Dear Diary,
Thirty years ago I still see my mothers eyesfilled with despair and something I cant name. Mary never scolded me outright, yet from that day I felt Id lost her, as if shed turned cold and silent, hating me without a word.
***
I slammed the lid of my suitcase, cramming in the last hastily folded sweater. The zipper jammed, refusing to close.
What are you doing, you stubborn thing? I muttered, leaning all my weight on it.
A sudden knock made me jump.
Tom another one of his farewell speeches, I thought, irritated.
Sure enough, Tom stood there, clutching a bouquet of wilting roses.
Back in Bristol again? he asked, unable to hide his true feelings.
Yes, Tom, again, I replied softly. I knew how hard it was for him, and it was hard for me toobecause of Elliot.
Harriet, how long can you keep this up? Youre living in a nightmare that will eat you alive, Tom said, searching for words that wouldnt hurt. Youre stuck in the past, and its destroying you.
What am I supposed to do? I blurted. Forget? Tell myself, Its fine, my brother vanished, thirty years have passed, who cares? Is that what you want?
If youre not beating around the bush then yes, thats exactly what he was hoping for.
I just want you to be happy, Harriet. To live in the now. To give yourself a chance to marry, perhaps.
I lowered my eyes. I loved Tom in my own wayhe was reliable, caring, patient. But Elliot Elliot was my endless ache.
I cant, Tom. I just cant. Until I find Elliot, I cant move on.
Youll never find him! Tom snapped. Thirty years is a long time. Even if hes alive, he wont recognize you. He could be in a childrens home, have lost his memory, been adopted, grown up in a different family. He would be a different person!
Tom was scared to consider any other possibilitiesscenarios where Elliot might still be alive. They were terrifying.
No! I shook my head. Its Elliot. I will find him. I feel it.
Tom handed me the roses.
Then goodbye, Harriet. This is never going to be anything real.
I took the bouquet, feeling something inside snapmy feelings, once more, breaking. I knew I was losing Tom, but I could do nothing.
Goodbye, Tom, I whispered, closing the door behind him.
I sat on the suitcase Id been dragging across the country, still fighting with the stubborn zipper, and didnt notice the tears slipping down my cheeks.
Why, Elliot? Why did it have to end like this? I asked my brother in my mind, whose face and voice were beginning to fade. Sometimes I caught myself forgetting the shape of his cheek, the tone of his laugh, the blue of his eyes
At seven I could barely stand Elliots constant cling. Summer in our tiny Yorkshire village should have been a playgroundriver, woods, friends, latenight games. Instead I was stuck pushing his pram down dusty lanes, listening to his endless Mum, look! and feeling my own childhood slip away.
Harriet, go play with Jack, Mary would say. Its not hard.
Hard? Very hard! I wanted to run to the river with Jack, Pete and Sally, to build forts in the woods, to simply be a child. Instead I was ferrying Elliot, his tiny hands always reaching for me, his constant whine draining my energy.
One day Jack suggested crossing to the other side of the river, where an abandoned mill was said to be haunted. No one believed in ghosts, but the idea of exploring somewhere unknown thrilled us.
Come with us, Harriet! Just you, no Elliot, Jack urged.
I looked at Mary hopeful.
No, Harriet, Mary cut in. Either you go with your brother or stay at home.
I clenched my teeth. Everything annoyed me. It wasnt a life!
But I took Jacks hand
That day on the far bank was full of shrieks, laughter, and a game of tag in that crumbling mill. I barely participated; Elliot was always there, even when I tried to run faster than the sevenyearold kids.
Then, for a brief moment, I let go of his handjust enough to reach for a yellowed, cracked ball wedged under a concrete slab, probably left by children long gone. I grabbed it, pulled myself out, dusted off, and when I turned
Elliot was gone.
My voice cracked as I called his name. The others searched, but there was nothing. Elliot had vanished.
The police, parents, neighboursall combed the river, the woods, every house. Everyone who might have known was questioned. Yet there was no trace.
I remembered my mothers eyes againfull of desperation. Mary never said a reproachful word, but I felt from that day Id lost her. She hated me, silent and resentful.
A year later Mary could no longer bear it.
My father, George, tried to keep things light, working hard, cheering me up, but he was broken too. I watched him age, heard the clink of empty bottles in his room. He never drank when I was around, waiting for me to fall asleep before hed uncork another. I never slept then.
When I grew up, my purpose was singularto find Elliot. It felt like a duty, a redemption, a chance to bring back who? Him or myself?
***
The plane touched down in Portsmouth. I left the terminal, a faint tremor running through me. Portsmouth is a beautiful city, but I had no time for scenery. I was there for Elliot.
I was convinced he was somewhere here.
I didnt understand why I arrived in every new town with such certainty. It was as if the certainty itself drove me.
