“I’m sorry I said all those awful things to you when we argued,” I wrote. “I was angry and frustrated that you’d showed up on my doorstep again just because you needed help. But you’re not a loser and I’m not sorry you’re my brother. I called the police afterthe burglary because you took everything I had and I needed to claim on the insurance.” I underlined “everything”.
“I am not the reason you went to prison, Max,” I wrote. “That’s all your doing. I’m sorry for the things I did that were wrong, but you did wrong things too. I hope when you get out, we can be friends again because I miss you. And so does Nan.”
I signed the letter with the little sketch of the television with an S on the screen, even though it made me think of Finn and that made me sad. Then I added: “PS: I am keeping your leather jacket.” I thought I deserved it.
I reread it. It was fair, I believed, and I did feel better actually. In fact, I found I wanted Max to read it.
I pulled out my phone and Googled “how to write to a prisoner at HMP Portsmouth” which was where Max was. I found the address, copied it on to an envelope and put the letter inside.
I almost changed my mind as I plopped it into the post box near Tall Trees, but by then it was too late anyway. It had gone and I had no way of getting it out again. Feeling bold, I crossed my fingers that Max would understand and continued on to the home, carrying Elsie’s book carefully in my backpack.
When I arrived at Tall Trees, I pulled on my metaphorical big girl pants and went straight to Finn’s cubbyhole.
‘Is he in?’ I asked Vanessa who was hunched over a textbook containing some incomprehensible chemical formula.
She looked up at me. ‘No, he’s gone.’
‘Gone to the uni?’ I walked round the back of the reception desk and into Finn’s cupboard. ‘Oh.’
‘See?’ Vanessa called, turning her attention back to her book. ‘Gone.’
Finn’s tiny office was completely empty. There were no papers anywhere, no reference books or pictures pinned to the walls. It was as though he’d never been there at all. I felt sick again but I swallowed the nausea down.
‘Did he say why?’ I asked, coming out of the cubbyhole again.
Vanessa shrugged. ‘Just that he wasn’t working here anymore.’
‘Did he mention me? Or the book.’
She looked over her shoulder at me, her expression unreadable. ‘No.’
‘Okay,’ I said.
Rattled and unsure what to do with Elsie’s precious book, I took it to the staffroom and left it there for now.
‘How are you feeling?’ Blessing stuck her head round the door.
‘Better, thank you,’ I said.
She looked at me critically. ‘You don’t look better.’
‘Thanks.’
‘You’re looking very peaky.’
I felt peaky, but I gave her a fake smile. ‘I’m fine,’ I said.
‘You’ll need to be. I’ve put you down for bingo in the lounge. It’s starting in …’ she looked at her watch ‘… five minutes ago.’
Stifling a groan, I gave her a thumbs up and went off to see what was going on in the lounge.
It was busy in there – bingo was always popular – and when I walked in, Joyce said loudly: ‘About time.’
I ignored her, walking over to the table where the bingo set was already laid out. ‘Do you all have cards?’
There was a murmur as they all waved their cards at me.
‘Dabbers?’ I said and they all murmured again.
