I Let You Go

“I had thought her intact, but as I touch her the clay moves beneath my hands, and I’m left with two broken pieces. I look at them, then I hurl them with all my strength toward the wall, where they shatter into tiny pieces that show down onto my desk.”

Initially, when encountering this scene, readers do not quite understand its import. They only know that this character has found all her sculptures, everything she has created, ruined and broken. Jenna notes about the statue in question that, “This one is me” (19). Of course, the author intends this to be an allegory. Jenna is broken and shattered inside as a result of the accident and of Ian’s actions. She blames herself, in part because she has been conditioned that way by her husband. Yet, though she stayed with him despite so many warning signs, this is the final straw for her. She has barely anything left to lose.

“I have a sudden urge to feel something. Anything. I take off my shoes in spite of the cold and feel the grains of sand pressing against the soles of my feet. The sky is sky blue and free of clouds, and the moon sits full and heavy above the sea, its twin reflected in shimmering slices below. Not home. That is the most important thing. It doesn’t feel like home.”

After leaving her Bristol home, Jenna does not know where she will end up, although she knows she is heading for the sea. The bus she gets on is going to Swansea, where she has no connections at all. After getting off, she walks for miles. She throws her cell phone into a ditch. When a car slows down for her, she panics. Eventually, she ends up at the bay in Penfach, where she will begin anew. At this point in the story readers do not know exactly what Jenna’s story is, but they think they understand she is running away from the grief of losing her son; she needs to be away from the place where everything must remind her of him. However, in actuality, Jenna is running away from the husband who killed her unborn child, who ran over Jacob, and who then destroyed her life’s work. She is taking the first brave step into a new beginning away from his tyranny. It is about survival and safety even more than grief. It is also a lovely descriptive passage of the nature in Wales.

“The grief I feel is so physical it seems impossible I am still living; that my heart continues to beat when it has been wrenched apart. I want to fix an image of him in my head, but all I can see when I close my eyes is his body, still and lifeless in my arms. I let him go, and I will never forgive myself for that.” 

More than any other passage, this might be the most telling visualization of Jenna’s thoughts. It is a poignant statement that is moving enough when taken at face value, but after the twist occurs, readers going back to this phrase might find it confusing at first. After all, she never held Jacob in her arms. But they eventually realize she is not talking of the boy who was killed in a car accident, but her own son—the one that Ian killed by punching her in the stomach and was later stillborn. That knowledge gives this statement additional layers of meaning because “I let you go” by its very construction confers blame upon the person speaking. Jenna, though she is not truly at fault for either boy’s death, feels responsible for both.

“The nightmares didn’t start straightaway, but now that they’re here, they won’t stop. I lie in bed each night fighting sleep and playing out scenarios in my head like those children’s books where the reader chooses the ending: the one where we set off five minutes earlier, or five minutes later. The one where Jacob lives, and is even now asleep in his bed, dark eyelashes resting upon rounded cheeks. But nothing changes.”

Jenna, in her new little cottage, can’t let go of the image of Jacob. Her acute nightmares about the little boy’s death speak to her grief, but not in the way that readers imagine at this moment. In fact, it is the death of Jacob and the aftermath that has given her the courage to finally break away from her toxic relationship. She imagines Jacob as if he were her child, because she was robbed of her own baby. She feels that she is at fault, so there is guilt as well as grief. Jenna’s empathetic nature is strong within this passage, leading readers to continue to believe that she is Jacob’s mother. Yet the poignancy of this situation reaches another level when readers realize that she is not just melancholy and unhappy, but that she is in fact still in some level of danger. This passage transparently evokes the “what-if” motif that Mackintosh explores in this novel as well.

“It seems strange to see my name so bold and unashamed. I’ve been invisible for so long, and what am I know? A sculptor who doesn’t sculpt. A mother without a child. The letters are not invisible. They are shouting: large enough to be seen from the cliff tops. I feel a shiver of fear and excitement. I’m taking a risk, but it feels good.” 