The message Id received mentioned a man working at the local dockyard who bore a striking resemblance to an old photograph of Elliot, and to a sketch of what he might look like as an adult. The photo was blurry, but something about it snagged my heart, whispering that he could be him.
At the airport, Andrew met memy contact.
Thank you for coming, I said, shaking his hand. Im grateful.
I hope Im not wasting your time, Andrew replied. Ill take you to him. Hes refused to talk to me, but maybe seeing you will change that. They say relatives feel each others presence.
We drove in silence. I stared out at unfamiliar countryside.
Eventually we arrived at the docks parking area. Andrew stopped the car; the rest was on foot.
There he is, he said, pointing to a man fiddling under the hood of an old Toyota.
He looked like Elliot. Same light hair, same blue eyes, and something indefinable that made my breath catch.
Elliot? I whispered.
He startled, wiping his hands on a dirty rag, then straightened. I realized instantly it wasnt him. Not him. I didnt want to admit it.
Do you know me? he asked, glancing at Andrew. Andrew, whats this about?
Tears welled up.
Elliot, its me, Harriet, your sister I began, though I knew there was no brotherhood there, and I couldnt finish.
Sister? I have no sister. Andrew, what trick is this? I told you I have no relatives.
There is one! I lunged, grabbing his hands. Elliot, dont you remember? We played by the river. You got lost. I was seven, you were two and a half. You dont?
He stepped back.
Im sorry, I dont understand. If this is a joke, it isnt funny. My name is Ian. I grew up in a childrens home. I havent seen my family since I was four. I know I have no sister.
But you look just like Elliot! I protested. You have the same eyes, the same hair!
Maybe. There are lookalikes. Im sure Ive been compared before in my searches, Ian shrugged. But Im not your brother. Youve got the wrong person.
I didnt want to believe him. Knowing he wasnt my brother was crushingjust when I thought I was close, the hope slipped away again. I wanted to hug him, tell him everything would be alright, that after all these years I had finally found him. He stared at me, puzzled, a little wary. It seemed people were beginning to fear me.
I I could do a test, I stammered. Just to be sure.
I dont mind, Ian said. But I doubt itll change anything. My family were drinkers. After I was taken, my mother had three more kids who were also taken. I never knew them, but Ive heard the stories. I cant be your brother.
Please, it wont take long.
Alright.
The results came a few days laternegative. Ian was not my brother.
I went back to my flat, closed the curtains, and watched the grey drizzle outside. The hope that had flared in Portsmouth died, leaving only the ash of disappointment. Maybe I should have listened to Tom.
Tom never returned. He probably found someone who lives in the present, someone who can offer him a real future. I didnt blame him. Im stuck in the past, forever caught in the day my brother vanished.
Its time to let go of hope
And then
I opened my laptop again, scrolling through listings of longlost children, missing persons, people searching for relatives. Somewhere, there must still be a trace.
I know Ill never stop looking for Elliot. Its my curse, and Ill carry it until my last breath.
Six months later Id visited two more towns nearby, talked to a dozen peoplenothing.
But then a call came.
Ian, once from Portsmouth, phoned. Not from Portsmouth this time; hed moved elsewhere. Curiosity nudged me to find out what had happened.
He sat across from me, explaining:
My job fell apart, a scandal erupted, people were fired, I left. Then a friend from the same home offered me a position here. I thought of you straight awaymaybe its fate. Ive liked you since the first time we met. I have nothing much to lose.
Liked me? I blushed, the thought of a real conversationno Elliot, no chasesuddenly fresh.
When was the last time Id sat in a quiet café, talked openly with someone? Not about Elliot, not in a rush, not in a dingy canteen, just a moment of peace.
Its fine, I said. I have suitcases to pack. My flight is in the morning.
Where to this time?
To the Midlands.
The lead was thin, but I would go. I was already running on empty belief, and if I stopped, my own thoughts would drive me mad.
Youre trying to drown your guilt, Ian said suddenly, honestly.
Perhaps, I admitted. I felt responsible for him. I should have brought him home. For thirty years Ive been trying to return him. But
The conversation broke.
We barely know each other, I cant give you life advice, he said. But I can tell you about mine. I remember my first four years better than most people remember their whole lives. I recall feeling utterly useless. When they took me to the home, I didnt cry. Until I was about to leave, I wanted to see my parents, to fix that broken part of me. I found them, but they didnt care. They never tried to reclaim me. I let go. That chapter closed, and I started a new one. I move easily, blend in, adapt. But I dont run. You keep running, all your conscious life.
I sat silent for a long while.
Our situations differ. You have a concrete answer youre chasing; I have uncertainty, he said. Sorry, I have to go.
I was about to leave, but something made me staynot out of guilt, but because I wanted to.
I turned back.
But I wouldnt mind going on a date with you. Tomorrow.
What about the trip?
The man who looked like Elliot isnt him. I know that. Im tired of this chase. Youre right about some things. So Ill meet you.
Ill be happy, he replied.
