My dearest Mol,
I do hope you are happy.
I’m very confused today.
I’m trying to work out why yesterday happened and why now the very thought of stepping outside, even to stand in your back garden, makes my head reel and my heart speed up.
How in heaven have I got this way, love?
I just don’t know.
I sit, listening to the creaking of the house at night, and for the first time in my life I’m genuinely scared.
You know me, Mol, I’m not scared of anything. Heights, spiders, flying and even drunks acting like idiots have never bothered me. You remember that time in the White Hart when all those football hooligans came in and smashed up the place and I calmly got us out? That was only a few years ago, wasn’t it?
Bottles and stools were flying around our heads and I didn’t bat an eyelid. But now I’m scared of my own shadow. I’m frightened of being alone, but more petrified of going out and seeing people.
I think I may be losing the plot, Mol, and can’t tell anyone.
I certainly can’t tell June. She’d have me in a home in a heartbeat.
She’s coming around again tomorrow so I’ve asked her if she can pick up some milk, bread and other bits and bobs.
I know it’s a bit cowardly not going myself, but I will go out soon. I promise. I just want to get to grips with it.
I watched the news today and it had me in tears. All those little kiddies bombed. I really do think you are in a better place, but I do also really wish you were here.
Good night my beautiful.