Jenna is just beginning her recovery process, and this is one of the first tangible proofs of it, along with the fact that she was able to relight the stove on her own. She dares to write her name in the sand in a way that can be seen. While still an impermanent medium, it is a symbol of her bravery and her desire to escape the invisible bonds that she has been under for so long. Ian has done such a good job of manipulation that these first tentative steps seem like a major breakthrough for her. This writing on the sand also becomes a new way for Jenna to support herself, so it becomes more than just a symbol lost to the waves at the end of the day.

“All those years ago, when Ray joined the job, it had seemed very simple. Lock up the bad guys and keep the good folk safe. Pick up the pieces from stabbings and assaults, rapes and criminal damages, and do his bit to make the world a better place. But was he really doing that?” 

Ray finds himself at odds with his boss, wanting to see the unfinished case through but forced to end the investigation because it isn’t garnering any leads. In front of others, Kate questions his commitment because she is disappointed and wants to get the job done. Ray chafes at her criticism, because he agrees with her, and because he feels stuck: “Ray knew better than to go against direct orders, no matter how strongly Kate felt about it” (81). She continues to work the job, eventually confiding in him about the fact that she’s doing it. Their surreptitious investigation creates a bond between them that threatens Ray’s marriage. 

“I can’t risk my sister knowing where I am, but I can tell her that I’m safe. And that I’m sorry.” 

As she settles into her little Penfach cottage, furnished with comforts provided by kind villagers and new friends Bethan and Iestyn, Jenna thinks of her sister. “I may have lost my son, but I still have a family, no matter what happened between us” (90). Readers clearly realize by now that there is more to Jenna’s story than what they have been told, but this quote reveals that Jenna is not just running away—she is in hiding from a very specific danger. She knows that Ian can easily locate her sister Eve to find out where she is, and does not want to expose Eve and her young family to Ian’s violence. Nevertheless, Jenna can’t resist reaching out, sending Eve a postcard that leads Ian to them both.

“How can I explain that bad things happen around me? I would love to have something to look after again, but at the same time it terrifies me. What if I couldn’t look after him? What if he got sick?” 

Jenna’s kind nature shows itself when she rescues two abandoned puppies, one of which is still alive. She takes them to the Port Ellis veterinarian, Patrick Mathews, who asks if she can take him. She exclaims that she could not look after a dog and makes the excuse that her landlord might not let her. But when she mentions it is Iestyn she’s renting from, Patrick assures her it is no problem. Her hesitance comes from the way she has been taught to submit to Ian, as when he killed her kitten. Yet she does not realize at this point that both the dog and the vet will become important instruments in her healing process, teaching her that she can both give and accept love. 

“All those hours of work for nothing, and still they carried on. Ray was playing with fire, going against the chief’s wishes, not to mention letting Kate do the same. But he was in too deep now—he couldn’t stop even if he wanted to.” 

Something about Jacob’s case has affected Ray on a deep level. Partly, it is Kate’s influence; he likes her dedication, which reminds him of his own before he became somewhat jaded by the daily demands of his work. He is also attracted to her, which may have something to do with why he feels conflicted about going with his boss’ political decisions when they go against his moral compass; he does not want to seem lessened in Kate’s eyes. It is clear that he, Kate, and all those at Bristol CID truly want to find the truth and solve the case, even when ordered off it.

“Gradually, without my noticing, my grief has changed shape; from a raw, jagged pain that won’t be silenced to a dull, rounded ache I’m able to lock away at the back of my mind. If it is left there, quiet and undisturbed, I find I’m able to pretend that everything is quite all right. That I never had another life.” 

It is almost a year after the accident, and Jenna is slowly healing. At this point, readers still believe she is grieving about the loss of her son, when she is actually processing Jacob’s loss, the loss of her child, the loss of her life’s output of work, and the end of her relationship—a more complex mix of feelings that include guilt, fear, despair, and grief as well. Though she has tried to push Beau the dog away, but he has persisted and is there when she has nightmares “to lick my hand and reassure me” (134). She is making friends here on the Welsh coast, including Patrick. Her experience is proof that time heals, and that there are different stages to grief that all people go through when dealing with loss. 

“I think of the girl who would spend hours getting ready to go out: music playing, makeup scattered about the bathroom, the air thick with perfume. I had no idea, back then, what real life was like.” 

