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Finn tried to swallow as relief and heartache vied for space behind his ribs. She’d left him. ‘Yes. Everything.’ Then he remembered the phone call he’d taken before the race. ‘The police in Singapore have just made an arrest.’
The older man took one step forward and laid a heavy hand on Finn’s shoulder. ‘Good. Now we’ll get some justice. I know you tried to do right by my son.’
Finn locked on to Mick’s sincere gaze, desperate to believe him.
‘Serena must know it too, considering all your body parts are intact. Time to move on, Finn. Let it go.’
Maybe he nodded; he was too numb to be sure.
‘Can’t guarantee she’ll come back in a hurry. Last time, after the funeral, she was away months. She’s not going to London. I know that much. But she did leave you this.’
Michael passed him a white envelope, with Finn’s name a messy scrawl across the front, then patted his shoulder and sidestepped to walk past.
‘By the way, she watched the race—asked me to say you were awesome out there and that you’ll know what she means.’
A ghost of a smile touched his lips. Finally the woman uttered the words he’d tried to tease out of her for months. Aw, man, was it any wonder he adored her?
‘Yeah, I do. Thanks, Mick.’
Bones weighted with dread, he plonked down on the top rung of his steps and thumbed the sticky flap of the envelope. Patience wasn’t his strong suit and after two seconds he tore it apart, until her letter was in his hands.
On a long exhale he unfolded the crisp sheet and stared for a long moment, watching a fine drizzle dust the page.
Despite the chaotic churning of emotions inside him, her messy handwriting brought another smile to his lips. He missed her already.
* * *
Dear Finn,
I’ve never been one for goodbyes, but in the last few weeks you’ve helped me say another kind of goodbye—to Tom, so I could lay him to rest. Despite how our friendship came about you’ve been a friend to me in many ways, shown me much about my life, and I’d like to return the favour. So I’m calling in the wish you owe me.
Now, I know what you’re thinking: my logic is a bit backward—how can my favour be your wish? But hear me out, okay?
It dawned on me earlier, when I left, that it doesn’t matter if you never believe my word or believe in my forgiveness. What truly matters is that you learn to forgive yourself. Otherwise, and trust me when I say this, you’ll never truly move on. Which is why I’m about to tell you something very few people know and I’m asking you to keep it close to your chest.
Long story short, as you would say, my first naïve crush was with one of Tom’s friends. One who quickly turned hostile. And for a long time I blamed myself for what happened afterwards.
I should probably explain that I was young, with no women around, and not really sure how to handle boys. I figured I’d rather be one of them, and that was fine until I came to that awkward age where they began to treat me differently. Anyway, I was fourteen, and let’s just say I liked this much older boy—or should I say man? He was Tom’s age: nineteen.
He weaved his web, spun his lies, told me anything and everything—‘I want you, Serena, I love you. Come meet me, Serena, I won’t hurt you’—until I fell for him. I started to dress up—girly stuff—flirted a little, sneaked out with him, but I wasn’t prepared for what came back at me.
Turns out ‘no’ didn’t mean no with him.
The first time he tried to force me I managed to get away, and he persuaded me not to tell Tom or he would hurt him. Foolish, I know, but I think it’s easy to believe anything at that age. Spider-Man comes to mind...
Anyway, he began to follow me, watch me from the shadows, and I was frightened for a long time. Then one night, during a huge party downstairs, he came up to my bedroom. He’d been drinking. He overpowered me. I was beaten up pretty bad, among other things, and I’m sure he would’ve gone all the way if Tom hadn’t come in.
There was a huge fight and Tom got seriously hurt—we thought he’d never drive again—but he pulled through. Of course he blamed himself for not reading the signs sooner, so you see I’m not surprised he asked you to watch out for me. He became very protective.
I saw a counsellor for many months and she tried to help me past it. In many ways she did. She made me accept that I didn’t ask for it. I didn’t deserve to be beaten. She certainly helped me to stand tall, but in reality I never truly moved on. I didn’t completely let go of the blame. Of the thought that if I’d been braver, stronger, told someone sooner, Tom’s health and career wouldn’t have hung in the balance for so long.
