‘I have a suspicion, Rose, that you taped over them all during that phase where you borrowed albums off your friends and recorded them. All those precious childhood sounds, wiped out for the sake of A-ha and Paula Abdul! There is no justice in the world!
‘I found some of your old compilation tapes, though, which I’ve left in the bag for you – even the bag is an antique, from that little dress shop I used to take you to, remember? When you needed something special for a frightfully important event – school discos and the like – we’d go there and you were allowed to choose what you liked. I know the selection wasn’t great, and you’d have preferred Top Shop but, being honest, girls, I only went there for one reason – they let me pay on tick and spread the cost out over the year!
‘It’s long gone now – I suppose everybody has credit cards these days instead. Anyway. I think the bag is a nice reminder, although goodness knows why I still have it. Enjoy the tapes as well – although I have to say I think some of your musical choices were a bit dubious. I enjoyed the rock history phase where you got into Bob Dylan and Joni Mitchell well enough, but I have to draw the line at New Kids on the Block.
‘Right, I’m sure I’ve waffled on enough, and I’m feeling a tad on the tired side today, so I’ll get to the point. I hope you enjoyed Elvis, and the cassette tapes, but I’m afraid this next one won’t be a huge amount of fun. Because F is for Forgiveness, girls – and that is a tough nut to crack.
‘The older you get, you know, the more you realise how important forgiveness is. I’ve learned to forgive certain people certain things – like you two, for being so obstinate all this time; and your father, for things that darkened my life way back when; even you, Poppy, for stealing that lovely little tobacco tin from the cabinet in the Posh Room – that belonged to my grandfather, by the way, so please take care of it.
‘Forgiveness is always painted as a frightfully selfless act – full of virtue and nobility. But, truth be told, forgiveness is just as important for our own sanity as it is for the people we are so nobly forgiving. Holding on to old bitterness, to anger, to resentment – well, it drives you just a little bit mad, doesn’t it? I’d suggest, if I may be so bold, that both of you are shining examples of that.
‘Rose, you were never able to forgive Poppy for what she did – and Poppy, I don’t think you’ve ever forgiven yourself. Or forgiven Rose for shutting you out of her life. You two darling girls, who should be so close, have built up this enormous gap between your lives, and filled it all up with anger.
‘There does come a point, though, where you really have to let go – because if you don’t, all that resentment will eat you up. Like a plague of emotional locusts, it’ll strip the flesh from your bones, and leave you bare and exposed and brittle. Forgiving someone doesn’t just save them – it can save you as well.
‘So, this is your next task, and this one is aimed mainly at Rose – although Poppy, you have a big part to play. After the unpleasant events of that dreadful party to see in the new millennium, Poppy came back here in all kinds of pieces. Rose, you had your own ordeal to cope with. I was stuck in the middle, trying to mediate and getting nowhere. I look back now and wonder what else I could have done – if there is anything I could have said or written or yelled to stop what came next. If I could somehow have been a better mother, and sorted it all out for you?
‘But of course that’s pointless, and only serves to make me feel guilty – which I’ve decided not to allow. I did my best, and that’s all I could do. I’ve begged you girls not to feel guilty about any of this, so I won’t impose it on myself either.
‘Back then, though, Poppy, you were desperate to make it up to your sister. To beg her forgiveness. To explain what had happened, and why it happened, and tell her how sorry you were. I saw you, for months on end, desperately making phone calls that were never answered, sending texts that were ignored, firing off emails that bounced back. That’s when you started writing the letters – big, long, old-fashioned letters.
‘You scribbled away in that big A4 notepad, filling pages and pages with your scrawl, bundling them into envelopes and sending them off to your sister. Every time I saw you lick a stamp, you had this awful, pathetic, hopeful look on your face – like this would be the one that made the difference. That this would be the one that made it right.
‘The fact that they were all returned, unopened, devastated you – but you carried on writing them, for such a long time. Definitely while you were here, and I think while you were in London, messing up that publishing job.
‘Every one – every single one – came back. It got to the point where the postman thought we were all mad, and I was starting to agree. I even wondered – because I do have a dramatic turn of mind, darlings, just in case you hadn’t noticed – if Gareth had been intercepting them, keeping them from you somehow, Rose.
‘But no – because when I asked, you simply said that you didn’t want to hear anything that Poppy had to say. I know, of course, that it was your way of coping. Your way of dealing with it all – but it was cruel, my love. I suppose it was easier for you to just blame her – to ignore any of her pleas, to block out any defence, and cast her as the villain of the piece. It allowed you to take Gareth back, and plan a wedding, and build a life with him – because while it was all Poppy’s fault, it couldn’t be his, could it?
‘Obviously, that wedding – that marriage – was a terrible mistake, and the only good thing to come out of it was Joe, bless him. But I also think that refusing to ever read those letters was a mistake, too.
‘Once you decided to move down to London again, Poppy, I know you bagged them all up in a big black bin liner and threw them away. You were making a fresh start, and that was part of your process. But being the sneaky old coot that I am, I kept them – you always were lazy, so that’ll teach you to leave putting the bins out to me! I kept them, tucked them away in the attic in the hope that, one day, Rose would finally be ready to read them.
‘She never was, but recently, I read them.
‘I should probably apologise for this invasion of your privacy, but I don’t think I can. I’m a dying old lady and I have waived all claims on good behaviour.
‘They were heartbreaking, those letters – all that pain and all that need, ignored and then cast aside. And I was furious – at him, mainly, but also at all of us, for letting this go on for so long. Now I can only hope that Rose might finally be willing to hear what you had to say to her, this sister who loves you so much.
‘I can imagine, my loves, that you are both having a giddy fit right about now – Rose, at the thought of reopening these old wounds, and daring to entertain the possibility that you also played a part in this mess. And Poppy, I know, this will be a shock – you’re probably very cross, and very unhappy at being asked to do this.
‘Because I am asking – not telling. I have chosen some of those letters – not all of them, there were so many, and forgive me for being critical, but they were a little on the repetitive side, sweetie! – and I’ve put them in the padded envelope. Now, Poppy, this is up to you – I might have invaded your privacy by reading them, but now it’s your decision whether you choose to let Rose read them as well.
‘I know the Poppy in those letters is nothing like the Poppy you’ve gone on to create for yourself since then. These days, on the surface at least, you are every inch the elegant, successful career woman – and your emotions are as well managed as your horrible low-carb diet or your work calendar. Back then, you were very different – a cauldron of emotion! So, you might not want Rose to see them. You might decide that that part of you is dead and buried and good riddance to it – but I hope not.
‘And Rose – I can’t force you to read them. And even if you do, out of guilt or loyalty or simply wanting to do what your mother has asked, I can’t control how you react. The spirit with which you respond.
‘I can’t control any of it – all I can do is hope.
‘Anyway, I think that’s plenty for now, don’t you? I’m lucky I had a C90, I’ve banged on for so long … so, goodbye for now Rosehip, Popcorn. I love you both, very, very much.’
Chapter 38
Poppy: 17 February 2000
Dear Rose,
I’m so, so sorry. I’ve called and texted, but you just won’t speak to me. You won’t listen to me, and I know why, and I know I deserve all of this. But it’s killing me, it really is. I just don’t know what to do, so I’ll keep writing and hope that one day you’ll find it in your heart to forgive me, or at least tell me to my face that you won’t. Even that would be better.