In a moment of impetuousness, Jenna agrees to go out on a date with Patrick. But as the time comes, she feels nervous and hesitant. She doesn’t have the nerve to cancel, though. Wearing clothes borrowed from Bethan, she gets ready and feels a bit like a girl again. It has been a long time since she was that carefree. At the end of the date, she runs away from Patrick, ashamed of her past history with her family, and refuses his offer to walk her home. She becomes afraid of his intentions, admitting that she can’t trust her instincts. Readers don’t yet fully understand her situation, but when the twist takes place, they realize that Jenna’s trepidation in this scene and her reaction to Patrick’s conversation has much to do with her past with a domineering, obsessive husband, making dating seem even more perilous than it might be to others who have not gone through the trauma that she has.

“I feel safe with Patrick. We walk slowly up the beach. The path is slippery with ice and I am glad of Patrick’s arm around me. I’ve told him more than I ever intended to, but I can’t tell him everything. If I do, he’ll leave, and I’ll have no one to stop me from falling.” 

Jenna begins to open up to Patrick, but she is still worried that her past would disgust him. It is Christmas, and they have had sex for the first time. He gives her a coat as one of her gifts, because he sees that she doesn’t have a proper one. He also gives her a second-hand phone, which is a less welcome gift, and a brooch. Walking along the beach, he questions her about her family and her ex-husband, though her answers are vague. When he apologizes for asking too many questions, she tells him it’s all right. She is still a bit wary, based upon her most recent experience with men, but she is learning to trust him. She also underestimates her own strength in this passage, imagining herself dependent on him already. 

“All I ever wanted was an escape: to pretend to myself that the life I lived before the accident belonged to someone else, and to fool myself I could be happy again. I’ve often wondered what my reaction would be when I was found. I wondered how it would feel to be brought back, and whether I would fight it.” 

The jig is up for Jenna. This is the moment that reveals the first of several twists in the book—that Kate and Ray have been searching for Jenna, but not as Jacob’s mom. Instead, they arrest her as Jacob’s murderer. “It’s time to stop pretending” (199), Jenna says, opening up the narrative to the second part, where the truth is finally told. 

“You wanted me—that much was obvious—but you didn’t yet want me enough.” 

In this first chapter from Ian’s perspective, he details their meeting and first date. From the start, there is manipulation involved. Within the first paragraph he discusses his disappointment about her name. He continues by explaining how he manipulates women in general, how he thinks Jenna is “different” from her friends, and how he engineers the progress of their relationship from creating “chance” meetings to commiserating with her about her family. Every piece of dialogue, every encounter, is deliberate; he stalks her as if she is prey. And at the end of the chapter, he contemplates his success, which is not yet complete.

“It was true. I would have done anything to have kept you.” 

As Ian steps up his courtship campaign, he offers to buy Jenna a house where she can have a studio. This scene shows how much his obsession with Jenna has developed, and how far he will go to keep her isolated from others that might demand her time and attention. He presents it to her as a treat, as something he is giving to her because he wants to make her happy, but his wording here is telling. He doesn’t talk of loving her, he talks of keeping her.

“I had thought you were different, and that perhaps I wouldn’t ever need to feel that release again: that blissful sense of peace that comes after a fight. I was sorry to see that, after everything, you were just the same as all the others.” 

On their wedding night, Ian becomes furious when he thinks he sees Jenna flirting with the Italian receptionist at the hotel. He hits her. In the quote above, he reveals how good it feels for him to do violence to his new wife. He also reveals a misogynistic pattern in which he blames Jenna for his unreasonable perceptions of women generally. This is the first of many violent episodes that enlighten readers to the fact that Jenna is a battered woman, both in mind and body. 

“I was stupid to think I could escape the past. However fast I run, however far: I will never outrun it.” 

After being let out on bail and having contact with police, Ian is convinced that Jenna has told them about her. His paranoid tendencies lead him to search Jenna out by harassing her sister, Eve. When he discovers a postcard on her mantle with a beach picture, he knows it’s from Jenna and sets out to locate the beach. He assaults her, bruising her both outwardly and inwardly in the process and leaving her in despair that she will never be able to have a life unshadowed by his presence. 

