicated! It’s like he never stops writing to the bloody woman!

Even if I did think I had a hope in hell with Nick (which I obviously don’t), I could never,
never
jeopardize his current relationship (not after what I did to Glenn and Laura).

I did follow your advice and try to tell him how I felt, though (before I really knew how serious he was about Yasmin). I set up this tour for me and Glenn at RAF Fylingdales (the base where Nick works). I partly did it for him and Glenn to get to know each other better (Glenn’s been so paranoid about him since he saw us having that joke together outside the bank in Ilkley – when I took the piss out of Nick for wearing trainers with his suit. Afterwards he kept making all these loaded comments like, ‘Well, at least he has feet to wear trainers
on
. Do you
like
a nice pair of feet in a man, Nina?’ Stuff like that.

It’s just so exhausting, sometimes – second-guessing everything I say around Glenn. Although perhaps it
was
insensitive of me to kid around with Nick in front of him. I just didn’t really think about it at the time. I was caught up in the moment. Nick seems to have that effect on me).

I also set up the tour in the hope that it might give Glenn the incentive to consider going back to work again. Nick actually told me that he would hire Glenn if Glenn was at all keen on the idea. He insisted that it wouldn’t be as a favour to me, but because Glenn would’ve earned it in his own right (there’s plenty of appropriate work there for someone in a wheelchair. The base is basically just full of nerds sitting around logging space junk all day; it’s pretty static work, but apparently the jobs are really sought after).

It didn’t quite pan out in the end. Glenn was really aggressive with Nick – really hostile. I think it’s probably still too early for him to seek full-time employment. He’s still too raw. And anyway, I get the feeling that a clean break with the military might be necessary (being around other soldiers just seems to be a constant reminder of what he’s lost. I think you may’ve hinted at that possibility during our chat).

One good outcome of the tour was that it finally got him off his arse (out of his comfort zone) and made him think about his long-term goals. He’s considering applying to a college (down south) to do that sound engineering course he’s always fancied. It’s made him think about the future in a more positive light.

Anyway, at the end of the tour I plucked up the courage to tell Nick (on the walk back to the car) about how I’d always had this huge crush on him at school. And guess how he reacted?!

He didn’t!!

It was a disaster!! He just kind of stared at me, blankly. He seemed really confused – even embarrassed. So then I got all embarrassed myself and made a big joke out of it (same as I always do). He then turned on me and started lecturing me about how I’d ‘really changed’ since school. That upset me quite a bit. It was like I’d let myself down or something – like I was this massive disappointment to him now.

He’s always really nice whenever we meet up, though, very attentive, always makes me laugh (which is something I really love about him – and something I’ve really missed, too). But I think it’s more out of pity than anything.

When he finds out I’m pregnant he’s just going to flip! He’ll think I’m such a fool – that I’ve made such a mess of things! And he’ll be completely right! Just the idea of seeing his face when he finds out actually makes me feel physically sick. That’s partly why I’ve decided to do as Glenn wants and move down to Taunton with him. It’ll mean he’s closer to his wife and kids. He has way more friends down there – lots of them pre-army, which is good.

I just think he deserves a fresh start, with my full support. I’m dreading making the move, but it’s a sacrifice I feel I should probably make. And it’s a real sacrifice, for once – a true sacrifice.

On a more positive note, it’ll be a huge relief to get away from this place (Burley Cross – Ilkley – the post office). It’s just
too painful seeing Nick around all the time and imagining what could have been if I hadn’t been such a bloody fool. I’m so much in love with him, Dr B – crazy in love with him. Every time that song comes on to the radio (by Jay Z and Beyonce) I just break down in tears.

Pathetic!

I blame it on the hormones.

Anyhow, that’s me about done and dusted. I just wanted you to catch up with all my news, and to tell you how much I’ve appreciated your kindness and your honesty. It really was such a great relief to speak to someone who wasn’t directly involved in the situation. I’d been feeling so lonely and I didn’t even know it!

We’re planning the move for early/mid Feb, so I can work out my notice at the PO. Hopefully I won’t be showing too much by then – I’m keen to keep my pregnancy under wraps until we go (with any luck).

Before I finish up, remember how you asked me towards the end of our session if I would think of my favourite memory – my most beautiful memory – and tell you about it? But I couldn’t actually think of one?

Well, you’ll be relieved to know that I’ve thought of plenty of them since (loads of them!), but the one my mind keeps coming back to is of when I was seventeen and I was at this party (it was just some boring party in Ilkley, a birthday party for this boy I knew from school) and everybody was completely drunk (I was sober for some reason – can’t remember why, exactly). Then Nick turns up, out of the blue. He’d just won this scholarship to America (I was totally devastated that he was leaving, so much so that I’d started dating this guy I met on the school bus – who I didn’t really fancy at all – simply to try and put a brave face on the whole situation).

Anyway, Nick turns up just as some idiot is accidentally tipping cider down my top. I was soaked! (I don’t remember what I was wearing, but it was definitely something new.)
Nick was horrified. He got me to take it off, hand washed it in the kitchen sink and stuck it in the tumble dryer. He gave me his jumper to wear as it dried. Then we went outside and sat in the garden together. He was ranting on about how much he hated Chris Evans, and making me roar with laughter.

We were sitting on the bottom step at the far end of the patio. This kid’s house was halfway up the hill (the moor) and had an amazing view into the valley below. All the lights were twinkling. There was this powerful smell of lavender (two huge plants stood on either side of us, and we kept nudging them with our elbows as we talked, releasing this wonderful, heady scent into the atmosphere).

