The idea of getting everyone at Tall Trees to do their own version of Elsie’s book stayed with me all through my shift. I thought about it as I helped the residents get ready for bed, and when I popped over to see my nan before the rest of the staff headed home. Then I thought about how I could find out what happened to Elsie. And when I’d thought about that, I started thinking about the mural itself.
And I kept thinking about it as I settled down in the staffroom for the night, one ear listening out for any bells from the residents. Once upon a time I would have had a sketchbook and pencils in my bag, ready for inspiration to strike, but not now. Instead, I dug around in the drawers in the staffroom and eventually I found a paper bag that had one lonely drawing pin in the corner. I shook the pin out and stuck it to the noticeboard, where I found a scratchy biro that was stuck to the board with a fraying piece of string, and sat down at the table. I smoothed out the paper bag and carefully tore it down one side and along the bottom so I had two pages to draw on. And then I picked up the biro, thinking of the tree I’d drawn at home.
I could use similar branches as a frame, I thought, roughly drawing two tall trees on either side of my paper bag. And maybe I could draw Elsie too if there was a picture of her that I could copy. I added the outline of a figure to one side.
And then, perhaps I could pick out some of the words from the book, and add them to the design. Making a pattern perhaps. I drew a sort of rainbow made from nonsense words and frowned. Hmm. Perhaps not. Or flowers? Or anything really. The words were the important bit. I would have to find the perfect notebook and let the residents have it to write their own messages inside. A modern version of Nurse Elsie’s idea.
I felt a flicker of excitement. Maybe, just maybe, this could work.
The alarm on my phone buzzed, telling me it was time to go for a walk around the corridors and check everything was as it should be. It was usually my least favourite time of a night shift, but today I found I was actually looking forward to it. The quiet corridors would let me imagine how the building had looked when it was a hospital. I got up from the table and put my paper bag drawing carefully into my bag. Then, I went off to start at the top of the building and work my way down, as was my habit. As I went upstairs, I typed a message to Finn, knowing it was late and he was probably in bed.
“Going to base my mural around Nurse Elsie specifically,” I wrote. “Have lots of ideas.”
Before I’d even got to the second floor, my phone vibrated in my hand with his reply.
“Amazing. Can’t wait to hear about them. Need to pop to Tall Trees tomorrow actually. Are you working?”
I stopped on the top stair and sighed heavily. No, I wasn’t working. We always had a couple of days off after a night shift. “Not at Tall Trees,” I wrote hopefully. “But I’ll be working in The Vine from 5 p.m.”
Finn sent back a thumbs up. ‘What does that mean?’ I said out loud, pushing through the double doors on to the top corridor. ‘Not helpful, Professor Finn.’
*
As it turned out, though, the thumbs-up sign meant Finn was planning to come to The Vine. I was making cocktails for a group of older women when I saw him arrive. He sauntered up to the bar, pushed his hair off his forehead, and studied the beer pumps with a slightly furrowed brow.
Tara went over to serve him and I tried to catch her eye and let her know who he was. But it wasn’t until Finn gave me a little self-conscious wave, while I handed over the final apple martini, that she twigged.
She turned to me, eyebrow raised and nodded. ‘Nice,’ she mouthed. Then when Finn took his beer and looked round for an empty table, she said: ‘Stevie, it’s time for your break. Why don’t you join your friend?’
I had only been working for an hour, but I wasn’t going to argue. ‘Really?’
‘Sure.’
So I gladly untied my apron and went over to where Finn was settling into a booth.
‘Hi,’ I said. He looked very at ease, and – I couldn’t help noticing – rather handsome. That made me think of Vanessa saying he was cute, and that made me feel a little bit awkward so I hovered by the side of the booth until he nodded to the seat opposite. ‘Sit down, please. I hate drinking on my own.’
‘I’m not drinking,’ I said just as Tara appeared next to me with a gin and tonic and put it on the table.
‘You are now,’ she said with a smile. ‘Take as long as you want.’
I slid along the bench and Finn smiled at me. ‘She’s nice.’
‘She’s amazing,’ I agreed. ‘She’s always got my back.’
