Please, leave the light on.

Part of a collection that I call Other Peoples Letters.

Jenny,

It’s me. Please keep reading and don’t tear this letter up. I beg you.

Twelve years is a long time and I’m sorry. Sorry for so many things.

Sorry for leaving you the way I did. No note, no reason, just left. I was in a bad way back then and I knew that eventually I would drag you down with me. The signs were there already. I used every day and you were starting to do the same. You with our boy on the way. Not good. But not your fault, it was me that encouraged it. Without me I knew you could stop. But if I stayed I was sure you would lose everything. I couldn’t bear that.

Sorry for missing our boys entry into this world and not being there when times were hard for both of you. I don’t even know what you called him.

Sorry for missing his birthdays, his first day at nursery and school. His first steps and words. Sorry.

Sorry for making you cry. You were the one that cried at every soppy film we ever watched together, so I can imagine how many tears you wept in those first weeks and months after I left.

Sorry for not getting in touch in all these years. I just couldn’t, not until I was sure that all the scars had healed. It’s taken a long time for me to get myself straight and now, eventually, I think I have. I’m clean. Have been for the past two years. The journey’s been a strange one. I’ve lived on the streets, in squats, shelters and prison. I’ve begged, stolen and mugged. I found god once and then lost him again somewhere on the A13 near Whitechapel.

Sorry for taking the money out of the tin. I left with nothing but the clothes I had on. I had no idea where I was going or how I’d get there. The tin in the food cupboard had exactly seven pounds and thirty six pence in it. I took it for bus fare. Two pounds of it got me as far as Canning Town. Then I spent the rest on half a bottle of scotch. The next day I hitch hiked all the way to Hammersmith. I slept under the flyover for more than a year.

Sorry for all the shit you must have taken from your family. I knew they didn’t like me, that was obvious. They must have seen us as we really were back then. A couple of fucked up junkies. Me, the instigator of everything and you being pulled along with blinkers on. I can imagine how many times your Mum and Dad said “You’re better off without him.” That must have been hell for you.

There are a million other things that I’m sorry for and I’d like to tell you face to face.

I’m close Jen. Real close. By the time you read this letter I’ll be almost there. You may hate me and that’s fine. But if there’s a chance…even a slim one. Then I’ll take it.

Even if it’s just to say hello and give my boy a hug. Then that’s also fine.

Jen, remember when we first met and I would go out with the lads and say I’d be home late?

Remember what you always said to me? About leaving the lights on?

So, give me a clue. Leave the light on in the front room. If it’s on. I’ll knock. If not I’ll just walk away. Either way, I’ll understand.

One thing has kept me going through these twelve years. The thought of one day being back with you and our boy.

Please Jen, leave the light on.

Rob.