I sometimes think about the box buried deep at the back of my wardrobe and wonder if I’ll ever open it up again. I wonder if her soul is in there, desperate to get out and be free. I wonder what she’d say to me if she could see how I’ve become – but I don’t think about this for too long because I think I know what she’d say and I don’t agree with her. To laugh, to enjoy, to live is to forget – and I will never forgive myself if I allow that to happen. And actually, she left me so she doesn’t get a chance to have an opinion. If she wanted to have a say in how I live my life then she should have stayed, shouldn’t she? She shouldn’t have left me alone with a box of old, rubbish diaries that are no use to me at all.

She shouldn’t have gone.