She’s not coming home.

A parcel arrived from San Francisco today. Dad happened to be in the house, waiting for a chimney sweep, so he took in the parcel and left it in my room.

Here’s what was inside:

  1. A red sweatshirt with a cat on the front of it
  2. A Hershey’s selection box
  3. A silver bangle
  4. A Wallace & Gromit watch
  5. A letter wishing me a very Happy Christmas and saying that she was so sorry that we wouldn’t be together, but that she hoped that Dad and I would have a great time, and she’d be thinking of me.

As soon as I had taken everything out of the box, I went downstairs and told Dad that I didn’t want to talk to Mam when she rang.

He didn’t ask me why, just nodded and said we’d take the phone off the hook after dinner. He’s great sometimes.

I’ll talk to her tomorrow, but I can’t today. I can’t go on the phone and say thanks for the presents, when what I really want to say is how could you do this to your only child, and don’t you care about me any more? And I miss you so much and I feel so sad and I haven’t seen you in a whole year and you’re not even coming home for Christmas. And you’re a rotten mother.

I was so sure she was coming that I never sent her anything. I’ll have to find something tomorrow and post it, and it’ll be dead late.

And it serves her right.