An open letter to my daughter

Dear Flavia I don’t know if you will ever get this, but I have to try. I’m so confused. in August Daddy told me on the ‘phone that you don’t want to speak to me or see me again. I don’t understand. He also said you were scared of Mark, that he shouted at you. He did. Once. I remember. He opened that packet of sweets and pretended to eat them. You know he was only pretending because there was no way he could actually chew them. You saw what he was doing, got up off the sofa, snatched them off him, screaming, threw a handful in his face before running in to your bedroom. You then climbed out of your bedroom window. That’s when Mark raised his voice to you. He sat you on the sofa, told you off for a few minutes then went in to the garden. We sat on the sofa together and you said you understood. That you knew we were worried about what might happen if you made a habit of climbing out of your bedroom window. Daddy has told the Court that you hated coming to us, that you used to cry and he had to force you to come. I don’t understand. I thought you liked seeing us, liked being with us. You said you did. You were always telling Mark you loved him. You bought him presents for his birthday and Father’s Day. You used to cuddle up next to him to watch films or wrestling and wanted to help him in the garden. When we were on the ‘phone you always asked me to pass you over to Mark. Sometimes I felt you wanted to speak to him more than me. The day Daddy ‘phoned and said you never wanted to be in our home again was a terrible day. My heart – it shattered. We had bought you three new Barbie’s to welcome you home and Mark had just opened the post – he had bought three Sims 2 extension packs for you and I was on the computer booking tickets for the pantomime in Woking for Christmas. Then Daddy ‘phoned and my world fell apart. I told Mark what Daddy said about always shouting at you and he sat on the sofa for ages. He just kept saying, ‘she said she loved me. She sat here, right here, and said she loved me.’ Then he got up, went to the French window and opened it. Just before he went in to the garden he looked at me and said, ‘I should never have cared about her. If you don’t care, you don’t get hurt. All I tried to do is make her happy.’ Then he went in to the garden. He spent a long time there. Pacing. Back and fore. That’s what I don’t understand, you see. You’ve made Mark out to be this terrible person, this bully. This is the man who asked you what meals you wanted and then cooked them. Who spent hours making your book for you; who made you your pearl necklace. Who let you play his computer games; who tried to make our last Christmas together magical; who bought fireworks for you last Guy Fawkes; who went shopping for Barbie with you when I was ill; who refused to take the climbing frame down when the neighbours complained and built a den in the garden for you when Lizzie and Rhys came to visit. Who was happy to let you take his DVDs and play them, even take them to Daddys; who told you that you were family and he would protect you. I miss you. I wake up in the early hours of the morning and cry. I remember how soft your hair is, the way you used to want me to wake you up at seven in the morning so we had time together before I went to work. How you used to scream, ‘Mummee’ and race towards me to give me a hug. The softness of your cheek. The way you used to try on all the clothes we bought you, preening as you performed a fashion show. I know we didn’t do wildly exciting things together but you knew money was tight. I thought you understood. We were trying to make a better life for the three of us. I cry in work you know. Sometimes I manage to hide it and sometimes my friends comfort me. I’ve even cried in front of a class. Can you imagine one of your teachers doing that? We had plans for when you got back to us in the summer. Sounds silly, but we were saving collecting cherry tomatoes from the garden in case you wanted to do it. Mark wanted to take you fishing and we were going to go ice skating in Guildford – okay, not Mark since he hates ice. We were going to go fruit picking, try out a few activity days nearby and go for picnics along the canal. I even had the telephone number of a riding stable and we were going to go to the cinema a few times. Mark and I never did see Pirates of the Caribbean 2. We were going to see it with you and somehow, without you there we couldn’t. Even though The Black Pearl is one of Mark’s favourite films. I sometimes wonder if I will ever see you again, ever hear your voice again. We sent you a birthday card and a present. I used to ‘phone but Daddy would hang up. I text you every week but don’t hear anything from you. Is that because you don’t get the messages or because you don’t care? If Daddy is right then it is because you don’t care. I count the days since I last saw you. Even now, as I’m typing this I’m crying. I see the bottle of dandelion and burdock we bought just for you still in the kitchen and my heart lurches. Silly, isn’t it? So many things make me think of you. Yellow cars, my backpack, the drinks machine in work, Spongebob Squarepants. Even the Boogeyman on Raw. So many times I think or say to Mark, ‘Flavia would like that,’ and then remember Flavia doesn’t want to be with us anymore. And it hurts all over again. We’re going back to Court. I don’t know whether Daddy told you, but Mark and I have applied. Sometimes I think we’re doing the right thing and then, in the middle of the night I start having my doubts. Maybe Daddy was telling the truth and, if the Court suggest you see us again you refuse and tell them you hate us. Can I bear that? How will I cope if that happens? I don’t know. What if my daughter, whom I would die for, doesn’t want to see me or speak to me ever again? If it’s true, if that’s what you want, I’ll have to accept it. I just hope you know how much I love you. How much I will always love you. Mummy