• Vol. 01
  • Chapter 04
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Dearest brother,

First, an apology for my behaviour the other night. Not a week back from France, dad’s will to plough through and your silly bloody sister looning about like a drunken old bag lady at a bus stop! So unlike me to sing in that gloomy manner I must say. So unlike me to sing at all really. No wonder everyone thinks I’m losing the plot. Whatever the hell it was I was banging on about I’m really not one for all that dark and dismal stuff, you must believe me. So I’m sorry if it worried you as much as it seemed to worry everybody else. Blame the wine I say!

It’s just all mounting up I guess - the business with dad, the shock of it all being so sudden and of course this ongoing ridiculousness with you-know-who picking a prime moment to go all ‘bipolar’ on me. Talk about timing. He’s positively schizophrenic! He wants to marry. He wants to forget about it. He’s overjoyed to see me. He can’t stand the sight of me. And those stupid bloody riddles! “Still inventing new ways to be utterly baffling”, dad used to say. You may as well toss a coin to guess his mood sometimes. It’s his mother who gets the brunt of it though. The poor old girl hasn’t a clue what she’s supposed to have done and neither have I. He barely talks to his uncle. If there is anything rotten in the state of things there, he isn’t telling me.

Yes, it’s got me down and, yes, I know you and dad never really approved but I do still love him in spite of it all. Sometimes the people you love aren’t perfect. Sometimes they need a little help remembering that somewhere behind all that rancour and mumbled monologuing (oh yes, a new ‘development’...) is the knowledge that they love you back. Please don’t think me foolish for sticking with something I’m sad about now. I think it’ll be worth the tears and tribulation in the long run.



So please don’t worry, OK? No more drunken bag lady turns in polite company, I promise! I don’t suppose you remember that old willow overhanging the brook we used to play by years back? I still go there sometimes when I need a little time and space to get my head around things. I’m going there now as it happens. Dad always used to worry I’d fall out, bless his heart. He never saw how well I could climb it. I’d love to hear him worry about it one last time.

Don’t think too badly of you-know-who and for God’s sake, don’t do anything rash on my behalf (I know you, brother dear!). I KNOW I can make it work.

Your loving – and still sane (honest!) – sister,