Burley Cross Postbox Theft - Nicola Barker

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EXPECTATION THAT POLLY MIGHT ALSO BE THERE.

      POLLY… NOW FULLY GROWN, HER DARK HAIR CASCADING DOWN TO HER TRIM WAIST, THE ODD, STRAY STRAND OF IT SLITHERING INTO THE MUSKY CREVICE BETWEEN HER FULL, BROWN BREASTS WHICH WERE SPRINKLED IN PERSPIRATION, DUSTED WITH SUMMER FRECKLES… SHE WORE A YELLOW BIKINI [MORE DETAILS ABOUT HER BIKINI ETC TO FOLLOW], BUT SHE’D ONLY EVER REALLY HAD EYES FOR A LOCAL, BLOND DRUG DEALER CALLED TRISTAN – AN OXFORD GRADUATE – WITH HIS TAN, HIS MIRROR SHADES AND HIS READY ACCESS TO ‘PUFF AN’ WEED’.

      HOW FOOLISH THEY HAD ALL BEEN!

      CRUSHED BY LONELINESS AND DISAPPOINTMENT, WILLIAM HAD ALLOWED RUPERT TO LEAD HIM, BLINDLY, UNWITTINGLY, SOMETIMES STAGGERING AS HE LOST HIS FOOTING, DOWN DARK, TROPICAL PATHS HE HAD NO NATURAL INCLINATION TO TRAVEL, AND THEN…

      WHAT?! WHO?! HOW THE…?!

      HE HAD ENDED UP HERE. IN THIS GOMORRAH. ON TRUMPED-UP CHARGES. SOME THOUGHT HE HAD BEEN FRAMED (RUPERT WAS THE TRUE VILLAIN OF THE PIECE, SURELY?) BUT HE DARED NOT THINK ABOUT THAT – WHAT GOOD COULD IT POSSIBLY DO HIM NOW?

      SWEET POLLY HAD BEEN TO VISIT HIM BEFORE SHE FLED THE ISLAND, HER CHEEKS STAINED WITH TEARS. ‘THIS IS MY BROTHER’S FAULT…’ SHE’D WHISPERED, ‘IF ONLY YOU’D HAD ACCESS TO A PROPER LAWYER… IF ONLY I’D SAID SOME – THING. IF ONLY I’D BEEN BRAVE ENOUGH TO STAND UP IN COURT… OH WILLIAM, WE COULD HAVE BEEN SO GOOD TOGETHER!’

      AND THEN, SEEING THE IMMEDIATE, AGONIZED RESPONSE IN HIS BLOODSHOT, GREEN EYES, ‘PLEASE! NO! OH GOD! FORGIVE ME!’

      ‘IF ONLY…’ WILLIAM THOUGHT, SMILING, AS THEY DRAGGED HER, SOBBING, FROM HIS CELL, ‘IF ONLY… IF ONLY…

      (end)

       [letter 5]

      The Winter Barn

      (off Old Woman’s Lane)

      Burley Cross

      Wharfedale

      21/12/06

      Ivo,

      I just sent you a text – in fact I just sent you an email (I sent you a text about the email) – because I’d just tried to phone you to make sure you downloaded it – and printed it – tonight (all of it, mind? There’s about ten pages. I want them printed and then put into the Threadbare file, pronto – please, please, pretty-please).

      When you didn’t answer your phone I left a voice-mail (just ignore it – it was a gratuitous outpouring of hysterical waffle – although, knowing you, you’ll ignore it anyway. You never seem to get around to listening to my messages. Why is that, exactly?).

      Oh, God, God, I’m in such a crazy rush! I just want to be sure to catch the six o’clock post (does the post even go at six?). If I don’t manage to catch it then the samples – there’s only two of them, they’re minuscule – won’t reach you until the day after tomorrow and that would be a serious, serious pain in the arse (why am I telling you this? What good will it do? Balls! I’ll definitely miss it at this rate! In fact… Great. I have missed it. I’m screwed. You’re screwed. Carol-Ann’s going to throw the most monumental strop. Brace yourself).

