Evening my lovely Mol,
How’s your day been?
Hope better than mine.
I wish I didn’t have to say this, but yesterday seems like a far off dream. A lighter dream.
I woke up at around three in the morning and that was me, back to my mind whirring over and over and over until I felt physically sick.
When we were younger we felt like we were immortal, didn’t we? Nothing could break us, could it?
We had fuel shortages, three day weeks, Sutcliffe and hooligans, but we never let it bother us, did we?
We had each other, didn’t we?
We had holidays and made friends. Now them, like you, my beautiful Mol, have all gone.
All that’s left is me. A whinging, tired old man.
How can I even call myself a man?!
I’m ashamed to say that I had another accident last. A messy one. What sort of a man does that, love?
I dread to think what you must think of me.
I did try and clean every thing up before our June arrived. The last thing I needed was her judgement.
But, do you know, when she came she was very sweet. I almost saw the little girl on her school stage as Alice.
Wasn’t she brilliant in Wonderland, Mol? We were so proud, weren’t we?
She brought some pork pies from Stanfords and we talked like we did just before she got married.
Too soon she left and the noise of my own head came back.
I nearly told June what I’m feeling, but she doesn’t need me burdening her. She’s already worried about Kevin too.
I really hope he’s safe. He may be over fifty but he, like June, are still our little loves, aren’t they?
I can hardly read what I’m writing so I’m going to try and sleep.
Much love, my beautiful Mol.
Forever, your Bill.