Read Online Grail of the Summer Stars (Aetherial Tales) by Freda Warrington - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Freda Warrington
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note? The one that made you think he’d…”
With a faint groan, Frances took a folded letter from her pocket. “They found it in his studio after he’d disappeared.”
Stevie took the letter, recognizing the wild, cramped handwriting.
Dear Mother, this is hard. You know how it’s been—or no, that’s the point, you don’t know. That’s okay. I disappointed you and I’m sorry. But why be disappointed in me, any more than you’d be disappointed in the postman, or some random person you passed on the street? For the sole reason that I’m your son. That gives you the right to judge another human being, does it? Genes. But that’s fine, you’re entitled to your opinions of me—I’m very used to them, after all—but I want you to know that your expectations and disappointments have got nothing to do with this.
No. It’s something else. Can’t explain and you wouldn’t understand. I’m trying to say it’s not your fault. It’s me. Me. I’m tired of arguing, of trying to prove myself, of hoping you’ll understand, because I accept now that you can’t. But I’m so tired. I need to make a clean break. Permanent. For your sake, as much as mine.
My brain is exploding with dreams. It’s like trying to contain whole worlds in my head and I can’t anymore. No sooner do I paint one vision than another rushes in to fill the gap and I don’t know if anyone will ever see or understand any of it—so I have to make it STOP.
Give my love to my friends. Especially Stevie Silverwood, don’t forget her. Tell them I’m sorry. Sorry to you too, Mum. Don’t be lonely. Love you.
Bye, Daniel.
“So tell me,” said Frances, “does it sound like a suicide note?”
Stevie waited for the ache in her throat to subside. How on earth to answer? “It could be. He sounds … angry. All he wanted was for you to accept him.”
“It’s the ultimate way to get back at me, of course. To show how much I hurt him. Very adolescent. But then I never thought he’d properly grown up.”
Stevie decided to change tack, and not react to Frances’s bitter remarks. “Did you call the police?”
“Yes, of course! They found the note, but the studio was virtually stripped bare, so they told me. I couldn’t face going there.”
“Are they still looking for him?”
“Yes, they’re going through their missing persons procedure. They classed him as ‘medium risk,’ because of his precarious mental state, which means they’re making serious efforts to trace him … but with no luck so far. Really, they were very helpful, but you can’t help feeling he’s just one of hundreds. I’m sure they think, privately, that this is a mere case of a son falling out with his mother. He’s an adult, after all, and there’s no sign he’s come to any actual harm.”
Stevie scanned the letter again, handed it back. “This is so ambiguous. Perhaps it’s his way of cutting you out of his life and vanishing.”
“So you’re suggesting he’d rather I thought he was dead than ever see me again?”
“Er … I didn’t mean that. It could be that he’s exhausted and needs to get away. He might feel differently in a few weeks’ time. Maybe you should give him the benefit of the doubt and … let him go.”
Frances snorted. “That’s what the police counselors hinted. Patronizing little devils, the pair of them looked barely fifteen! What do they know?”
One thing was clear: Frances and Daniel were equally difficult people. Stevie felt like walking away, but couldn’t, because his mother’s anger was so obviously a mask. Fear and misery shone from her like light through a cracked shell.
“What can I do to help?”
“Oh, Stephanie, I don’t know. Daniel’s right, I don’t understand. This isn’t about trying to control him. I’d take back every word, just to see him again. What does any of it matter? I need to know if he’s dead, or ill, or run off to a new life. I won’t even try to speak to him, if he
With a faint groan, Frances took a folded letter from her pocket. “They found it in his studio after he’d disappeared.”
Stevie took the letter, recognizing the wild, cramped handwriting.
Dear Mother, this is hard. You know how it’s been—or no, that’s the point, you don’t know. That’s okay. I disappointed you and I’m sorry. But why be disappointed in me, any more than you’d be disappointed in the postman, or some random person you passed on the street? For the sole reason that I’m your son. That gives you the right to judge another human being, does it? Genes. But that’s fine, you’re entitled to your opinions of me—I’m very used to them, after all—but I want you to know that your expectations and disappointments have got nothing to do with this.
No. It’s something else. Can’t explain and you wouldn’t understand. I’m trying to say it’s not your fault. It’s me. Me. I’m tired of arguing, of trying to prove myself, of hoping you’ll understand, because I accept now that you can’t. But I’m so tired. I need to make a clean break. Permanent. For your sake, as much as mine.
My brain is exploding with dreams. It’s like trying to contain whole worlds in my head and I can’t anymore. No sooner do I paint one vision than another rushes in to fill the gap and I don’t know if anyone will ever see or understand any of it—so I have to make it STOP.
Give my love to my friends. Especially Stevie Silverwood, don’t forget her. Tell them I’m sorry. Sorry to you too, Mum. Don’t be lonely. Love you.
Bye, Daniel.
“So tell me,” said Frances, “does it sound like a suicide note?”
Stevie waited for the ache in her throat to subside. How on earth to answer? “It could be. He sounds … angry. All he wanted was for you to accept him.”
“It’s the ultimate way to get back at me, of course. To show how much I hurt him. Very adolescent. But then I never thought he’d properly grown up.”
Stevie decided to change tack, and not react to Frances’s bitter remarks. “Did you call the police?”
“Yes, of course! They found the note, but the studio was virtually stripped bare, so they told me. I couldn’t face going there.”
“Are they still looking for him?”
“Yes, they’re going through their missing persons procedure. They classed him as ‘medium risk,’ because of his precarious mental state, which means they’re making serious efforts to trace him … but with no luck so far. Really, they were very helpful, but you can’t help feeling he’s just one of hundreds. I’m sure they think, privately, that this is a mere case of a son falling out with his mother. He’s an adult, after all, and there’s no sign he’s come to any actual harm.”
Stevie scanned the letter again, handed it back. “This is so ambiguous. Perhaps it’s his way of cutting you out of his life and vanishing.”
“So you’re suggesting he’d rather I thought he was dead than ever see me again?”
“Er … I didn’t mean that. It could be that he’s exhausted and needs to get away. He might feel differently in a few weeks’ time. Maybe you should give him the benefit of the doubt and … let him go.”
Frances snorted. “That’s what the police counselors hinted. Patronizing little devils, the pair of them looked barely fifteen! What do they know?”
One thing was clear: Frances and Daniel were equally difficult people. Stevie felt like walking away, but couldn’t, because his mother’s anger was so obviously a mask. Fear and misery shone from her like light through a cracked shell.
“What can I do to help?”
“Oh, Stephanie, I don’t know. Daniel’s right, I don’t understand. This isn’t about trying to control him. I’d take back every word, just to see him again. What does any of it matter? I need to know if he’s dead, or ill, or run off to a new life. I won’t even try to speak to him, if he
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