Autumn 2014…

…continued much the same.

Bink had agreed, when we were all in Norfolk in August, to meet up with us and her excellent therapist Helen in Bedford in September.

But Helen had specified that the initiative must come from the patient. It never did, of course.

She continued to ring Rosie at school. One such conversation was an hour long... and the school reported the distress and disruption to bedtime.

My emails of that time are full of agonised questions to friends and professionals. How do we protect Rose? How do we help Bink?

How do I keep the two daughters’ needs separate in my mind and always put the child’s first?

The advice was generous, wise and endlessly compassionate.

It’s not realistic to shield Rosie from Bink entirely.

Would be distressing anyway, to lose all contact with her sister.

And don’t forget your own needs. Look after yourself: a lot of people rely on you…

(Skimming my inbox as I have been, to sort the chronology in my head, I conclude that the November meeting with Bink, Gatsby and my father – after we had the scare, one of many, that my father was near the end and Alex made the telephone call to get a message to her – was in fact in 2014 not ’13 as I’d relayed it to you.

Which makes a lot more sense: I couldn’t understand how we could have seen her during a winter when we scarce knew she was alive.

It still comes as some relief, now, to know that the relationship remained unconsummated a year on. How many women, in the long sad history of the world, have had to trade their bodies for board and lodging and the wolf from the door? From queens and princesses of the realm to veiled huddled figures by the dust of the roadside, I wouldn’t be surprised if it’s half of us, one way or another… so why should Bink be any different? She needed the means to live, and a carer…)

In the early autumn I had been mugged outside our house, after a latish train back from giving away the prizes at a school Speech Day and then meeting up with a commissioning editor. The solicitous gentleman offering to carry my bag for me happened, accidentally no doubt, to off-balance me from my bike in the process. I didn’t think his gesture was such a good idea as he obviously did – not that I ever carry money, but my bag rather cleverly matched my gloves and hat and I didn’t think it would suit him nearly so well – and by way of presenting my counter-argument I set off a caterwauling, as I somersaulted into the gutter, so shrill, piercing and far-reaching (and, truth compels me to confess, foul-mouthed) that it brought a curious crowd of one from a street quite some distance and several blocks away. Running after my assailant, who had taken the opportunity to absent himself rather smartly, too.

All those drama school fees not wasted, then.

The only significance of all which is that I got to know the detective in charge of the case. (He was very confident of catching my erstwhile friend – imaged, quite recognisably, both on close-up CCTV and running after my bicycle – but was thwarted by an obscure law protecting any entrepreneur who hasn’t actually committed the very crime itself on CCTV.)

Which gave me an opportunity to pick his brains about harassment. And follow his instructions.

First I wrote a very long, friendly, chatty-as-possible but unmistakably-firm letter.

Then I wrote an extremely brief, clear, businesslike and therefore much more unmistakably-firm letter.

Then eventually, after much agonising, I wrote the following. Presumably after the two of them came to see my father and stayed all evening:

Sat, 6 Dec 2014, 08:59

Dear Jay

I’m glad you came the other night. It has been niggling me since the summer that Shaun agreed that we would meet up, but because the advice we were given was to let Lara take the initiative the project stalled. It was particularly good that you stayed for supper and we had a relaxing time together as we often used to.

There was one detail which I afterwards wished I had mentioned. I have been thinking of it for many months and have twice drafted a letter to you, but because there is no pleasant way to say it I have not sent it: you may find this hard to believe but I have no desire to hurt or offend you, and (in my better and more considered moments!) no personal animosity towards you. So I wish I had taken the opportunity to say this difficult thing on Thursday night, when it would have been less brutal than putting it in writing, but I didn’t and I don’t know when there will next be an opportunity so I have decided to write it now l and get it over and done with.

I am determined that Rosie’s summer holiday will not be spoilt next year as it was this. I have been uncertain about many, many things over this last terrible and painful year or two, but I am very certain indeed about our responsibility to the child who is getting hurt. Consequently, Shaun and I took careful advice some time ago, and were told that provided we have made it very clear to you that we do not want any contact between you and Rosie, any deliberate breach of this could be reported as it would be considered harassment of a minor.

So I am asking you please not to do anything which might spoil Rosie’s summer holiday next year. We are taking her to my father’s house in Sheringham for the first fortnight in August. If you wish to take a holiday in Sheringham, please kindly choose any of the other fifty weeks in the year. It is a small town and it would be very difficult for you to avoid her, especially if you are there with her sister.

The same applies to family events and social occasions. We will stay away with Rosie, if we understand you have been invited and have accepted. If you have not, particularly if you have reason to believe Rosie might be there please do not turn up.

Thank you. I am sorry for the tone of this but I can’t think of any other way to say it. (In truth, we were told that there is no nice way to say it, and there is an absolute requirement to be clear.)

If you should feel the need to convey the contents of this to Lara I would be grateful if you would simply show her the email rather than risk the inevitable inaccuracies of second hand reporting.

I genuinely hope there will more evenings when we can relax together over a bottle of wine, and I pray that it will be in the not too distant future. I hope you enjoyed at least part of the evening.

With very best wishes,

Anne