Our relationship began almost twenty years ago, when I was in my impressionable twenties. I was young, free and, erm, approximately single. It began almost by accident. I was working for an American firm, I had shares in the company, there was a public markets event which I took part in and the next thing I knew I’d begun a long distance relationship.
It wasn’t ever a particularly passionate, intimate relationship. In fact I got much more involved with another member of the same family, in London, in a brief fling that left me hurt, scarred and financially damaged. But somehow the long distance relationship continued. Occasional phone calls usually with me asking for something. A few letters – an annual ritual, for the most part.
I considered splitting up earlier this year. I was trying to buy a house and I needed some help, some support. I picked up the phone, and I made my feelings clear. I had worked out what I wanted and I asked for it. I was told No, not if I wanted to stay in London. When I realised I couldn’t rely on the relationship, and in fact got more support from other relationships in the UK, I almost broke it off. But somehow I just reduced my involvement even further and kept going through the motions.
The phone calls had now become only occasional events, and were always about money. I can’t remember the last letter I received.
So imagine my surprise when I got a letter, last week. With the familiar postmark. When I opened it, I couldn’t quite believe my eyes – what I was reading. No personal greeting, even. Just cold, impersonal prose. Not even an ‘it’s not you, it’s me’. Just complete clarity that our past relationship (!) is over, and a request for me to remove my stuff by the end of the month. If possible.
I’ve never been dumped before, let alone this way. Thank God there wasn’t a request for money.
The letter’s below – judge for yourself.