While I’ve been mulling on my next blog I had a flashback to my birthday last year. Rosie bought me a piece of baking equipment and I was typically ungrateful when she gave it to me, because I didn’t think I’d use it. I’m not going to try to justify my behaviour. With her gone I remembered what a gittish thing that was to do.
Today I met with a lovely literary agent who was giving me advice on getting Rosie’s blog published as a book. She recounted Rosie’s post on 29th July 2014. My birthday. And now I’ve just re-read it. What a colossal arse I was. I hope I said that at the time to Rosie when I read the blog. I’ve not felt angry until now. Now I’m spitting feathers. What a shitty thing to do. I’m angry with myself.
There is nothing I can do to take it back and I know Rosie would have known that I meant no harm by it. But she was fragile. She was only a few days into the worst experience of her life and the man she should have been able to turn to for support failed her.
Rosie, I’m sorry.