Thirty years ago Evelyn remembered her mothers eyesfull of desperation and something else. Margaret never scolded Evelyn, yet the girl felt that from that day she had lost her mother. It seemed as if her mother hated her, silent and cold.
Evelyn slammed the suitcase lid, cramming the last hastily folded cardigan inside. The zipper balked, refusing to close.
What are you going to do now? Evelyn muttered, leaning her whole weight onto it.
A knock at the door made her flinch.
Brian with his endless goodbyes again, she thought, annoyed.
Sure enough, Brian stood there, a bouquet of wilted roses in his hands.
Back in Brighton? he asked, unable to hide his true feelings.
Yes, Brian, again, Evelyn replied softly.
She knew how hard it was for him. It was hard for her too, but Tom.
Evelyn, how long can this go on? Youre living in a nightmare thats destroying you, Brian said, searching for words that wouldnt hurt.
What am I supposed to do? Evelyn snapped. Forget? Tell myself, Its only a brother, he vanished thirty years ago, who cares? Is that what you want?
If there were no bows, then yesthat was what he wanted.
I want you to be happy, Evelyn. To live in the now. To allow yourself to get married, perhaps.
Evelyn lowered her gaze. She loved Brian in her own wayreliable, caring, patient. But Tom was her perpetual ache.
I cant, Brian. I just cant. Until I find Tom, I cant go on.
Youll never find him! Brian exploded. Thirty years have passed! Even if hes alive, he wont recognize you. He could have grown up in a childrens home, lost his memory, been adopted, become someone else entirely!
He feared entertaining the thought that Tom might still be alive; those possibilities terrified him.
No! Evelyn whirled, Its Tom. Ill find him. I feel it.
Brian handed her the roses.
Then goodbye, Evelyn. This isnt a relationship, its a fiction.
She took the bouquet, feeling something snapher feelings, once more. She knew she was losing Brian, but she could do nothing.
Goodbye, Brian, she whispered, closing the door.
She perched on the suitcase she had dragged across the country, still wrestling with the stubborn zipper, and didnt notice her tears.
Why, Tom? Why did it end like this? she asked the brother she seemed to be forgetting. Sometimes she caught herself forgetting the shape of his face, his voice, the colour of his eyes
At seven, Evelyn could no longer stand Tom, who stole her freedom and attention. Summer in the village was a playground for childrenriver, woods, friends, latenight gamesbut for Evelyn it was Tom, forever sulking, forever clinging.
Evelyn, go out with your brother, mother Margaret urged, Its not that hard.
Hard? Very hard! Evelyn wanted to run to the river with Danny, Pete and Sally, to build forts in the woods, to simply be a child. Instead she had to push a pram with Tom through the dusty lanes, listening to his endless ahgoo. It was exhausting.
One day Danny suggested crossing to the far side of the river, where an abandoned mill was said to house ghosts. No one believed in ghosts, but the very idea of exploring unknown places thrilled them.
Evelyn, come with us! Danny pleaded. Just you, without Tom.
Evelyn looked hopeful at Margaret.
No, Evelyn, Margaret cut in, Either with your brother or stay at home.
Evelyn clenched her teeth. Everything irritated her. This wasnt life!
But she took her brothers hand
On the opposite bank the day was wildhowls, laughter, tag in the crumbling mill. Evelyn barely participated; Tom was with her, and he, though spry, could never match the speed of a sevenyearold darting through ruins.
Then, for a heartbeat, she let go of his hand to reach for a yellowed, cracked ball stuck under a concrete slabperhaps left by children long gone. She crawled, retrieved it, rose, dusted herself off and when she turned, Tom had vanished.
She screamed his name until her voice cracked. The other children searched, but Tom was gone.
Police, parents, neighbours combed the river, the woods, every house. They questioned anyone who might have seen him. Yet Tom was nowhere.
Evelyn remembered her mothers eyesfull of despair. Margaret never blamed her, yet Evelyn felt that that day the mother was lost. The silence was a kind of hatred.
A year later Margaret could not bear it any longer and broke down.
Her father, George, tried to stay upbeat, encouraging Evelyn, though he too was shattered. Evelyn watched him age day by day, heard the clink of empty bottles in his roomhe never drank in front of her, but when she slept he would uncork a fresh one in secret.
And then she grew up. Her sole purpose became finding Tom. It was her duty, her redemption, her chance to bring back what? Him or herself?
The plane touched down in Brighton. Evelyn stepped out of the terminal, a slight tremor in her bones. Brighton was a lovely town, but she cared little for its beauty. She was there for Tom.
She was convinced he was somewhere nearby.
She didnt understand why she arrived in every town with the same certaintyabsolutely certain.
A message shed received mentioned a man working at the local dock who resembled a longago photograph of Tom, and a sketch of what Tom might look like as an adult. The picture was blurry, yet something in it seized Evelyn. It felt like a clue.
At the airport she was met by Andrew, her source.
