Scared and fearful near Woking!

The thing is, I’m scared. Or if not scared, certainly worried and a bit (a lot) unsure. Crazy, but it isn’t. Not really. What I do know is that I’m not looking forward to next Saturday. I should be. Seeing Flavia after 126 days (more by that time) should fill me with excitement, happiness, euphoria. But it isn’t and that upsets me. I am scared/worried/unsure. All that time ago, in August, when Simon telephoned to say she didn’t want to see me or speak to me again I questioned it (obviously. I mean, who wouldn’t?). I told him I had to hear it from Flavia – he’s put words in to people’s mouths before, why not now? He told me I couldn’t speak to her right then but should ‘phone back five hours later. I did. To the second. I waited all day, anxious, worried, fearful. The ‘phone was engaged and I had a nerve wracking half an hour wait before I could get through. When I did, he told me Flavia didn’t want to speak to me, but I insisted. I had to. This was my life, my baby we were talking about. I could feel myself crumbling as I made my demand; terrified he was telling the truth. Finally he walked up the stairs, so slowly it was incredible and in to her bedroom where she was watching television. He said, ‘it’s Mummy,’ and I could hear that she was unwilling to say anything. She was reluctant to speak, which made me start to believe that Simon was actually telling the truth (please note, I didn’t say, ‘for once’). I spoke to her (you have no idea how difficult it was to keep my voice level and non-accusatory - I was shaking) and said I gathered she didn’t want to come to our house the next day. She took the ‘phone away from her ear and I heard her say, ‘You said you’d tell her. You said you’d tell her,’ and heard Simon say, ‘I did.’ I cannot describe how I felt. I could see the structure of my world collapsing as I listened to her. She passed the ‘phone back to Simon and that was it. Almost. I tried fighting my corner, difficult when all I wanted to do was creep somewhere dark and safe, curl up in to a ball and cry forever. I told Simon that, if Flavia refused to see or speak to me I needed a reason, needed to hear it from her and we needed to meet in a neutral area, suggesting Guildford. At first he agreed; then changed his mind. We argued (or at least, I tried, but I’m a terrible coward where he is concerned, trembling when I counter him) and I pointed out Flavia had made accusations against him and said she wanted to live with us (which he knew, since we discussed it in depth last Autumn before he made her change her mind, telling her she was all he had), yet we had insisted she return to him to assess how she really felt. He should return the compliment. He refused and told me he had no intention of helping me see or speak to Flavia ever again. Then hung up. Later that evening I had a telephone call from Flavia. I can remember it now, in every painful, excruciating detail. She called me a liar. Repeatedly. Told me she had never said she wanted to leave Simon and then chanted down the ‘phone, ‘Liar, liar, Freya. Liar, liar, Freya.’ She hung up. Mark had been listening on the extension and he couldn’t believe his ears. Neither could I. I stood, the receiver in my hand, unable to move, unable to breathe. Was this what my daughter thought of me? When I did manage to move I did jerkily, as though I had forgotten how to co-ordinate my limbs. I was broken. So, I’m not sure whether I really want next Saturday to happen. How can I when one considers what has gone on before? Mark thinks she was put up to it (or at least he SAYS he thinks she was put up to it) and that Simon was egging her on when she made that sneering telephone call. Whether he was or not, it happened and the pain is still there, still inside me, still with me. My trust, my belief in her has been badly shaken. Mark tells me I have to remember what my life was like with him, how it felt to be manipulated, the mind games he played: and I was an adult. Yet the fear persists. She need not have been quite so cutting, quite so horrible to me. So, I feel sick, nervous and not at all happy about our forthcoming meeting. The child I knew, the child who kept telling Mark and I how much she loved me has gone. I sometimes doubt her veracity. Simon always commented on what a liar she is. As well as lying about Mark and I was she also lying about her feelings about me? Mark says I’m daft (not in so many words, but you get my drift), that I’m letting my fears get the better of me. I shouldn’t fear seeing my ten year old daughter for the first time in what will be 134 days – but I do. What will it be like? What will she be like? I cannot imagine the usual scream of ‘delight’ and hug. Caution (certainly on my side) and wariness. I am deeply hurt by her claims and behaviour. Maybe I do dwell on it too much, but she was the only happiness in my life for so long that to have her deny it is (to be crude and rather blunt) gut-wrenching. I have already warned Louise that I shall not be good company for the next week. I seem to have lost my capacity for humour. Fear does that. Excuse me whilst I go somewhere and lick my wounds.