Five.
Dear William,
It breaks my heart that you don’t want to see me until you get out, and I have no choice but to respect your wishes—but I wish I could respect your reasons too. Then again, how can I respect reasons when none are offered? I have stuck by you through thick and thicker. You have hurt me more than one boy has ever hurt his mother, I think. You should know this. Not because I want to make you feel bad, although I probably will, and I’ll probably regret sending this letter as soon as I’ve put it in the pillar box; but because I want to make you feel good as well. Are you confused? I am. I suppose what I mean is this: if my staying away helps you in some small fashion then a mother’s love for her offspring compels me to act in the way you wish, as stinging to my heart as it is. I know you’re a good boy, William, deep down—and I know that one day you’ll want to come back to me and to the sisters who love you. I don’t know when—I wish I did—but I am confident that you are working your way through some sort of crisis. If my absence is a torch through that darkness then at least I’m still of use. That’s the positive statement I can make about my own state of mind. Forgive me if it sounds cold. There is not a lot of heat in my heart right now. You doused it when you called me and told me to stay away. If I am as you say, a reminder of all the things you haven’t got anymore, then pardon me for not stabbing someone in the arm. I can’t be part of your world, son, because I don’t understand it. I tried my best for you. I don’t know where I went wrong. I didn’t go wrong anywhere, you’ll say—you’ve said it before. But William, I did. I did go wrong with you. Because you were never the same after your father left, when you were tiny. Who else can I blame but myself? And don’t tell me not to blame anyone—every action is a result that has someone to blame, like it or lump it. Julie was frightened by your most recent—and it seems, final—letter. She asked me if she was reading something in code. She asked me if there was something she was missing between the lines. She couldn’t believe that you could be so uncaring towards her and Patrice, and frankly, son, neither can I, but I told her—all you can do is wait for him to come round. You will come round, won’t you? Please don’t tell us you’re abandoning us. I know you think Julie let you down but surely your daughter hasn’t. She’s an innocent in all of this. Don’t leave her, son. It’s not fair on you or her.