‘Roy, there is some more information I have for you. Sandy — her son, Bruno, yes?’
‘Bruno. Yes, Bruno,’ he said in a daze.
‘Sandy left a letter in her bedside cabinet. It was sealed, but on the front was written, “To be opened in the event of my death.”’
Grace said nothing. Kullen continued.
‘I just opened it. Inside is a laboratory DNA report on Bruno, confirming from DNA samples from him, yourself and from Sandy that you are the father. And there is a letter, written to you, in her handwriting. Do you want me to read it to you? Or I can scan it and email it to your private address.’
Upstairs, he heard Noah crying. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Please scan it and email it, and I’ll call you back later this morning.’
‘You will have it in a few minutes.’
Roy sat down bleakly at the kitchen table, staring at the tank, willing Marlon to suddenly start moving. But the fish remained motionless. He looked at his phone, waiting. Moments later, the email arrived from Kullen.
He opened the attachment and looked at the words, written in Sandy’s familiar handwriting. It was less neat than it used to be, but still clearly legible. Clearly hers.
Dearest Roy,
If you are reading this then you will know that I am gone. Where, eh? We used to talk about that, didn’t we? All those long discussions about whether we just faded to black, oblivion, or whatever. Guess I’ll find out now — or not.
I know you came to see me looking for answers, I’ll do my best here in this letter. I made a mess of things, that’s for sure, but I don’t blame you for anything, and I don’t want you blaming yourself. But your suddenly coming back into my life is too much. I’ve been happy, being anonymous. Now I’ve got a whole shitload of stuff dumped on me. All the people I’d have to tell — my parents, friends, authorities — I just can’t cope with this — the shame and the embarrassment. I don’t know how to start or where to go. I certainly didn’t want you back in my life, I can’t deal with it. I don’t really think I can face anything, it’s all too much. Like I’ve been living this past decade in some kind of a cocoon — some huge bubble — and suddenly the bubble’s burst. We all make choices in life, constantly, every day, and sometimes they are the right choices and sometimes the wrong ones. I did a bad thing in the way I left you, but back then I really didn’t want a future with a man married to his work. I didn’t want to be the third party in that triangle. I discovered I was pregnant and I had some fast decisions to make. Either I stayed, in which case I would have been trapped by this child into remaining with you — for a while, at least. Or I had an abortion. But I didn’t like that option, not after trying all those years to get pregnant, all the infertility treatments we endured. I was scared about my biological clock ticking — stupid, I know, because I was still young, but I was afraid that if I had an abortion, would I ever get a second chance? So the other option was that I leave, without you ever knowing I was expecting our child.
I don’t really understand what was going through my mind at that time. You know I had never been happy about the hours you worked. I think it was that day, your thirtieth birthday, when we had planned a lovely, romantic dinner together, and then I got your call that yet again you were on a case and would be late. Something snapped inside me, and I made my escape — I’d been planning the possibility for some time, sitting on the fence, wondering if I would have the courage to actually do it. Simple as that. I don’t expect you to forgive me. But I hope this, in particular, will help ease your pain rather than worsen it:
You need to know I wasn’t a saint, I wasn’t the good person you always believed I was. This may hurt to read, but you need to know that I wasn’t always faithful to you — I had some one-night stands. I’m not making any excuses — nor am I going to name names. I’ve been in a dark place for years. Since long before you and I ever met. I thought being with such a strong, stable man would help me, that you would be my rock. But it didn’t, not really. I hid things from you, like the medication I took for anxiety. You never knew that I was hooked on valium for quite a while — I managed to keep that from you. I kept a lot from you. I’m not a nice person, I never have been. I’m just a mess. My depression spirals. A guy I was going out with a few years ago got me into drugs and I spent two years, maybe longer, I don’t remember exactly, hooked on heroin. I tried to clean up as much for Bruno’s sake as anything. There’s so much I wanted to tell you — and ask you — when you came here last. I don’t know why I didn’t. I was so shocked to see you, my head was all over the place. I guess I knew then I couldn’t see any future. My face is going to be permanently scarred. I’ve got motor-control problems — the consultant neurosurgeon just told me that my head hit the road at a bad angle — the worst bloody angle it could have hit — all my grey matter is jumbled up inside the box that’s meant to protect it. But hey, I’m rambling.
I never wanted you back, but seeing you and Cleo — that was pretty hard. It drove it home that for me, you’re gone forever.
The thing is, Roy, I just see the future as a long, dark tunnel with no end. There’s no hope, no future. Especially now everyone knows the truth. I just can’t cope, I don’t want to go on. Many people could cope with that, but I’m not strong enough to.
There, you have it. You are well shot of me. But just one thing I ask you, and I know I don’t really have the right to ask you anything — but this is not his fault. So please, when I am gone, take care of our son, Bruno. He worries me; you’ll see what I mean. Don’t give him to my parents, they’d never cope and it would be hell for him. I’m leaving you plenty of money for him, to pay for his education and set him up in life. I’ve also left you DNA proof that you are his father. You won’t know this but I took some samples from our house when I visited Brighton last year.
I do still love you, even though it might not have seemed that way to you for all these years. Sorry, but this is really the end for me. I know I’m a coward, but then maybe I always have been.
123
Tuesday 17 March
‘Darling, I’m so late, I’ve got to fly.’ Cleo ran into the kitchen, then stopped. ‘Oh God,’ she said as she saw Grace sitting at the table with his face in his hands, then noticed the goldfish.
She walked across to the tank and peered in for some moments, frowning. ‘No!’ she said. ‘Marlon!’ She dipped her hand in the water and gently lifted the fish out, studying it intently. ‘Awwww, Marlon. You poor little thing.’
She shot a glance back at Roy, lowered Marlon back into the tank, rinsed her hand under the tap and dried it. ‘I’m so sorry.’ She walked over to Grace, stood behind him and put her arms round his shoulders, giving him a squeeze. ‘He lived to a pretty good age. He’s outlived a lot of goldfish by years, and he had a nice life.’
Grace nodded.
‘He won the jackpot having you as his dad!’
He gave a bleak smile. ‘Thanks.’ There was someone else who now had him as their dad. He needed to break the news to her, but now was not the moment as she was dashing off. He would do it later — and that would give him time to think. Time he very badly needed. He needed to compose himself and sort this mess out.