Burley Cross Postbox Theft

(#litres_trial_promo) brought on by an overly strict and prohibitive potty-training regimen. She discussed this idea with a neighbour of ours who might properly be called an ‘expert’ in the field, and they explained to her – at some length – how as children we have an innocent, perfectly natural conception of our own faeces as a kind of ‘gift’

(#litres_trial_promo) which we generously share with our parents.

Shoshana wondered whether TP’s emotional/psychological development as a child was halted/blocked at this critical stage, leading to an unusual fixation with faeces in adult life, which, many decades later, still gives TP the childlike compulsion to ‘share’ this ‘precious’ substance with all of her friends and neighbours.

(#litres_trial_promo)

Whatever the real reasons for TP’s extraordinary behaviour, the hard fact remains that she is currently posing a serious threat to the health and safety of the general public and must be stopped as a matter of some urgency. To this end I sent a lengthy email to Trevor Horsmith, insisting that he take some kind of positive action to deter TP from her foul and aberrant path.

Horsmith,

(#litres_trial_promo) while professing himself to be ‘very interested’ in my theories, calmly informed me that unless he was able to catch TP red-handed (transporting faeces from her home and depositing them on the moor) then he would be unable to take any kind of prohibitive action against her. Given that TP prefers to walk only after dark and Trevor Horsmith’s working hours finish promptly at five, the likelihood of this ever happening is – at best, I feel – extremely limited. Horsmith also went on to discourage me – and in no uncertain terms,

(#litres_trial_promo) either – from taking any kind of independent action myself, claiming that a matter this sensitive was – I quote – ‘always better left in the hands of qualified professionals’.

(#litres_trial_promo)

So there you have it, Ms Withycombe: a detailed summary of the complex web of problems our small – but perfectly formed – village is currently struggling to grapple with. Call me a foolish old optimist (if you must!), but I have a strong presentiment that your input in this matter will prove most beneficial, and am keenly looking forward to bashing out some kind of joint plan of action with you at the start of the New Year.

Yours, in eager anticipation,

Jeremy – aka Jez – Baverstock

PS Merry Christmas! (I almost forgot!!)

PPS You will probably have noticed that I have taken the great liberty of enclosing a small, festive gift for your private enjoyment over the holiday season: an – as yet – unpublished book

(#litres_trial_promo) I once wrote about my nefarious activities as a reconnoitrer, black hat and mole inside the Royal Horticultural Society of Great Britain.

(#litres_trial_promo)

XXJ

[letter 2] (#u011eca4b-4d98-5de1-a252-719dfa17015e)

3, The Mead

Denby Lane

Fallow Hill

(nr Burley Cross)

20 December, 2006

Hold on to your hat, Jess…

And yell HALLELUJAH! Because MEREDITH HAS FOUND HER JESUS! She’s finally found him! I wrung it out of her while we were stacking away the chairs, straight after you left. You were completely right! It was exactly as you said! She’d known for literally weeks and was just keeping the information back (out of caution? Mischief? Spite?!). You said you didn’t trust her, Jess, and you were spot-on. Spot-on!

SHE’S FOUND HIM, JESS! And we’re officially THE FIRST TWO PEOPLE IN THE WHOLE WORLD TO KNOW ABOUT IT! (Well, apart from her, obviously, and ratty little Sebastian – her loyal henchman – who was glowering at her, furiously, across the hall, as she told me! Oh. And probably the rev – they’re thick as thieves, those two. But who cares? WHO CARES?! We’ve dragged it out of them! We’ve bludgeoned it out of them!)

I don’t mind admitting that I’m feeling rather proud of myself right now, Jess – a tad smug, even. My cheeks are still flushed with victory as I sit at the kitchen table and scribble all this down (sorry about the paper – it’s from that expensive batch Duncan had printed up with the old address directly before we moved – but it was all I could lay my hands on at such short notice).

Oh, Jess, if only you could’ve been there! You would’ve been AMAZED at what I put her through! Appalled! I was completely and utterly relentless!! I was like an attack dog! A Rottweiler!! I kept following her around the hall and worrying at her and worrying at her until she simply couldn’t stand it any more and just blurted it out!

‘For heaven’s sake, Emily!’ she shrieked (both her cheeks the colour of boiled beetroot). ‘I’ve found a Jesus. He’s called Kieren Knowles, if you must know. He’s a professional actor and he lives in Hebden Bridge. Now just leave me alone, will you?!’

Hebden Bridge, Jess! Of course I would’ve rung you on the spot and blabbed, but my dratted mobile’s out of commission (and Duncan – the old misery – has a strict moratorium on phone calls at home after ten).

You said you’d be heading off to your mother’s first thing, so I thought I should probably just jot down all the gory details and include them (while they’re still fresh!) along with the earring, which I wrapped up, very carefully, in a tiny piece of lilac tissue paper.

