She paused again and watched as I froze.
‘I saw the way you looked at me in my room that day. Most men would have run for the hills, but you stayed. You had fallen in love with me because you thought you had found a kindred spirit. I knew then that, for whatever reason, you had done something awful but necessary to protect yourself. And there is nothing more awful than taking a life. You knew me.’
I considered telling her there and then about my past, but it was her moment, not mine.
‘What happened to your mother?’ I asked. ‘Is she still in Mexico?’
‘Yes,’ she smiled. ‘She’s downstairs. And her name is Lola Marcanio.’
‘Your mother is Madame Lola?’ I asked, taken aback.
She nodded. ‘I know what you’re thinking – how could she allow her daughter to keep working as a whore? Well, she has no choice! When we eventually saved enough money to buy out the previous madam, Mama tried to persuade me to give it up and help her manage the place instead. But it’s not what I wanted. I assist her with the bookkeeping but I continue to prostitute myself. Maybe I do it to spite my father; maybe I just like being in control of something when I grew up controlling nothing . . . I don’t know. But, right or wrong, I make my own choices and my own living, and this job is what I choose to do.’
Luciana stubbed her cigarette out in an ashtray and stared outside at the rooftops of the dimly lit town.
‘Why are you telling me this now?’ I asked.
‘Only our old housekeeper knew where we were and she didn’t tell a soul. I received a letter from her this morning informing me my father was dead. So now I’m ready to go home to Italy. And you are coming with me.’
CATHERINE
Northampton, twenty years earlier
22 October
The swirling ‘s’ in Nicholson gave away the name of its author before I opened the envelope.
I wondered why Simon’s stepmother Shirley had written to me after five years of mutual silence.
A white card lay inside with a photograph of Arthur attached. An added Post-it note read: I would really appreciate it if you all could come.
I gazed out of the window and into the garden. Arthur’s and my paths hadn’t crossed since I’d barged back into his life demanding to know who Kenneth Jagger was. And it had been a long time since I’d given either of them any thought.
And now I held an order of service for his funeral in my hand.
25 October
‘I’m convinced he died of a broken heart,’ Shirley admitted quietly after Arthur’s cremation. ‘Please don’t misunderstand me, I’m not blaming you. But after your visit, he was never the same again.’
The children, unamused at being dragged to the funeral of a grandparent they barely remembered, sat in the corner of Shirley’s living room huddled around a game on a mobile phone. Meanwhile, she’d ushered me into the kitchen, away from the small number of mourners.
‘He’s alive, isn’t he?’ she asked solemnly, looking me straight in the eye. ‘I mean Simon: he’s alive.’
I hesitated, reluctant to reopen a can of worms I’d struggled to keep a lid on. But secretly, I longed to tell someone. She poured herself a glass of wine and offered me one, but I shook my head.
‘A few days after you last saw Arthur,’ she continued, ‘he told me you’d been to the house to ask about Kenneth. Then he told me the story about Kenneth being Simon’s real dad. Well, I hadn’t had a clue but I could understand why he’d not said anything, because he loved Simon like he was his own. It hurt him having to rake it all up.’
‘I’m sorry, but I had no one else to ask,’ I replied, now wondering if I’d done the right thing in dragging up his painful past.
‘He knew you must have asked for a reason, so he contacted Roger for help in finding Kenneth. I think Arthur told him Kenneth was an old schoolfriend or some fib like that. To cut a long story short, Roger put Arthur in touch with the prison and they told Arthur what they’d told you – that after Simon went missing he’d turned up there.’
‘I haven’t said anything to the kids,’ I replied defensively. ‘I don’t think they should know.’
‘I wouldn’t have either,’ said Shirley firmly. ‘It would only cause more damage. I saw what it did to Arthur. He couldn’t understand what he’d done to make Doreen and his only child abandon him. Try as I might, I couldn’t convince him it wasn’t his fault. He did his best to put a brave face on it, but he became very depressed. He knew deep down Simon wouldn’t be coming home, and eventually his heart became too heavy for him. He just gave up.’
No matter what I’d thought of Arthur in the past, he’d always tried to do his best by his son, but it wasn’t enough.
‘Do you still not have any idea why he left?’
‘I don’t know, Shirley. I just don’t know.’
‘This is long overdue, but I’m sorry,’ she added, grasping both my hands. ‘On behalf of both of us, I’m sorry we didn’t give you the support we should have, and I’m sorry for the accusations. We were awful to you – and I, like Arthur, will go to my grave regretting that.’
‘Thank you,’ I replied. I knew she meant it. And now that I realised she and Arthur were two more of Simon’s casualties, all those years of bitterness between us began to drain away. I would not let him destroy anyone else.
Shirley smiled appreciatively, took her glass and made her way back into the living room.
‘Do you have any plans for Saturday night?’ I asked. She shook her head. ‘Come to ours around six for something to eat so you can meet your grandchildren properly.’
She gave a grateful nod, and a new chapter in our relationship began.
Northampton, today
5.50 p.m.
It began as a smirk, but it wasn’t long before she was unable to mask it, even by pretending to cough.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said, placing a hand over her mouth to stem a fit of giggles. He glared at her, spooked by her reaction. He’d witnessed a range of them throughout the day, but none that resembled amusement.
‘I don’t mean to be rude,’ she continued, ‘I really don’t. But how am I supposed to react when you tell me you fell in love with a prostitute?’
She removed a tissue from her sleeve and dabbed her eyes, still chuckling at the absurdity of it. She wouldn’t have believed it if someone had told her yesterday that her missing husband was about to reappear and explain how he’d been on a twenty-five-year, round-the-world jaunt. Oh, and along the way he’d murdered one of her best friends and given his heart to a whore, who, like him, had no qualms about killing people.
As her laughter faded, she wondered if she’d ever be able to completely get to grips with all he’d said and done. Every time she tried to get her head around a new revelation, along came another that dwarfed the last. She needed a moment to collect her thoughts, alone.