Majorca Flats -- 210

Jace-babe, what's all this about sloping off to Oz like this, all secretive? I managed to worm it out of gran when she thought she was getting info from me.

You know you can do what you want, Jacie-Dacie, but you could have told me you were just going to light out. I had conniptions when you weren't there when I got home from work. Mum has been nagging the living soulcase out of me to find out where you are, asking me twenty times a day where you've gone to and I've been answering as vaguely as possible but she can nag as you know. Full of grumbles and complaints, as if she were the one who'd lost something. She went on and on about how if you'd only found a nice girlfriend “from our class” “this would never have happened.” I could have struck her and in the end I said “Well it has happened and he's your son and don't you think it's time you started loving him?” So now we aren't speaking.

Jace, I'm so sorry about Brent. I did tell you before, but I don't know whether you were listening, you were so sad. So I'm telling you again. You know he and I got on, don't you? I think he was a bit intimidated by me at first but I watched how he watched you and he was besotted. He adored you, Jace. So of course, after I saw that, how could I not like him? I miss him as much as I miss you. I keep on thinking of afternoons when the three of us would do stuff together. I miss his sense of humour, the sly way he'd look at me when he was about to say something ridiculous or outrageous. Curse it, I'm crying now.

I'm not helping, am I? I just wish things had turned out differently. But don't reject me along with the rest of the family. I know Mark was tepid about Brent and your gayness and mum was simply horrid but truly I was on your side and I still am.

Do write, Jacie-Dacie. I miss you more than I can say.

Your loving sister

Amanda

P.S. They always end letters like that in those soppy books you used to read but you know I don't know anyone who really ends letters like that. So I'll end properly:

Heaps of love, Jacie-Dacie, you sodding rascal

Gups.

P.P.S. Write back soon or I'll kill you.

P.P.P.S. Worse, I'll give mum your email address and tell her where you are.

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