‘I like that.’ He sipped his beer, looking thoughtful as he did so. I liked the way he looked as though he was carefully considering everything he did. It was very unlike how I lived my own life, in a state of total chaos and bad choices.
‘So tell me about your ideas.’
I grinned. ‘Final words,’ I said. ‘Last letters.’
‘Mine? Or …’
‘Well, you know that Elsie’s book has lots of messages in it from soldiers, and other people. Messages she passed on if they didn’t make it through the war.’
‘It was really only the very early months of the war,’ Finn pointed out. ‘The darkest days of the Blitz.’
‘Yes, okay, but the idea is the same,’ I said, not letting his pedantry get in the way of my excitement. ‘She collected people’s last letters for their loved ones. I want to use those words in the mural. And I want to do my own book.’
‘For the residents of Tall Trees?’
I loved that he’d got the idea straightaway. ‘Yes, I thought I could do a book for them, like Elsie did.’
Finn nodded.
I put my hands flat on the table, either side of my G&T glass. ‘So what do you think?’
‘I think it’s a wonderful idea.’
I let out my breath slowly, relieved. ‘I thought I’d include Elsie on the mural. Do you have a picture of her?’
Finn shook his head. ‘Not a photograph, but there are some sketches of her in the book. You could copy one of those.’
‘Perfect.’ I did a little wiggle in my seat. ‘And I also thought I’d try to find out what happened to her. This book really is a present from the past – she’s a local hero. Do you know much about her?’
‘Not really,’ he said, screwing up his nose. ‘Like I said, she only kept the book for a few months. I think it was late 1940, to the spring of 1941. Just the worst days of the Blitz.’
‘Maybe she didn’t think there was any need for it after the bombing raids weren’t so bad?’
He shrugged. ‘I think she left the hospital around then, and I don’t know where she went after that. I can’t find her.’
‘But she definitely didn’t die?’
‘No, not in the war. At least there’s no record of her death.’
‘That’s good.’ I felt strangely pleased that Elsie had made it through the conflict unscathed. ‘Maybe she joined up? She could have gone to be a nurse in the Army or something.’
‘Maybe.’ Finn looked unconvinced.
‘What do you know about her?’
‘Just what was on her staff record from the hospital,’ Finn said. ‘Her parents were both dead by the time the war began, even though she was quite young to have lost her mother and father.’
‘Poor Elsie. Did she have any other family?’
‘A brother. But he was killed during the evacuation of Dunkirk.’
His casual words jabbed my heart. ‘Oh gosh,’ I muttered, taking a large mouthful of gin and swallowing it quickly, feeling the icy cold liquid swill down my throat. ‘Goodness. That must be why she was keen to collect people’s messages. Maybe she was thinking about the last thing she said to her brother?’
Finn nodded. ‘She might have had things that she had always wanted to tell him and didn’t get a chance.’
I swirled my finger in a pool of water left by my cold glass on the table. ‘That’s really sad.’
Finn was looking at me oddly. ‘Are you okay?’
I forced my gaze upwards and met his eyes, which were furrowed in concern.
‘My relationship with my brother is tricky,’ I said carefully. Then I sighed. ‘He’s in prison.’
Finn raised an eyebrow. ‘Okay.’
‘It was really messy, and it’s complicated to explain, but we had a huge argument and I said some horrible stuff. And then, for a little while, I thought he’d died. And then he went to jail and I felt a bit responsible.’ I swallowed. ‘I sort of know how Elsie felt.’
‘That’s a lot to deal with.’ Finn put his hand on mine and squeezed my fingers gently and quickly, then let go again. ‘I’m sorry to hear that.’
‘I know how important this is,’ I said, trying not to think about how cold my hand felt now he wasn’t touching me anymore. ‘I’ll do the grant application when I get home later. Strike while the ideas are hot.’
‘I always think it’s best just to do these things,’ Finn agreed. ‘Don’t overthink them. Write it down like you’ve told me all your ideas. Just let them all flow.’
‘Flow?’ I said. ‘Okay.’
‘Good for you.’
We looked at each other for a moment, and it was almost like the rest of The Vine vanished, until the doors opened, bringing in a burst of cold air and the five-a-side football teams who always came for nachos and beer after training.
