Nicola Barker - Burley Cross Postbox Theft

What now? I glanced around me, nervously. How to proceed from here with the absolute minimum of fuss and embarrassment? Did I quickly shut the boot (carefully wiping my fingerprints off the handle with my shirt sleeve) or just leave it gaping open (as if the dog had — by some miraculous fluke — managed to release the mechanism by itself)? Did I pursue the dog on foot and attempt to retrieve it (but what chance was there of that when I didn’t have a lead to attach to its collar, or even know the name to call out?)? Did I try and alert the owner, or simply (the cowardly option, perhaps) head back to my car and lie low (or nonchalantly drive home, as if none of this had ever happened)?

I scanned the horizon for any witnesses. The coast seemed clear. I then quickly wiped the door handle with my handkerchief (better safe than sorry!), drew a long, deep breath, smoothed down my hair (or what remains of it!) and headed back to my car, fully intent on beating a hasty retreat. I’d barely taken five steps towards the car, however, before I was tormented by sudden, violent pangs of conscience. How could I possibly just walk away from this? Wouldn’t that simply be wrong of me? Even criminal (delinquent, immoral?)?!

I stopped dead in my tracks and then turned, with a grimace, to face the toilet block. What would Joanna do, I wondered? How would ‘St’ Joanna behave under such trying circumstances?

Need I even ask?! I gazed over at the block for several seconds, vacillating wildly, then swallowed down my qualms and set off, determinedly, towards it.

It’s difficult to describe at this point — with any real clarity or lucidity — the extraordinary series of events (one might almost call them ‘phantasmagorical’ or ‘hallucinogenic’, even ‘chimerical’) that now commenced to unfold around me (everything still remains such a strange, unconsolidated mess — a blur — in my mind, so please do your best to bear with me, Teddy). Suffice to say that I coughed, sharply, several times, before first entering the men’s lavatories. I may even have stamped the mud off my boots (although I wasn’t actually wearing boots) and whistled, nonchalantly, to telegraph the fact that my intentions were entirely legitimate, above-board and non-predatory. The door, as I recollect, felt extremely heavy against my shoulder as I pushed up against it, and opened with a loud, heartfelt — almost ecstatic — groan.

On entering the block, ‘proper’, I rapidly glanced around me, fully tensed, expecting to see the dog’s owner lounging against the latrine, or standing by the sink, but there was no immediate sign of him. I suppose I could have just called out something (in retrospect, I think that would’ve been the most sensible plan of action). I could have called out something like ‘Hello? Is anybody there? I’ve just come from the car park where there’s been a most unfortunate mishap involving a dog…’ (I’ve rehearsed this scenario since, a thousand times, in my mind.) But I didn’t. I didn’t speak. I just glanced around me, slightly spooked. Then I walked over to the latrine (it seemed the obvious thing to do — I was nervous, my bladder was full and I desperately needed to relieve myself).

As I made use of the latrine, my ears were pricked and my eyes were peeled for any unusual visual or aural stimuli. There were noises — very slight noises, but noises, nonetheless. They seemed to be coming from the furthest cubicle (there are three cubicles, all told). Once I’d finished passing water, I automatically turned and walked towards them (the noises), tensed, anxious, my stomach churning, almost holding my breath.

I was preparing myself to say something — something like… like… I don’t know… like: ‘Hello? Is anybody there? Would you happen to be the owner of a Red Setter by any chance? Because if you are, then I’m sorry to have to inform you…’ but before I could utter so much as a word, I noticed something glinting on the floor — a coin — a silver coin — a ten pence piece…

Of course I automatically bent over to pick it up — to retrieve it. I leaned down, I leaned forward (to take hold of it, this coin, this dropped coin), and as I leaned over, as I bent down (to retrieve this coin) I glanced up (as you do when you lean down, sometimes), and unwittingly found myself staring straight into the furthest cubicle — the end cubicle — where the door, it now transpired, had been left propped slightly ajar…

It’s important to underline how utterly unintentional this was, Teddy. I mean if it hadn’t been for the coin (which turned out not to be a coin at all, just a small metal disc of some description, embedded in the tile), then I wouldn’t have bent down, I wouldn’t have leaned forward (not at all! Wouldn’t have dreamed of it!), and, in this idealized scenario (this fantasy scenario) I would have consequently avoided… would never have seen or borne witness to… to this extraordinary scene — this bizarre tableau — this strangely inchoate and confusing spectacle of… of…

It took a few seconds to make any sense of it, a few seconds to render intelligible the complex arrangement of their bodies, the curious positioning of their limbs… It took a few seconds to assimilate. And then that natural pause — that shocked hiatus — as the brain tries to process what it’s witnessing (on a social level, a moral level), as the brain tries to fully fathom the sight it’s beholding…

Thirty seconds, at best, until my brain could make any real sense of it. Forty seconds, at most. And remember, I was still thinking about the coin — distracted by the coin, the metal disc — embedded in the tile, which I’d thought was a ten pence piece (just processing the confusion of that whole silly incident) and steadying myself, physically, as I straightened up after bending down.

And the most ridiculous thing of all (you’ll laugh at this, I know you will) is that in my confusion — in my natural confusion — having been initially alerted by those perplexing sounds while standing, innocently, by the latrine (or ‘nervously’ by the latrine — I forget which it was, now), in the inevitable confusion that followed (and I wish you could have been there to see how swiftly time passed — so swiftly! — and to judge the distances involved — it was so close — it’s so very cramped in there, barely any distance at all!), in those few vital seconds that followed, I had somehow not quite managed to… I had yet to… to finish off my… to tuck away my… to put away my…

It was still idly propped in my hand! Suspended in my hand! But utterly unconsciously! Like a girl holding an old rag doll! Like a child holding an empty pop bottle! I was just caught off my guard, that’s all! Still dazed from the fall (remember?). Still confused from the incident with the dog by the car, the sudden pang of guilt, the change of heart, the whistle, the cough, the stamp of my foot…

Yes.

And there I was, all agog, struggling to make any sense of that strange tangle: that mess of limbs and heads and lips and hands… Just this extraordinary abstract. This sensual Guernica . The one figure sitting down, his back slightly arched, his eyes closed. The other kneeling — on his knees — kneeling (did I already just say that?) towards his lap…

And the moment of horror — of shock — of recognition — when the seated gentleman (I call him a gentleman) chanced to open his eyes for a second, with a groan of ecstasy, to invite me in, almost, to include me as a player — an unwitting player — in their little drama… In that moment — in that brief moment — we looked — we saw — we recognized…

Robin?

The Prof?!

Robin Goff?!

Oh God!

No!

And I had completely forgotten about the dog (in my confusion). I was all… I was just… I should have mentioned the dog before — or even then, right that second, perhaps. If I had mentioned the dog — or the coin — then it might not have seemed quite so… so… But I didn’t mention the dog. No. I didn’t mention the coin. I just stared. I just stood there, helplessly, holding my… I just… How long? I’m not sure. How long did I stand there, in shock? In horror? In awe?