His mother would have been shocked to see the filth her eldest son had ended his days in. Unwashed pots filled the kitchen sink, a pedal bin overflowed with rubbish, the odour of rotting food filling the room. Joe understood that the police had been working at the flat as a crime scene, but this was more than a couple of weeks’ worth of neglect.
Sickened by his surroundings, Joe decided to walk to the cash point and fill his lungs with fresh air before facing the task of looking through his brother’s meagre possessions.
Two hours later, Joe was more than ready to leave. The police had initially taken David’s suitcase away but it had been returned to the flat and seeing it in the hallway, Joe felt a cursory look inside was necessary. It certainly wasn’t packed neatly, either David packed in a hurry or the police had found nothing of interest and didn’t bother to leave the contents in any kind of order.
It contained everything necessary for several days, or even weeks away, but the item that surprised Joe the most was a letter addressed to him, already stamped and ready to post. It had been hidden deep in a side pocket, which may have been why the police hadn’t taken it as evidence. He took the letter over to the window where he perched, wearily, on the arm of a chair and opened it with apprehension. It was in his brother’s handwriting, still familiar to Joe from their shared childhood and still able to tug at his emotions. Tears blurred his vision as he unfolded the paper and began to read.
My Dear Joe
I am consumed with guilt and I have no expectations of your forgiveness, or compassion, but I’m going away and I wanted to try to make you understand how I reached such deplorable depths.
We were never close as boys and with hindsight I now know that it was my fault and I allowed jealousy to make me such an awful brother. Sadly, we can never go back and live our past again any more than we can predict our future, but I’m going to try for a new start. When I’m settled and back on my feet, I’ll get in touch, but for the moment I don’t want you to know where I’m going, so you won’t think I’m asking for charity.
It would be easy to pass all the blame on to Pamela for what happened but at the end of the day it was me driving the car and I have to take responsibility for that. You never really knew my wife, and I’m hoping that knowing some of my struggles with her will help you to understand why I behaved so badly. Life wasn’t always unkind to us and our marriage was punctuated with fluctuating fortunes. For several years, we lived in comfort in an exclusive apartment with a sea view in Bournemouth. I held down a reasonably good job as a sales rep, with generous commission topping up my salary, a company car and other perks which we enjoyed, yet took for granted.
When the economy slowed and the company began to squeeze employees to produce more sales for less reward, I stood my ground, demanding to have my salary reinstated; such was my inflated opinion of my worth. Pam encouraged me in this but my insistence only resulted in being fired on the spot. I’d stupidly played into their hands, idiot that I am. Pam sympathised for a while, massaging my wounded ego, until the weeks turned into months and no new job was forthcoming. She then began to nag, grumbling about the lack of money for the luxuries she’d come to expect in life and goading me for being an inadequate provider. When she eventually found out that I’d stopped paying the rent on the apartment and gambled away our meagre savings, she took control of the finances and we were forced to leave the expensive area of Bournemouth and move to Eastleigh.
The move was imperative due to the increasingly frequent visits by heavies from the loan company I’d unwisely borrowed from, and the fact that the landlord was threatening eviction for non-payment of rent. It was what our mother would have called a ‘moonlight flit’ and in reality our new address was in fact a hiding place. The living conditions were far from desirable, but they were safe, even though we’d been unable to bring with us anything which did not fit into the car. We were living in a rented shoebox of a flat, with windows which didn’t close properly, damp in all the rooms and yellowing wallpaper. The close proximity of the railway lines ensured our sleep was regularly broken, and our relationship was becoming strained. We constantly snapped at each other over the slightest little thing.
We convinced ourselves this was just a temporary blip in our circumstances and things would improve soon, as they had in the past, but we were wrong. After three years of living hand to mouth, we were both angry at the world for the way we perceived we’d been treated, yet neither of us was prepared to take any kind of job which we considered beneath us as a way to alleviate our circumstances. Instead, I’m ashamed to say that I feigned a back injury in order to claim benefits and Pam took to shoplifting to provide her with the luxuries she coveted and which she convinced herself were necessary for her happiness. Still it was not enough and we were forever looking for the golden opportunity which we felt one day would come our way.
Oh Joe, how low we had sunk, love and respect for each other had long disappeared and I was beginning to loath Pam almost as much as I loathed myself.
When we received your letter telling us that Alison had died in an accident, I was devastated for you but then Pam began to work on me. She thought this could be our chance to improve our lot in life. She convinced me that you would be compensated from the accident and would probably gain from Alison’s life insurance. Pam’s permanently sour expression lifted and her features became quite animated as she snatched the letter from me to read for herself. Sadly, that was probably the moment the ‘plan’ began to form, and that’s when we decided to attend the funeral.
After that debacle I felt such shame at how crass and insensitive we’d been but Pam was fuelled with anger and couldn’t settle, determined to come out on top, at any cost. It was just silly talk at first, drunken ramblings, I didn’t think she was seriously considering murder. However, Pam persuaded me to go along with it, not simply with her talk of your money and home but with her usual goading and belittling me. I should never have listened to her but I was so low and rose to her challenges to ‘be a man for once’, and so I did it, or so I thought.
Driving back to Eastleigh, I felt a sense of complete self-disgust and deep regret at what I’d just done. I had murdered my only brother.
Things happened swiftly after that and my hatred of Pam was building inside, a cancer eating into me. The only relief I found was when we came back to Greater Manchester and discovered that you were alive. Conflicting emotions battled inside of me but the primary one was of relief. That’s what’s given me the hope that I might be able to turn my life around, so I’m leaving Pam, on the quiet of course. She would never willingly let me go. I’m just waiting for my opportunity, when she’ll be out of the house for long enough to allow for my escape.
And so, Joe, I don’t know what you’ll think of this letter, an excuse, an explanation or just the ramblings of a bloody fool? Whatever you think, I hope that someday we will meet again and begin to heal our traumatised souls together. But whatever happens, I am so, so sorry.
Your penitent brother,