first you used my bottle recycle bin to step up onto once you'd jimmied open my bathroom window, and then climbed in. then you walked around my house, past photos and bills on the table, past my bed, with my pillows plumped. then you took my turquoise and silver ring that my beautiful princess gave me. you also took the vera wang perfume that my beloved gave me. as well as the chanel no. 5 and the christian dior. you took my mobile phone too. my expensive motorola. but it was old. did you realise that? and it wasn't working properly, that's why i wasn't using it.
you took princess's digital camera, a gift, my slr camera, my dvd player, a gift. also two torches. i mean, didn't you bring your own?
you took my daughter's money box, filled with coins and weighing a ton.
but this is what you DIDN'T get:
my precious brass candlesticks that my great great aunt lizzie brought over on the ship from england. my jewellery that matters. my video recorder. my laptop, cause i take it in the car when i leave.
SO DON'T BOTHER COMING BACK. I HAVE THE STUFF YOU MISSED IN A BOX READY TO TAKE TO MY MUM'S TOMORROW. SHE LIVES UPSTAIRS SO YOU WON'T BE ABLE TO GET IN ANY OF HER WINDOWS.
and this is also what you didn't get:
you made my daughter scared, and cry. you made the other two children with us scared and cry. you have made me unable to sleep just yet. i am here alone. princess sleeps in my bed, she is still but i know in the morning she will still be upset.
the police came, they have found a good print inside the bathroom window, so the prints people are coming tomorrow morning.
DO YOU HEAR THAT? DOES IT MAKE YOU SCARED?
i have to trawl the pawn shops. i have to get the window fixed.
i let my insurance lapse a month ago.
ok so i know you need drugs. times are tough. and really, all that stuff is just stuff. it doesn't really matter. you know what, i could probably find some sympathy, some compassion were you to sit me down and say, look, i am strung out, i need money. but you invaded my home, and you just helped yourself.
oh well. it sucks, but it's ok.
just don't come back. i'm tying the bathroom door handle to the one that leads into the kitchen with rope, so you won't be able to get in that way. i'll be on alert, like back in the breast-feeding days, when a mere whisper of breath in the next room had me up and ready to move. i'll be listening. i'll be wondering. but i won't be scared.