      Hang on a minute… It’s just this second dawned on me that it’s Bengt’s Birthday Bash tonight and you’ll probably get pissed as a fart and throw a sickie tomorrow, anyway. I only…

      No. No. NO! I don’t believe this! I don’t… My bottom’s soaked! It’s… aaargh! Remember how I told you about that tiny little hole in my bike seat which sucks up water into the foam padding when it rains so that the next time you sit on it…

      NOOOO!! I just… I can’t believe I’ve gone and done it again! Tilly, the woman in Threadbare Cottage, told me – she warned me on Friday – to put a plastic bag over it (the seat, Ivo, not my head – although I’m seriously starting to wish I had).

      Damn! My beautiful chair’s all wet! It’s that wonderful, padded, red-fabric office chair I got in the Conran Shop sale last year! You told me it was all wrong for The Winter Barn! You told me! You said, ‘Jo-Jo, that thing’s completely at odds with your country aesthetic.’ But would I bloody listen? Would I hell! Well, you were right (again, you smug Teutonic swine)! It’s looked stupid here from the very outset (I was too proud to admit it). And now there’s this huge… Damn, damn, damn!

      Okay. Okay. I need to calm down. I’m having a little panic attack. It’s just all been so unbearably … urgh … stressful! I’m on HOLIDAY for Christ’s sake! I just don’t seem able to… that small switch in my head you’re constantly referring to… I just don’t…

       DEUTERONOMY!

       NEHEMIAH!

       ZEPHANIAH!

       LAMENTATIONS!

       EZEKIEL!!!

      YES! YES! YES!

      It’s come to me, in a flash, like a divine revelation! The name of the new collection! Scratch the stuff I said in the email (it was all just a pile of crap)! This is perfect! This is fabulous!!!

      ‘LAMENTATIONS: a modern exercise in old-fashioned restraint,’ The lifestyle collection in colour, textile and print by designer Jo-Jo JOnes with a little help from Ivo-wots-his-name

      (Ha ha – serves you right, though).

      ‘LAMENTATIONS: a tearful celebration of those good,

      old-fashioned virtues of

      thrift and temperance,’

      [I’ve got goose bumps!]

      The lifestyle collection in colour, textile and print by…

      It’s brilliant! I love it! So timely! So new! So atmospheric! And so incredibly appropriate to the whole ‘Threadbare story-board’ I’ve been working on all these long, hard months… you know – all the bravery and the sadness and the heartbreak and the making-do.

      (Yes, yes. I understand perfectly well that ‘Threadbare’ was always the best name for the collection – you’ve said it until you’re blue in the face! But it’s just too blatant! Call me a wimp, but I do happen to want to carry on living here, part-time, in Burley Cross after the collection comes out. Their cottage is literally around the corner! Thirty yards from my front door! It’d be like, ‘Hi, Tilly and Rhona. Yes. Yes. I totally ripped off your entire life’s work, but hey! Whatever…’)

      ‘LAMENTATIONS: a long, hard journey in

      old-fashioned patterns and well-worn threads,’

      [Oh, God, I love that! I’m flying now!] from Jo-Jo JOnes, the designer who brought you…

      Then, just picture it, Ivo: we’ll use all the other books as paint names, individual fabric names, wallpaper names etc. etc.

      Effortless!

      I mean, as I’m looking down the contents page, right now, I’m seeing fifteen, eighteen, twenty really, really meaty titles!

       LEVITICUS!

       OBADIAH!

      HABAKKUK!

      (Habakkuk? Hmmn. Maybe not). Have I lost you?

      Have I…?! It’s a Bible, stupid (you’re always harping on about your deep, Lutheran roots, aren’t you?!)! I’m holding this incredibly, incredibly beautiful Bible in my hands (I’m going to photograph the cover this very second and send it direct to your BlackBerry! In fact, no, I’ll photograph

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