But it’s impossible to train yourself not to think of someone, even when it’s someone who’s been gone for so long. Especially when it’s someone who could choose to come back. I don’t believe I did anything so very bad, to deserve this silent treatment. That’s what you used to call it as a child. When you were angry with me. When you thought I had been away at my work for too long, or when you felt neglected. It must have been a lonely upbringing, with your father gone and your mother … Well. I believed in what I was doing, but you decided to take it all so personally.

Was it that awful? you said to me once. Was I really such an awful experience?

Of course, it wasn’t really about you. Certainly not by that point – the body has a way of forgetting pain and I loved you, deeply. You know that, don’t you?

I shouldn’t say it wasn’t about you, though – you wouldn’t like that. I think it might make you angry with me all over again. Perhaps all children want their parents’ lives to be all about them. Perhaps they’re right – maybe parents’ lives should be all about their children. It’s possible that I got more things wrong than I know. But it makes no difference, to be wrong or right. The fact is you haven’t spoken to me in a long time.

You’ll be quite old by now, I suppose. I forget my own age altogether most days, but it’s particularly hard to imagine you in your sixties. It’s easier for me to picture you at sixteen. Easier and harder, at the same time. Whatever happened, you know, no mother wants to be estranged from their child.

But it’s surprising, how I’ve started to hope that perhaps you will still arrive. I don’t know if it’s because of my troubles with the Asda man – after all, if you don’t come, it is possible there will never be another visitor to my lighthouse. Perhaps I’ll die here alone and no one will even notice. But I don’t believe that will be the case. I think you’re going to come. I’m even starting to have some kind of faith in it. Perhaps you will arrive today, or tomorrow. Perhaps you’re on your way already. Perhaps you’ve been here before, many years ago. Could I have imagined that? Was the wind through the rocks beating like fists on the lighthouse door? I hope I will recognise you. It has been so long. If I don’t recognise you I’m afraid I might not even want to let you in. Please don’t take that the wrong way.