“I could see it this evening—that connection between you. I’m not daft; I know what it’s like when you’re working all hours with someone: you talk to them, of course you do. But that doesn’t mean you can’t talk to me too.” 

Ray’s wife Mags, who is an ex-policewoman and housewife, chides Ray after having an awkward dinner with Kate. Though she does not know about the kiss Ray shared with his co-worker, she is not blind to their attraction. Lately, things have not been good between them, mostly because Ray has prioritized work over his family life, including his kids. “And before too long they’ll be gone and you’ll be retired, and it’ll be me and you, and we won’t have anything to say to each other” (335). These lines basically sum up the personal conflict Ray is going through as a subplot in the narrative.  

“You must remember that he was a boy. That he had a mother, and that her heart is breaking.” 

Jenna finally comes into contact with Anya, Jacob’s mother, among the protestors at court. Anya does not realize how much Jenna has tortured herself over the death of Jacob, but wishes to communicate with the woman she believes killed her son. She tells her how good Jacob was, and how he was all she had. Anya also gives Jenna a picture of her son. Jenna apologizes. Before slipping away, Anya tells Jenna she thinks Jenna needs to remember Jacob. In truth, Jenna hardly seems able to think of anything else. Yet she still seems to find strength in what she is doing from the picture Anya gives her. She is fully willing to go to jail to atone for her sins, which are not exactly the sins everyone else thinks she has committed. Still, she blames herself, and prison seems like a safe place to her.

“On impulse I reach for the switch on the table lamp next to me. It’s the only light on downstairs and it bathes the room in a warm apricot glow. I switch it off, and I am plunged into darkness. I wait, but my heart rate is steady; my palms dry; there is no prickle of fear across the back of my neck. I smile. I am no longer afraid.” 

After her long ordeal, Jenna feels safe for the first time in the narrative; this represents a milestone because she has never been able to sleep with the lights off before. She is with Patrick and Beau in Wales, where her memories of life with Ian are few. However, the story isn’t over at this point. In fact, the police are at that moment attempting a raid to arrest Ian, only to find that he has left his house, and she will encounter Ian in one more violent incident before the narrative’s end. Still, though her feeling of safety is premature, that optimism is more about the affinity she has developed with the place and its people more than the actual reality of Ian, as well as the courage she has nurtured during her recovery.

“I could have brought you back whenever I wanted, but I let you go.” 

In the beginning, readers assume that the title of the book, I Let You Go, refers to the idea that Jacob’s mother let go of his hand in the Prologue, thus causing the little boy to run across the street in the rain when there was a car coming. If not for that tiny action in that split-second moment, Jacob would have lived. However, as readers learn that the protagonist of the tale is not Jacob’s mother but Jacob’s killer, the phrase takes on a new meaning—that, by allowing Ian such control of her life, by accepting him and not fighting to improve her own situation, she is at fault. At the end of the story, Ian’s manipulative logic creates another twist on the meaning. It doesn’t just refer to Jenna’s failure or Anya’s bad judgment, but his own purposeful decision to allow Jenna her temporary freedom, because he no longer loved her and did not want her in his life any longer. For the last time, he repeats his mantra about Jenna: “You have only yourself to blame” (420). 

“When the truth finally hits me, it’s like a knife to my stomach. Jacob’s death was no accident. Ian killed his own son, and now he’s going to kill me.” 

After all the twists and turns taken in the plot, the final revelation of the book is this: the Jacob’s death was not an accident. Ian killed his own son, who was a threat to his relationship with Jenna. She realizes, as a result, that he is absolutely capable of murder, and she will be the next victim. 

“And I don’t run. I have run enough from him.” 

Ian continues terrorizing Jenna, chasing her along the headlands of Penfach to a coastal path atop a cliff. He clearly intends to kill her after torturing her. But at this point in the book, Jenna has something to lose. She has Beau, she has Patrick, and she has a new life. She has realized that she has the power to instill fear in Ian: “Fear that I would see him for the man he really is. Fear that I would stop needing him” (430), and that fear is one of the reasons he has treated her so. These thoughts cause a surge of adrenaline that empower her to administer a fatal blow—she hits him hard enough to push him backward off the cliff.