Thank you for coming, she said, shaking his hand. Im grateful.
I hope Im not sending you on a wild goose chase, Andrew replied. Ill take you to him. Hes refused to speak to me, but perhaps seeing you will change that. They say kin feel each others hearts.
They rode in silence, Evelyn watching the English countryside slide by.
Finally they reached the docks parking lot. Andrew stopped the car; the rest was on foot.
There he is, he said, pointing to a man tinkering under the bonnet of an old Toyota.
Evelyns breath caught. He had the same sandy hair, the same blue eyesan uncanny echo of Tom.
Tom? she whispered.
The man flinched, wiped his hands on a dirty rag, and straightened. It wasnt him. Not Tom. Yet she could not admit it.
Do I know you? he asked, spotting Andrew behind her. Andrew, whats the story?
Evelyns eyes filled with tears.
Tom, its me, Evelyn, your sister
She knew the man was not her brother, but the words would not come.
Sister? I have no sister. Andrew, what sort of prank is this? I told you I have no relatives.
There is one! Evelyn lunged, grabbing his wrists. Tom, you dont remember? We played by the river. You were two and a half, I was seven. Do you remember?
He stepped back.
Sorry, I dont understand. If this is a joke, its not funny. My name is Ian. I grew up in a childrens home. I havent seen my family since I was four. Im certain I never had a sister.
But you look like Tom! she shouted. The same eyes, the same hair!
Maybe. There are lookalikes everywhere. Ive been chased by many who think Im someone else, Ian shrugged. But Im not your brother. Youve got the wrong man.
Evelyn refused to believe him. She knew he wasnt her brother, yet the disappointment was crushing. She was on the brink of finding Tom, and it slipped away again. She wanted to hug him, tell him everything would be fine, that after all those years she had finally found him. He stared at her with bewilderment, even a hint of fear. It seemed people began to keep their distance.
I I could run a test, she murmured. To be sure.
Im not opposed, Ian said, but I doubt it will change anything. My mother was an alcoholic. After I was taken, she had three more children who were also taken. I never met them, but Ive heard their stories. I cannot be your brother.
Please. It wont take long.
Alright.
The results arrived a few days laternegative. Ian was not Evelyns brother.
She returned to her flat, closed the blinds, and stared at the perpetual grey drizzle outside. The hope that flared in Brighton faded to ash. Perhaps she should have listened to Brian?
Brian never came back. He had probably found another woman who lived in the present and could offer him a real life. Evelyn didnt blame him. She could only live in the past. In a way, she was forever trapped in the day her brother vanished.
It was time to let go of hope
And yet
She opened her laptop again, scrolling through missingperson notices, adoption registries, pleas for lost relatives. Somewhere, a thread might still exist.
She knew she would never stop searching for Tom. It was her curse, her burden until death.
Six months later she visited two more towns, both not far from Brighton, talked to dozens of people. Nothing.
But then someone called.
Ian, now back in Brighton, phoned her. Not from somewhere else; he was standing in the same city, and Evelyn, out of curiosity, agreed to meet.
He sat across from her, his voice calm.
My job fell apart, there was a scandal, people were fired, I left, he explained. A friend from the childrens home called, offered me a position here. I thought of you, of this strange fate. I liked you from the first moment we spoke. I have nothing left to lose.
Liked me? Evelyns cheeks flushed.
When was the last time she had sat in a café, talking openly with someone, not about Tom, not racing to the next station, not eating in a hurried canteen?
I thought maybe I could ask Andrew for your number and call you when I move, he said. I moved and called.
His frankness made her smile.
Im ready. I could stay longer, but I have suitcases to pack. Im flying out tomorrow.
Where to this time?
To the West Midlands.
The clue was thin, but Evelyn would go. She would go, because she barely believed anything anymore. It had become a frantic chase, and if she stopped, her own thoughts would drive her mad.
Youre drowning the guilt, Ian said suddenly, frankly.
Perhaps, Evelyn admitted. I was responsible for him. I had to bring him home. For thirty years Ive only tried to bring him home. But
She trailed off.
We barely know each other, so I cant advise you about your life, Ian replied. But Ill tell you about mine. I remember my first four years better than most people remember their whole lives. I also remember feeling utterly useless. When they took me to the home, I didnt cry. Yet until I left, I wanted to see my parents, to fix the broken part of me that had followed me all my life. I found them. They barely cared. I let it go. That chapter ended, another began. I move easily, adapt, but I dont run. I keep going. You, Evelyn, have been running your whole conscious life.
Evelyn stayed silent for a long while.
Our situations differ. Yours has a defined answer, mine is unknown. Sorry, I have other matters.
She was about to leave, but something made her staynot guilt, not duty, but a simple desire.
She turned back.
Im not opposed to a date. Tomorrow.
What about your trip?
The man who looks like Tom isnt him. I know that. Im tired of this race. Youre right about some things. So Ill go on a date.
Ill be happy”]
