Email to Theresa

[x-cassidy.livejournal.com]

Subject: After yesterday

I'm sorry. Which is why I'm writing this. I don't like computers, and doing something this important with thme doesn't feel right, but I think that's just because I'm old.

So I had a wee chat with Charles yesterday afternoon, and he had a few suggestions.

The first was to write to you. There's a lot of things I should say to you, things you deserve to hear, and I never seem to manage it. I'll come back to that, though.

The second was, well, it wasn't so much a of a suggestion, to tell you the truth. He'd like us to take some time away together during the Easter break. Just the two of us, with no distractions, so we can try and maybe get to the point where we can live under the same roof without either me hiding in me room the whole time, or the pair of us screaming at each other whenever we try to talk.

I know you'd probably hate the idea, but he was set on it, and well, even if he wasn't, I'd like to to spend some time with you and have a go at maybe not doing or saying anything that'll make you hate me. I thought we might maybe try going camping for a few days?

Now, those lots of things I never manage to say.

At the moment, it's mostly "I'm sorry". For the other day, for the last five months, for the last sixteen years. In all sorts of different ways.

But I thought I'd stick to my recent sins for just now.

I'm sorry you weren't told where I was. I was told you would be, but it turns out that after I went undercover, someone changed their mind, and decided to tell Scott and Charles only the bare minimum, and to impress on them that it had to be a secret.

But there's a lot of things I should have said yesterday, and I didn't. I should have said "Hello, how are you?" for one thing. But more than that, I should have told you that you did a good thing, and I'm proud of you.

I'm never going to be happy that you went. I'd never have agreed with the decision. But I wasn't here, and it happened, and you're back alive and unhurt. And after all that, you helped save lives, and I've no right to take away from that. You demonstrated yet again that you're a brave and remarkable young woman, and I should have been able to tell you that yesterday.

So, where've I got to? You're a brave and remarkable young woman, you did a good thing, and I'm proud of you?

I don't know why it should be so much easier for me to write down than to say to you.

Before I went away, I recall telling you that the fact you're alive makes me happy. I don't know if I made it clear that it's not just that you're alive, but that you're the person you are.

You drive me up the wall half the time, and there's no point denying it. But I'd much rather you did that, than have turned out some meek wee thing that wouldn't say boo to a goose.

There's a lot more I should probably say, but this is one wee letter, and I'm not daft enough to think it'll magically cure a thing. But I think we've proved that things have got to a pretty terrible pass between us, and sorting it out needs a first step. So this is a way to say, as honestly as I can, that I would very much like to do that, however long it takes. Not because anyone is forcing me, you understand, and not for anyone's sake but yours and mine. Because I'm proud to see the person you've turned into, and even if you'll never think of me as family, I'd like it if one day you might at least think of me as a friend. And that has to start somewhere.

If you've made up your mind that that's impossible, well, then I'm going to have to learn to live with that, but I hope that you haven't.

Sean.