I’ve asked myself what I want from this communiqué. What outcome? And the rather inadequate answer is: I’m not sure. Do I want a different life? No, not at all. So, what then? Maybe a little understanding? An acknowledgement that the decisions you have made on my behalf have not been without consequence? Recognition that every stone you have cast out in order to achieve your aims or to satisfy your drive has always caused ripples that I suspect you are quite unaware of?

This is also probably a good place to tell you that I love you. I do and I always will, but love and like are two very different things, Mother. And so, do I like you? Again, the rather inadequate answer is: most of the time.

I want to talk to you about Merrin. That name that has not passed our lips in conversation from that day to this. Merrin Kellow.

I think back to that summer, less than three years ago, but a lifetime too. I was a naïve kid, but who isn’t at twenty-two? I did, however, feel old enough to make good choices. That was another thing Dad always told me: make good choices – and I did. I chose Merrin. She was sweet and made me laugh and she made me happy. She made me really happy. And now whatever I write with regard to her makes me feel disloyal to Lydia. Darling Lydia, whom I adore and who is the best mum to Noah and Freddie, but life with Merrin would also have been good. Life with Merrin was good! Did you know she was at this hotel? I can’t believe you did, not even you would be that cruel, surely?

I feel again, it’s important to say that I love Lydia. And ours is a good, strong, solid love, but I loved Merrin, too, and she loved me, and you know, Mother, she made me so very happy when I was discovering who I was. She didn’t want anything from me, from us, despite your warnings to the contrary. You were wrong about her, and the way I let her down, guided, encouraged and coerced by you, is something that will haunt me. She deserved better, we both did.