He put his finger into the page to stop me moving them. ‘Look, there’s another message on the other side.’
Sure enough on the other side of the page where the alphabet was scrawled, was another – neater – message in Elsie’s writing.
‘Mammy, I am sorry I didn’t get to say goodbye,’ I read aloud. ‘I love you all very much.’
‘What is this?’ I said. ‘Is she writing on behalf of someone else? Someone whose injuries were too bad for them to write themselves?’
‘Maybe so,’ Finn said. He sat up a bit straighter. ‘Perhaps the person who was dying?’ He flipped the page back to the letters and tapped the page with his finger. ‘And perhaps this person couldn’t speak so they were spelling the messages out letter by letter.’
I stared at him. ‘Bit far-fetched isn’t it?’
He shrugged. ‘I saw a documentary about assisted dying where the chap involved was paralysed and he spelled words out on this computer thing by blinking.’
‘Say that again.’
‘He was paralysed and he—’
‘No, the first bit. Assisted dying did you say? What if this patient was asking Elsie to help them die?’
‘Now who’s being far-fetched?’ Finn raised an eyebrow.
‘It literally says “kill me”,’ I pointed out.
‘So you think Elsie was running round the hospital seeing off patients? Like some angel of death?’
‘No I do not,’ I said frostily. I felt very protective of Elsie. ‘I think this person might have been special to her.’ I gasped. ‘What if it was our mystery airman? What if he was badly injured, couldn’t speak and he asked Elsie to put him out of his misery?’
Finn shook his head. ‘The same airman who wouldn’t kill a seagull? Plus he was fit enough to meet Elsie in secret and be sent back to his base. He wasn’t dying.’
‘No he wasn’t,’ I said delighted about that. ‘Maybe a friend then? It says “friend” there on the page. Or a family member, even?’
‘Maybe,’ Finn said doubtfully.
We both stared at the book for a second, at a loss as to what to do next, and then he spoke.
‘Perhaps if we find her fella that will help us? It’s the only lead we’ve got at the moment anyway.’
‘Perhaps. Who’s next on your list?’
‘Harry Yates,’ he said, typing the name. There was only one result. Finn clicked on it and let out a little shout of triumph that made me jump.
‘Harry Yates, born 1919, address 14 Stewart Crescent, Lytham St Anne’s.’
‘That’s him. That’s Elsie’s bloke.’
‘Sounds like it.’
‘What else does it say?’ I leaned over and he put his arm around me and pulled me close. It felt totally natural to rest my head on his shoulder as I gazed at the screen. ‘Does it tell you where he went after the war?’
‘Let’s have a look,’ said Finn. He clicked again. ‘Yes, his address is Dublin, in Ireland.’
‘Dublin?’ I sat up. ‘Ireland?’
‘Maybe he had family there.’
‘Or maybe Elsie went there,’ I said. ‘Maybe that’s why we couldn’t find her death certificate – because she died in Ireland.’
‘Why would she go to Ireland?’
