It all started with a distraught call from a family friend aged 20, to
say his big brother had just jumped off a tower block. We consoled him,
lent money to tide him over and had special prayers said at the local
church.
The whole thing turned out to be an unforgivably sick hoax he'd dreamed
up while bored and broke one evening. He at least had the grace to be
horribly ashamed until, unbelievably, he pulled the same trick again. We
got a message to say Andrew himself had jumped from the same building and
would we please come to his funeral. The added twist (this time) was that
it was true.
But then Andrew himself had had much to forgive. He was one of three children
whose mother had run away with a lorry driver, leaving them to a drunk and
abusive father. The Great Aunt who eventually rescued them was friends with
my mother in law - and one day my partner brought Andrew home to tea.
He was a funny, likeable ten year old - whose thirst for nurture was matched
only by his skills of manipulation. Before long we'd become unofficial wicked
godparents, spoiling him with weekend treats of cinema and circuses.
The arrival of a breastfeeding baby hit our home like a tornado. Andrew
no longer enjoyed our undivided attention, or even affection - in fact,
his visits became exasperating. Eventually he stopped coming
altogether. With hindsight I feel horribly guilty. Much else was going on
in Andrew's life, but the coincidence remains: within a year he'd gone
off the rails completely.
And now he's finally had his revenge on everyone who ever loved him and
let him down as a teenager. I'm sorry to have failed Andrew as a friend,
not to have answered his last drunken phone call... sorry at this hateful
end to his short and tortured life. Most of all, I'm sorry to have even
dreamed of doing this myself, all those years ago, to those I loved most.
They were big-hearted enough then to forgive me for trying. The least I can
do now is forgive Andrew for succeeding - and so I will.
Eventually.
听
