My note to Jessica

Sometimes I think I am just such a fucking wimp... This is about draft 23! What would you have written, I wonder?

We have gone to my mum and dad's and will be back later.

I'm sorry if you got some angry texts last night. I was just so pissed off. Florence was asking where you were so I said that they could phone after tea. I put on the speakerphone, explained how to use it, dialled the number and left them to it. And, then they got your fucking voicemail. Enough said.

I've been taking stock and, at last, talking to people. I feel better for it. If you could summarise the responses in a sentence it would be an amazed, ‘Who the fuck does she think she is?’ I have felt reassured that I am not mad.

If there is any morality in all of this it is that you have to do what you have to do but so that it causes the least hurt – not the most. For example, I expect you met James on your way back from Granny’s last week – you almost passed his house. You could have booked into a Travel Lodge for the day, blamed any delay on the traffic and maybe felt less guilt as well. You didn’t have to do it the way you did. You could have simply had an affair like ordinary people do. Someone said to me that you did it how you did on purpose. The adolescent wanting to stick it to her dad. And I think these people are friends!

Anyway, I’m not going to rage and rant at you. You’ve done what you’ve done and you have to live with the consequences.

I don’t want to sleep with you for a while. I don’t want you in my bed. Can you sleep in the little room tonight? Then, I’m away for a few days.

Two of my friends have asked me if I still love you. I had to say I do otherwise none of this would have hurt half as much.

... should I have put that last bit in. I just don't fucking know!