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"Well, she left the children's home shortly after she turned thirteen. Bristles is a home for teenagers. We usually get them for about three years until they turn sixteen, and then we get them into a Council flat. Your sister seemed to do okay here. She wasn't exactly happy, but she always wanted to talk to you. I remember she used to write you letters."
I frowned. "I never received any letters from her after she left the children’s home."
She frowned then. "No, she wrote religiously. All the time. She had a little notebook. I mailed her letters to you, myself."
I cleared my throat, emotion threatening to wash over me like a wave, taking me with it back into the sea. "I-I didn't know that until recently."
This all matched what Amelia had said. What I had found.
"Maybe your parents thought it best to sever contact, but I never thought it was a good idea to separate siblings. She had a difficult time. The longer you didn't write back, the more difficult she found it to cope. All we could do was forward on the mail. She grew quite despondent. When she turned sixteen, she tried hiring an advocate to help get in touch with you through proper channels. But still, nothing. And then she just became lost. Problems at school, drugs, the whole thing. And finally, she just wanted to be on her own. So, we arranged for her to have Council accommodations."
I swore under my breath. "Where?"
"Tower Hamlets had a place open, but she didn't want to live there."
"My parents left us money. She could have accessed her trust fund."
"No. Not by law at that age. And the trustees… Well, the lawyers of the trust can determine if the heirs are competent to receive funds, and they can hold onto it longer if they aren’t."
"But that's not fair."
"I didn't make the rules. And with all the trouble she was getting into, she didn’t exactly show competency. But we did finally manage to find her a placement."
"Oh, okay. Do you have someone I can talk to there?"
Christine furrowed her brow. "It's been years. I'm not sure if she's still—"
I shook my head. "I'll take that name. I'm looking for my sister, and these are the only leads I have. So anything you can tell me would be great."
She sighed. "Right. I've got it somewhere." She tapped furiously on her laptop. "This is the name of the Council office and my contact there. If anyone knows where she is, it will be her. Hopefully, she stayed in the flat they got for her and was able to clean up."
The whole time she spoke, I just bit my bottom lip and blinked my eyes rapidly, trying to keep the tears at bay. And all the while I could feel the fluttering of my heart, the panic starting to take over.
When we left Bristles Home for Girls, I stood outside, dragging in deep breaths. I could feel the warm pressure of Westin's hand on my back, making circles, soothing me, calming me. He'd heard everything. I could take all these questions to my father, but I knew he wouldn’t help me.
I needed to find her. And the only person right now who seemed to give a shit about how I was feeling about it was the man I’d vowed to hate.
It doesn't feel like he hates you.
He might not, but this wasn't what I wanted. All I wanted was my sister.
But everyone needs help. And right now, Westin St. James is offering his, so what are you going to do with it?
Westin
It was a mistake to touch her. I knew that, but she looked so shattered. Broken. In pain. And I wanted to make it easier. But once I touched her, all that emotion that I'd managed to keep bottled up for the last two weeks bubbled to the surface. I wanted to fix this. I wanted to make it better. I wanted to make her life easier.
That's not the job.
“Are you ready to go home,” I asked?
Outside of Bristles Home for Girls, she finally wiped away her tears and nodded. "Yeah. I think there's a mini-cab place down the street. Actually, I'm tired. I'm just calling an Uber."
I glanced around. We had nowhere proper for the Uber to stop as there was a red line at the curb. "Do you want to walk down a little further?"
"Yeah, let's do it."
As we walked silently, I eyed the chip shop on the corner. "Are you hungry?"