‘God, I forgot that it’s Thursday,’ I said. ‘I need to go and help Tara.’
Finn drained his pint. ‘I have to head off anyway. But keep me posted on how you get on with the application, won’t you?’
‘Of course,’ I said.
I slid back out of the booth in a slightly ungainly fashion and went to help Tara pull ten pints of lager.
‘He’s cute,’ she said to me. ‘Really cute. And he likes you.’
‘Do you think?’ I glanced over to the door, where Finn was just leaving. He saw me looking and raised his hand in farewell.
‘Hell, yes.’ Tara nodded vigorously. ‘He’s all shy and blushing when you talk to him like a young Hugh Grant.’
I scoffed, putting another pint on to the bar for the thirsty footballers and picking up a clean glass. But I was secretly quite pleased. Because I liked Finn too.
*
When I got up the next morning, Micah was in my kitchen eating my cereal.
‘Why are you here?’ I said, looking bleary-eyed at the clock on the wall. ‘It’s school time.’
‘I’m going to an appointment.’ He held his spoon up to his face and studied the Cheerios floating there. ‘About my worries and stuff.’
‘Oh well done.’ I was pleased he was getting help.
Micah made a face. ‘Don’t want to go.’
‘Why not?’
‘It’s embarrassing, like.’
‘Just tell everyone you went to the dentist.’
‘Yeah.’ He looked at me, seeming very young suddenly. ‘But it’s scary too, innit?’
I reached around him and picked up the kettle. ‘Really scary. But most things are, I reckon.’
Micah grinned at me. ‘We’re a right pair of scaredy-cats.’
‘Totally.’ I filled up the kettle and turned it on. ‘What time’s your appointment?’
‘Half ten, but Mum says we have to leave at quarter to, even though it’s literally round the corner.’
I thought that perhaps his mum was scared about the appointment too. I didn’t know her very well – Micah was really the only one of the family that I had anything to do with – but she seemed nice enough. More engaged than my mother had ever been, at least. Though judging anyone’s parenting skills by my mum’s was a fairly low bar for them to jump.
‘So we have almost an hour,’ I said now. ‘Can you do something for me?’
‘Is it your phone again?’ Micah said with an exaggerated sigh. ‘Because I’ve told you how to download those apps so many times, Steve.’
‘Stevie,’ I said automatically. ‘And no. Why not try some art? I’ll do it too.’
Micah drank the milk left in the bottom of his cereal bowl and put it on the side. ‘What kind of art?’
‘Whatever you want. How about collage? You can tear some pictures out of magazines.’
He looked alarmed. ‘Like sexy pictures?’
‘No, urgh,’ I said. ‘Stop being such a teenage boy. Fancy it?’
‘No.’ He wandered over to the sofa and threw himself down. ‘Maybe.’
I’d raided the recycling pile at Tall Trees where the residents were still committed to reading printed editions of newspapers and magazines and now I put them all on the coffee table. ‘Here,’ I said. ‘Have a look. Think of it as a kind of creative meditation.’
‘Riiight.’
‘Do it for me,’ I said. I plonked a sheet of paper and some Pritt Stick down too. ‘You’re helping me.’
‘Fine.’ He smoothed out his sheet of paper and picked up the Sunday Times Magazine from the top of the pile.
For about forty minutes, we tore out pictures and stuck them down in companionable silence. My own collage was a mishmash of stuff. Pictures of drinks and elderly people and rainy streets – a glimpse into my life, really. But Micah’s was lovely. He’d gone with colours, starting with dark pictures at one end of the paper, fading into light at the other end.
‘This is amazing, Micah,’ I said, looking at it in awe. ‘Did you find it useful?’
He shrugged. ‘Bit.’ He stood up. ‘I should go. Mum will be doing her nut.’
‘Do you feel less worried about the appointment?’
‘Bit,’ he said again.
I stood up too. He towered over me in his gangly teenage boy way, and shrugged once more. But then he gave me an awkward hug. ‘Thanks, Steve.’
He headed for the door.
‘I’m proud of you,’ I called as he went down the stairs.
‘Shut up.’
Chuckling to myself I sat down again and picked up my laptop. I was going to write my grant application.