“You want her to get her share of the inheritance?” Not all siblings were so generous.
“Yes. And I want to find her. Whatever went on, all those years ago, it had nothing to do with me. I was eight years old, I lost my sister. But I’m not a child anymore, I want to know where she is and how she’s getting on. I can remember feeling scared. I thought that maybe I’d done something to make her leave. And then I was cross, for a long time: she didn’t care about me, never even sent a note. After that I suppose I got used to the idea, forgot about it more or less. But this last couple of years I’ve been wondering about her, it’s become important. Not just because of mother but for me.” His eyes flicked up at me and away. “We don’t need to carry on as we have been. She’s all the family I have – once Mother’s gone.” He reddened as he concluded. There was no self-pity in his tone; instead I could hear determination, bravery too.
“OK. I need as many facts and figures, names and addresses as you can dredge up. Neighbours, friends, teachers, relatives, boyfriends. Get a photo as well-that’s very important. When I’ve got all that I’ll start by talking to her old friends, try and establish which university it was, try doing a document search there. They may have a record of where she went once she left. Sometimes an ad in the local paper is all it needs.”
He grinned, delighted at the prospect of hope.
“But then after twenty-three years, she may well have moved around… If you come back in, what…two days time with those details? For now I need her full name.”
“Jennifer Lesley Pickering.”
“Date of Birth?”
“Same day as mine; 4th March 1958.”
“You had the same birthday?”
“Yes. And after she’d gone it felt so weird. I’d be opening my presents and it was so obvious that she was missing but no-one referred to it.”
“She never sent a card?”
“No,” his shoulders slumped slightly.
That seemed cruel. Or had his parents intercepted mail?
“Had you been close?”
“Not really. It was such a big age gap. She played with me when I was little but then she was busy with school and friends and I suppose I had my own friends.”
“Tell me about her – what was she like?”
He sat back in the chair for the first time since he’d arrived. “I can’t remember a lot. She was lively noisy I suppose. I can remember her arguing with my father at the tea table, getting sent to her room, going on about what a mess the world was in, teenage stuff like that. She was full of energy That was why it felt so quiet when she’d gone. If she was in a good mood she’d let me sit in her room while she got ready to go out or if she was just messing about. She always had the radio on. Radio Caroline,” he smiled suddenly, “she told me it was a pirate station and I’d this image of Captain Pugwash and Long John Silver playing music. I couldn’t figure it out. She had friends round sometimes but she went out more, I think their places were probably more easygoing.”