It was so beautiful! And I would have kissed him, right there and then, but he was dating my best friend at the time, so I just gazed up at him – really, kind of, melting inside. I honestly thought he was the most wonderful boy I had ever met.

I still think that. And while I know nothing can come of it now, just having seen him again, after all this time (taking into account all the pain it’s caused me and everything), a part of me is still incredibly glad – that non-disillusioned part, that non-resigned part – because I can hold the memory of him in my heart forever, and cherish it, and finally believe in something – something honest, something unchanging, something constant. Real love. True love. (Okay, I’m done! Stop retching! You can put away the sick-bag!)

Well, I think that’s probably quite enough of me rambling on about myself for a while… I doubt I’ll see you again before the move etc., so thanks (so much) for everything you’ve done for me. You’ve really made a big difference.

Hope you have a great 2007!

All the best,
Nina (Springhill)

PS Here’s something a little strange that just happened (I thought you might appreciate it, being a shrink and
everything). While I was working in the PO this afternoon, one of our customers (a man called Baxter Thorndyke) accidentally left his wallet behind on the counter. During my tea break I volunteered to take it around to his house. Oonagh (the postmistress) said she was happy to do it after work, but I was like, no, no, I really need to get some air (which was kind of weird, really, in retrospect).

Anyway, I walked over to his house (it’s this big place called The Old Hall), and when I got there (it’s about half past three in the afternoon – freezing cold), the front door is wide open! I knocked a few times (no answer) and considered just leaving the wallet on the hallway table, but then became convinced that a passing stranger might come in and steal it (unlikely, really, and I could’ve just closed the door after me, anyway).

As I stood there (unable to make up my mind – classic case of Pregnancy Brain!) I could hear music in a distant room – up a small flight of stairs (awful, South American pan-pipey stuff), so I headed towards it, barely noticing my surroundings, almost like I was in a dream or something.

Eventually I found myself walking into this large room, this huge bedroom (thick, shag-pile carpets, four-poster bed, embossed velvet counterpane, oriental wall-hangings etc.), and there, in the middle of this room, at the heart of it, was a massive, free-standing bath (you know the kind of thing: gold taps, lion’s claw feet…).

The bath was steaming hot and full of bubbles. The room reeked (it stank!) of this really strong, really awful scent (orange blossom, I think, which made me want to vomit). But best of all, sitting in the bath, completely starkers, wearing this crown made out of ivy leaves (like something you might see at a really tacky toga party) and holding a glass of what looked like champagne, was Mr Thorndyke!

I just stood there for a second, my mouth hanging open, barely knowing what to say. Then he smiled and said (in this
really creepy voice), ‘Ah, Pretty Post Office Girl, COME TO ME!’ and toasted me with his glass!

He held out his other hand. I gazed at it for a few seconds, totally astonished, before realizing that he probably just wanted me to give him his wallet back!

I said, ‘Your wallet. Of course…’ (all, kind of, mechanically) and passed it to him. Then I curtseyed (I curtseyed! I’ve never curtseyed in my life!), turned on my heel and sprinted off!

I’ve felt all tingly and light-headed and woozy ever since… So there you go! More crazy adventures from the weird and wacky world of Burley Cross! Make of it what you will!

XN

Fewston Grange
Hardisty Hill
Blubberhouses

21/12/06

Mr Brogan,

Yet more incidents to report. I went down there yesterday morning early (must’ve been around 8 a.m. – sun’d hardly rose) and found that confounded bloody woman (Tilly Brooks) accompanied by that confounded bloody duck (repulsive thing it is – face like a piece of broiled tongue), swimming around –
trespassing
– in my Private Fishing Lake again.

I’ve given her fair warning, Mr Brogan (a fact you yourself can testify to), and I’ve had a gut-ful of her sass an’ all. There are others (as you well know), but this one’s the worst. This one’s what I call ‘the ringleader’. It’s an arrogance she has – although I wouldn’t say as it was an arrogance, as such… Can’t think of the right word just off the top of my head (it’s not my job to be thinking up words all day! It’s my job to run this Private Fishing Lake in the most efficient and cost-effective way possible!).

Fact of the matter is: she’s old enough (and ugly enough) to know better.

I put up the extra signs (like you suggested – at considerable cost!). Hasn’t made so much as a scrap of difference! The gate is locked. The fence is secure. But she still persists in…

Heedless!

That’s the one!

She’s heedless! Worse than heedless! She’s cocky! Indifferent! Like I’m just some pesky little fly as she can’t be bothered going to the trouble of swatting off her shoulder! Does the woman think I’m down here all the hours policing this
Private Fishing Lake because I
want
to be? Eh? Does she think I’m doing this simply for the benefits of my bloody
health?!

Jesus wept!

Like I says to her the other week (during that incident I reported to you involving Miss Sissy Logan), ‘I’m not petty enough to want to hinder a couple of harebrained, local women from swimming in this Private Fishing Lake just for the sheer hell of it! The implications are wider –
much
wider! The implications start when tourists and local youth observe you at it and then get to thinking it’s fine and dandy to do the same thing theyselves! The net result is chaos.
Chaos!’

It’s a Private Fishing Lake, now, Mr Brogan, not a public swimming baths, and their heedless behaviour is completely unacceptable. It’s out of line! Intolerable! I don’t care as how long they’ve been swimming in it or what their nutty reverend instructed them to do! There’s a new reverend now, anyways – I can’t see the likes of
him
encouraging a troop of saggy, middle-aged females to set about ‘purging’ theyselves (or whatever it is they think they’re about) in a freezing, bloody Private Fishing Lake at all hours!