I do hope I scribbled down the address correctly. You were in such a rush – such a panic – that I honestly couldn’t tell if it was 27 Elmdon Lane, Marston Green, Birmingham, or 27 Elendon Lane, Marston Green, Birmingham (I’ve taken a lucky punt). Please, please, please don’t accidentally tip it out of the envelope and lose the damn thing all over again (you silly goose!).

I must confess that it was little short of a miracle that Peter found it (Peter Bramwell – the First Shepherd – tall, grey-haired chappie with the lazy eye who Lilian kept hectoring all night for cracking his knuckles. I do think Lilian was slightly out of line, there – and I could tell you did, too, by the way you kept sighing and rolling your eyes every time she opened her mouth – but I don’t know why he persists in doing it, I really don’t. It’s perfectly maddening. Is it any wonder Rita’s losing her marbles?! I mean wouldn’t you under the circumstances?!).

He said it was lying in the middle of the rubber karate mat, directly in front of one of the needlework exhibits; not ‘Our Feathered Friends’, but ‘Burley Cross Entwined’, the large display detailing the complex – and somewhat tumultuous – relationship between Burley Cross and our French twin, Olonzac (it’s an awfully good title, don’t you think? In-twine-d/ en-twin-ed? Of course we have Shoshana Baverstock to thank for that; it’s nice to know she’s getting something constructive done as she lounges around, completely starkers, in that fancy ‘sunroom’ of hers all day long, eh?!).

The earring looks a bit wonky, now, I’m afraid. I’m not sure if Peter didn’t accidentally step on it before he picked it up. I’ve done my best to wrangle it back into position, and I don’t think I’ve done too bad a job…

As luck would have it, gold is one of the earth’s most malleable metals (or so Peter informed me as he passed it over. It seems he used to be a metallurgist! Imagine?! When he told me I said, ‘Oh! A metallurgist! Congratulations!’ – I was still dizzy with the Jesus news. He just scowled and barked, ‘It’s nothing you need to congratulate me for!’ then stalked off [?!]).

In fact – now I come to ponder on it – I remember passing you that apron to wear while you were standing and inspecting the exhibit before we handed out the teas (Sally Trident’s pit pony did look like a Stegosaurus! I told her exactly the same thing myself!). I can only imagine it popped out when you dragged it on over your head.

OH MY GOD, Jess! I CAN’T BELIEVE SHE’S FOUND HIM!! As soon as Duncan gets off the internet (he’s doing some last-minute research for his OU thesis on the primitive fabric dyes they used in the Bayeux tapestry) I’m going straight online to try and find his MySpace page! ‘Kieren Knowles: professional actor!’ I LITERALLY CAN’T WAIT!!!!

And the look on Meredith’s face, Jess! It was a classic! An absolute picture! I just kept going on and on and on at her! I came at her from all angles. Will he be a blond Christ, Meredith, or a brunette, because I know brunette Christs are all the vogue these days – and very P.C. – but I can’t help thinking a blond would be so incredibly romantic… What age will he be, Meredith? Jesus died at thirty-three, but will you be strict and insist on absolute numerical parity?

By the end I was just babbling any old nonsense at her: ‘Will he have his own teeth, Meredith? Won’t he mind dreadfully working with a bunch of amateurs? Will he be tall? Over six three? Will he speak with a northern accent? What if he has a tattoo? Must he be a believer? Will he be circumcised?’

Turns out (and this was a total bolt from the blue): HE’S PLAYED JESUS BEFORE!!

Meredith was just starting to fill me in on all the finer details (his hair is brown, almost black, his eyes are ‘a fine, cornflower blue’ …) when Seb came barrelling over. ‘Of course he’s played Jesus before,’ he says, all droll and self-satisfied. ‘He’s quite the pro, apparently – he just has “the Jesus look”.’

Well, my jaw literally dropped! ‘THE JESUS LOOK!?’

As I’m sure you can imagine, I was absolutely desperate to pursue this line of enquiry still further (I could’ve followed it to the ends of the earth, quite frankly!) but I was suddenly overwhelmed by a strong – almost violent – urge to find out something even more pressing, i.e.: DID TAMMY THORNDYKE KNOW YET???

I just yelled it at them. I just screamed it. I lost all sense of self-control.

‘DOES SHE KNOW?! DOES TAMMY KNOW?!’

(Then I got rather short of breath and started to cough, and had to rummage around in my bag for my asthma inhaler.)

‘Nobody knows,’ Meredith snapped. ‘I really didn’t want to tell anyone until we’d sorted out the finer details of his contract.’

(Good heavens, Jess! Get her! What a terrible, old sourpuss!)

At this point Sebastian butted in again and started congratulating Meredith on how she conducted the night’s warm-up. He said, ‘I always find the trust exercises you use so extraordinarily liberating, Meredith. And it’s not just the exercises themselves, it’s how you approach them, how you time them. So much skill! Such finesse! In fact I rarely finish one of your sessions without feeling this wild surge of emotion. I often get quite tearful! It’s rather embarrassing! They’re just so… so potent, so “connecting,” so… so empowering.’ (Well, it’s no great mystery how he managed to wrangle himself The Disciple Jesus Loved Best, then!)