“We’d like to check your locker. Can you tell us which one and how to get in. Is it a combination?” Warren asks.
I tell them the position and locker number. “It’s a key lock, not a combination,” I add. “Of s**t! The key was in my chinos, and I don’t know what happened to them. All my stuff is in there and I don’t know how I’ll be able to access it.”
“Don’t worry about that. We’re trying to find your clothes from last night. Even if we don’t recover the key, we’ll still be able to get in to recover your belongings.”
I draw in my breath. It hadn’t occurred to me until now. So much of my life is tied up in a few paltry belongings, and most of them are in my locker. Gran bought me the laptop as a reward for passing my exams and being accepted to study medicine. She’s retired now, struggling
