Nicola Barker - Burley Cross Postbox Theft

Then Linda turned up. She’d just started working Saturdays at that posh salon in Leeds and the stylist had cut her hair (for a competition or something) into this weird, space-age bob. We were both laughing at it behind her back all night (every time I caught your eye you’d collapse into hysterical giggles).

You’d just started dating Michael Watson, I think. He’d gone away skiing that week with his parents. When I thought about it afterwards I convinced myself that you were only being friendly because you were bored. I didn’t let myself believe it was anything more — I’d already won the American scholarship at that stage. I left for Houston about a fortnight later. And that was the end of that.

I remember how you signed my leaving card with a cartoon of a frog holding a heart. I spent hours analysing what that damn frog might represent (I never worked it out!).

It was ridiculous that you thought I was ‘too clever’ for you back then. When you said that the other day I was dumbstruck (too clever?! Are you insane?! Seriously?!) .

You’re one of the brightest girls I’ve ever met. I always thought you could’ve done so much better (academically) with the right kind of input from your parents (you invariably solved those difficult physics problems in around about half the amount of time I took! I’d glance up from the textbook and you’d be gazing out of the window, bored, or filing your nails, or scribbling something in a black marker pen on to your school bag). Because you came from such a large family I think you missed out on some of the opportunities (and encouragement — the extra tutoring and stuff) that I simply took for granted.

But that’s all water under the bridge now, anyway. You’re with Glenn. I’m with Yasmin.

(And Yasmin’s great. She’s a truly lovely girl. Very natural. Very uncomplicated. Very genuine. Speaks four languages: English, Arabic, French, some German, a smattering of Italian. A talented biochemist. A wonderful cook. Way too good for me, really.)

Glenn’s a great guy, too. I mean he’s a hero, a bona fide hero! He carries himself with such confidence, such swagger. His stories are amazing (terrifying!). Is there any corner of the globe he hasn’t received a medal in?!

He’s had so much life experience. Squadron leader at twenty-two (wasn’t he saying that the other day)? Twenty-two’s so incredibly young to be given such a huge amount of responsibility. I’d imagine it’s pretty much unheard of in the military (quite remarkable, come to think of it).

I honestly — sincerely — couldn’t be any happier for you, Nina.

Although, having said that, I did think he was a little tough on you during the tour the other week. I know he’s in constant pain, and that he’s still only just coming to terms with his injuries (how long’s it been now? Eighteen months? That’s hardly any time at all, really, is it?), but even so, I thought he was a little tough on you (sorry, I’m repeating myself, again).

And I don’t like to nit-pick (that’s not my style, as you know — I’m a fairly easy-going kind of character), but if I’m going to be completely frank with you, Nina, I wasn’t entirely happy with the way he kept calling you ‘a blonde’ all the time. And accusing you of being clumsy. And snapping at you. You’re not remotely ‘blonde’ or clumsy (you’re the polar opposite of that!).

You were so gentle with him, and so patient, I thought you were just amazing. I thought you were an angel. For the first time I could really see why you decided to take that nursing degree. You’re such a natural! It’s a real shame you felt you had to abandon it halfway through.

I mean don’t get me wrong, he was obviously just joking some of the time (or at least he tried to pass off some of the crueller put-downs as mere casual banter — that’s soldiers for you), but I must confess that I didn’t find what he was saying even remotely funny. I could see how much he was upsetting you. I saw your eyes fill with tears at least twice. And your hand was shaking when I gave you those headphones to put on.

I hated seeing how much he was getting to you, the way he was bullying you. It was so relentless, so unnecessary. It tore me up inside. And to see you backing down so readily — not standing up for yourself, not defending yourself at all — just letting him get away with it, time after time. God! It made my blood boil!

Just because I didn’t say anything doesn’t mean I hadn’t noticed. I had noticed, but I didn’t feel it was my place to intervene. I didn’t think you’d thank me for it if I did. You seemed so diminished by it. You seemed so nervous around him, so flustered.

That’s not the Nina Springhill I know! I kept thinking. That’s not the funny, silly, mouthy, independent Nina I know.

I keep wondering where she’s got to — the old Nina. What happened to her? Sometimes I still see a tiny glimpse of her; like that time we bumped into each other outside the bank in Ilkley (remember?) and you tore a strip out of me for wearing trainers with my suit. And at the Auction of Promises, when you secured the promise against Brian Brewster and then jumped into the air, whooping — in front of the entire hall — and did a funny little victory dance! (That completely cracked me up!)

And when we were walking to the car, of course, and we had the aforementioned ‘chat’… (But let’s not get back into all of that.)

The bottom line (and I hate talking ‘bottom lines’ — it always sounds so unbelievably twatty) is that I’m simply not sure if you’re getting enough support, Nina. I mean financially, emotionally, physically… I know Glenn will’ve had a certain amount of help himself (from the Royal Air Force), but how about you? Has anyone offered you counselling? Do you have someone you can talk to about things? Someone discreet you can confide in who might have a special insight into the peculiar kinds of pressures you’re under?

I’m not volunteering myself for this job (of course not! That would be completely inappropriate of me!), I’m just very, very concerned that you shouldn’t feel lonely or isolated. And if you did happen to need someone to chat to, confidentially (but very informally), without any pressure, then I’d be extremely happy to lend an ear. I’d be honoured, in fact.

We could just go for a walk on the moor together (blow off some cobwebs! Not talk about anything, in particular, just pass a bit of time together). Or we could go out for a bike ride. Or a swim! How about that? You used to love swimming! And nobody would need to know, Nina. I could be very discreet. I’m perfectly well aware of how delicate your situation is.

Perhaps — if you’re nervous someone might see us together and gossip — we could meet up in Bradford and just go out for a coffee (do you still like custard Danishes? Can you still eat three in one sitting?). Or we could go and see a film. Any film. You could chose. We could pretend to bump into each other — randomly — at the cinema, like it was just a happy accident.

We could even…

Oh, God, Nina, who on earth do I think I’m kidding, here? This is impossible! It’s absurd! I’m so crazy about you! I’m just mad about you! It’s so painfully obvious (isn’t it? Isn’t it?!). I’d almost given up hope, and then — without any warning — the Promise Auction, the tour, the snatched conversation, that lingering look you gave me…

I’m just so confused now, so freaked out. I hardly know what to do with myself. And every day it gets worse. Just knowing that you’re sitting at that stupid counter, not fifty yards away, but that you are, to all intents and purposes, completely unapproachable. I don’t even dare text you, just in case…