for almost ten years. I’ve moved house twice. But still they find me.’
‘That’s scary.’
‘Yes it is.’
Connie had stopped glowing. When she’d come in she’d been glowing. But not now. She looked tired. Washed out.
‘The point is,’ she said, ‘my father saw fit to leave Ronny a bequest in his will. Money, basically. A nice amount.’
‘A nice amount.’ Nathan parroted, aimlessly.
Connie’s eyes tightened. ‘Do you want to know how he died?’
She was suddenly vengeful, like she needed to prove something. Her tragedic legitimacy, her righteousness. Nathan said nothing.
‘He was waiting on the platform at Gravesend station for my mother. She’d been to Cheltenham races for the day with her lover. He was standing too close to the edge. Someone opened their carriage door before the train had slowed down. It hit him like a hammer. It killed him.’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘We were very close.’
Connie rubbed her hands together, like her fingers were cold or her knuckles stiff.
‘But not close enough …’ she faltered. ‘I wasn’t close enough to know anything about Ronny. Nor did my mother for that matter. And it actually felt kind of creepy. Especially when we found out that he was in prison, and then, shortly after, that he’d absconded. It felt sort of …’
Her eyes scanned the carpet near her feet, as though she might see the word she sought enmeshed in its fibres. Instead she saw only an empty wine glass, an ashtray, a tea stain and, poking out from under the sofa, a slip of paper. She focused on this as she completed her sentence. ‘It felt almost threatening.’
For the first time during the interview Nathan felt pity for the girl. He imagined that before this trouble her life had been smooth and shiny as new Tupperware. It was no wonder she was shaken. He cleared his throat. ‘If I were you I’d forget about the money. Ronny was never particularly materialistic.’
Connie remained unmollified. ‘Unfortunately it’s a legal matter, not a private one. A large portion of the money Dad bequeathed was tied up in my practice, which has left me in a slightly tricky position …’
Nathan could see how this might be the case. ‘As a kid Ronny always broke things,’ he said, appearing to marvel in the memory of it. ‘I mean, he never grew attached to anything. He had no interest in money.’
‘He broke things?’ Connie’s voice was an echo, she wasn’t listening, she was trying to figure out what the slip of paper said. She saw an R and an O, an N and an N.
For some reason Nathan felt a touch of anxiety. ‘Not aggressively. It was never an aggressive act. Nothing like that.’
‘Actually, I’d really like you to see something.’
Connie put her hand into a leather satchel she’d been carrying and withdrew a bundle of letters. She removed a ribbon that tied them together. She offered them to Nathan.
‘What are they?’ He stared at them fearfully, as if they might spit or bite or combust. As though they stank.
‘Ronny’s letters.’
‘I already said that I have no interest in Ronny’s letters.’
Yet for an instant Connie appeared not to understand him and leaned forward further, proffering the letters until, as seemed inevitable, they slipped from her grasp and cascaded down on to the carpet, forming a small paper puddle at her feet. She swore and knelt down to gather them up again.
Nathan felt a curious sensation of déjà vu. He didn’t move. He remained seated. He wanted nothing to do with these papers. They contained more secrets, more facts, and he’d had enough of secrets and facts in the past. A gutful. Connie picked up the letters and then surreptitiously included among their number the tantalizing slip of paper. She glanced over at him as she did so. Nathan seemed in another world. He was unfocused. He didn’t appear to notice. She stuffed the letters back into her bag and then smiled, the very image of angel-innocence.
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