A Merry Little Christmas

Chapter 39

Hilary

Dearest Merry,

In case you don’t recall, I am a friend of Bernard’s and you and I spent a few minutes talking in the ladies, bathrooms at Springwood House recently. I was very sorry to hear of your father’s passing and send my condolences. It is a long time since I lost my own father, but I can vividly remember that for months afterwards I was aware that the space that he’d left in my life would never be refilled and I’d never again get to hear his laughter.

Apologies, one’s supposed to fill these sorts of communications with uplifting and stirring advice, isn’t one? Such as he will always be with you in your heart, et cetera. But wouldn’t it be nice if we simply spoke our minds for once? For example, what I really want to say is that it’s a damn pity that you’re going through a bereavement when, judging by the number of damp tissues you’d amassed, you clearly had plenty on your plate already. Life, as someone more erudite than I said, is a bitch and then you die. Hey ho.

Now down to brass tacks, Merry.

I mentioned to you that I had worked in social services during my career. There were reams and reams of paperwork; every case for every individual filed in manila folders and ring binders, piles and piles of it, literally mountains of paper. Generally speaking, records were well maintained, although every system has its faults, we’re only human after all. Therefore, every so often, one could come across a stray piece of paper with no evident home, and then it was the Devil’s own job to track down its correct folder.

All sorts of cases went under my nose. Unspeakable sadness and unfathomable behaviour. So much so that I’m ashamed to admit that one had to become a little impervious to the hardship of others to do one’s job, sleep at night and return refreshed the following morning to do one’s job again. But, occasionally, I’d come across a document that permeated my tough outer shell and I couldn’t shake from my mind. Something you said during our conversation jolted a memory from the past of one such document which reached in and touched my heart.

When I was heading up the computerisation of the council’s records, I was tasked with tying up each case and sending each as a whole to be scanned. I was not supposed to leave stray papers loose and uncategorised. However, I came across a handwritten letter with no notes attached, and no way of identifying the author or intended recipient. All I could deduce was that it was written by a mother to her child, whom she referred to by her initial, ‘M,’. It was a letter brimming with such love that at the time it brought me to tears. When you expressed your sadness at your mother not leaving you a note before taking her own life, the details of that letter and what I did with it came flooding back.

Since our meeting, I’ve been like a dog with a bone trying to locate the whereabouts of that letter, if indeed it still existed. I’m quite proud to say that I used somewhat dubious methods in my quest, so confident was I that it would be worth it. And, Merry, I am delighted to tell you that I found that letter. And not only that, but using your mother’s name, and yours of course, I was able to track down the file that it should have been in all along. This meant that (by pulling a few strings – luckily, my young assistant is now very senior) the handwriting in the letter could be matched with a sample of Samantha Shaw’s handwriting. Social services will be in touch with you through official channels in due course, but I felt that after all this time you deserved to see the letter as soon as humanly possible.

My dear Merry, please find enclosed a letter from your mother, I hope with all my heart that it brings you the peace you’ve been searching for.

Kind regards,

Hilary Burgess (Ms.)

December 1996

Dear M,

I don’t know whether you’ll see this when I’m gone or not. I hope so. Maybe you’ll get it when you’re eighteen. I don’t know how these things work. That’s me all over – I never know the answers.

And that’s how I feel now – that I’ve run out of answers. I don’t know how to be your mum; I only know that I love you and want the best for you. I’ve decided that the best is not with me.

My own mother hardly ever looked at me, did you know that? She had no interest in me at all; I’m not even sure if she loved me. I had four nannies at one point, each of them competing with me for her attention. I know I’ll never be able to steer you safely through life. I haven’t even managed to do that for myself. I’d have no chance doing it for someone else.

But I do love you, you must believe that. I’m not like my mum, I can hardly take my eyes off you. I look at you and my heart wants to burst, knowing that you’re mine. Against all the odds, I made the most beautiful child and, whatever happens next for you, please know that I loved you with every cell of my body.

I’m sorry for everything. I am so sorry you ended up with me as your mother. You deserve better. Without me around to mess things up, I hope that’s what you’ll get. I hope you remember me with love, even though I’ve let you down. But I wouldn’t blame you if you don’t. Will you miss me? I wonder. The selfish part of me hopes you will, but I know that’s not fair. Above all else, I want your life to be full of light and happiness.

I’ve hurt everyone who ever loved me, including your father, Ray. Remember Ray? He used to visit sometimes when you were little. But not anymore. I sent him away when I found out he had another family, another daughter. I hope he manages to make a go of it with them. He’s a nice man. A bit flaky, but then who am I to talk?

My darling girl, I spoke to you on the phone last night. You were full of stories about the foster carers you’re with. About the snake and feeding it with frozen chicks. The massive Christmas tree in the living room. It sounds so much better than here with me. You’re having fun, part of a big family, living with a woman who is so good at being a mum that she looks after other people’s kids too. I envy her. But I’m grateful to her too.

I’m getting sleepy now, M, so I’ll say goodnight. Always remember how much I loved you, you’ll carry a piece of my heart with you wherever you go.

Your loving mum xxxx