‘Oh,’ I said in a small voice. ‘Of course. I’d almost forgotten.’
Jerome looked sympathetic. ‘I imagine you’d want to,’ he said. ‘But you were so young. It must have been hell. Is that why you came to King Henry’s? Because that’s where he disappeared?’
I shook my head. ‘I don’t know. I wanted to remember.’
‘And did you?’ I thought his voice trembled a little.
I might have misjudged him, I thought. That self-assurance was a façade. What I had said had touched him. He was trying to be kind.
‘Little things,’ I told him. ‘Little things that don’t make much sense. Of course I was hoping for more. But I’m broken. I’ll always be broken.’
It was an extraordinary thing for me to say to a stranger. On the other hand, maybe it was because he was a stranger that I’d dared to say it so plainly. I would never have said such a thing to Dominic. Dominic would have cared too much. Dominic would have used it in his ever-growing armoury.
‘I’m sorry,’ I said. ‘I shouldn’t be unloading my private life on you. But I’ve had a horrible day so far, and I can’t tell my partner about it, and everything feels like it’s falling down, and now today, my parents –’
And I told him about my visit to my parents, and the letter from ‘Conrad’ they’d received; the final blow to my self-esteem in a series of attacks.
‘I thought all that would be over by now,’ I said, and sipped at my second drink (he’d placed it quietly by my side, and it was far stronger than the first). ‘I thought that, after all these years, at least people might leave us alone.’
Jerome took my hand. There was a crease between his eyes that made him look almost close to tears. ‘You shouldn’t say that, Rebecca,’ he said. ‘I can tell you’re incredibly strong. Danny Higgs said –’ He broke it off, looking suddenly mortified. ‘Well, never mind. Danny Higgs is an idiot, and he doesn’t know what he’s talking about.’
I looked at him. ‘You can tell me,’ I said. ‘Go on. What did Higgs call me?’
Jerome cleared his throat and lowered his voice even further. ‘He said you were a stone-cold bitch. I’m sorry. But you wanted to know.’
I had to laugh. It was the first time I’d really laughed in days. I laughed until my eyes watered, then finished my vodka and Coke in a shot. ‘Praise, from the cut-price Magnum man,’ I said, with another peal of slightly hysterical laughter.
Jerome looked around in a hunted way. Several people were staring at us. The Thirsty Scholar was not the kind of place where women laughed aloud. I noticed that Eric Scoones and his friend had gone at some point during our conversation, and felt a little better.
I said: ‘I’m sorry. Really. I shouldn’t laugh. But I’ve tried so hard to fit in at King Henry’s, and this is by far the best compliment I’ve heard from anyone at the place –’ I broke off, laughing helplessly.
Jerome sighed. ‘It must be tough. King Henry’s isn’t what you’d call an inclusive environment. But they’re not really such a bad crowd. Sinclair’s a stiff old bugger, but I remember him being a decent sort when I was a boy. And Higgs – that’s just banter. Locker room talk. Maybe –’ He paused. ‘Now here’s a thought. Maybe I can help you. It must be so hard to concentrate on trying to remember the past, as well as doing a new job, and dealing with the less civilized elements of the Department.’
I laughed again. ‘You could say that.’
‘So maybe – if we went there alone, some time after the end of term – we could visit the school together. Just walk down the corridors and into the hall, and the chapel and the refectory; see if anything you see or hear sparks off a buried memory?’
I was starting to like the man. And yes, it was a good idea. ‘You’d do that?’ I said.
‘Of course. If it helps.’
I nodded. ‘Yes, I think it might.’
‘Good,’ he said. ‘Then we have a date. I’ll have a word with the Porter. Shall we say – next Saturday? At ten?’
For a moment I held his gaze. ‘You did know Conrad, didn’t you?’
He looked at me and nodded.
‘Why didn’t you tell me you were friends?’
He looked away. ‘I’m sorry. I know. I should have told you sooner. But Conrad –’ He paused, and I thought I saw a shadow flicker over his face. ‘Conrad wasn’t exactly a friend. I’m not sure Conrad had friends.’
‘What do you mean?’ I said.
He shrugged. ‘Conrad was – difficult. Vengeful. You never knew what he was thinking. He had a way of hiding a grudge and taking it out on you later.’
‘Oh. Really?’ I was surprised. A lifetime of stories about Conrad – his goodness, his popularity – meant that I’d never considered that he might have been anything different. And the thought that my brother could have been – what was it? Difficult. Vengeful – filled me with a kind of guilt. How could I believe such a thing? Conrad was my brother. After all, he’d been looking after me the day he’d disappeared – you might even say that if it wasn’t for me, he might not have disappeared at all.
How much do you love me, Becks? How much?
This much!
‘I’m sorry,’ said Jerome again. ‘I shouldn’t have said that. Don’t be upset.’
‘I’m not upset.’ I was aware that my face was flushed, and that my heart was racing. ‘I don’t remember much about my brother, really. Thank you for your help. In fact, I’d like to hear more about him. It might help recover my memories.’
He nodded. ‘All right. See you Saturday?’
I smiled. ‘Saturday it is.’
7
July 9th, 1989
I awoke the next morning from a dream of falling to the sounds of activity downstairs. Dominic was already up – unusual for a Sunday – and the scent of roasted coffee filtered through the half-open door. I sat up in bed and checked the time. It was only 9.30.
I was about to get up to see what was happening in the kitchen, when Emily came dancing in, closely followed by Dominic, carrying a breakfast tray. ‘Happy birthday, Mummy!’ she said. ‘Dom and I made French toast!’
‘French toast, orange juice, freshly ground coffee,’ said Dom. ‘And after that, a birthday surprise, because we have some catching up to do.’
He placed the tray by the bedside and kissed me on the top of the head. ‘Happy birthday, Becks.’
I was too surprised to react. He knew I didn’t celebrate birthdays. It had been hard for him to grasp – his sister Victoria had turned forty in January, and the celebrations had spanned a whole week, including a weekend in Paris, and a family party that I’d had to miss due to a bout of stomach flu. Dominic had always believed my illness was psychological. He himself loved parties, and felt that if only I could bring myself to put aside my anxiety, then I would be halfway to being cured of all my childhood trauma.
‘Thank you, Dom,’ I said at last. ‘I didn’t expect any of this.’