S. Watson: Second Life

‘What is it?’

‘It’s just some personal stuff of Kate’s. I thought you should have it.’

So this is what’s left of my sister. This is what I’ve come to take home. Back to her son.

I’m nervous, as if the tin might contain a trap, a rat or a poisonous spider.

I take off the lid. The box is full of notebooks, photos, paperwork. Her passport is on the top and I open it to her photograph. It’s recent, one I haven’t seen before. Her hair is shorter and I can see she’d lost weight. She looks almost like someone else.

I look at the expiry date. It’s valid for eight more years. Eight years she’ll never need. I snap it shut and put it back, then close the box.

‘I’ll look at the rest later,’ I say. I realize I’ve begun to cry, for the first time since she died. I’m exposed, raw. It’s as if I’ve been slit open like one of Hugh’s patients, neck to groin. I am flayed, my heart a jagged slash.

I put the box down. I want to get away, to find somewhere quiet and warm where I can stay for ever and not have to think about anything at all.

But isn’t this what I came for? To mine the memory of my sister, to make sure there is a tiny part of her that survives for Connor? To feel something, to say sorry, to say goodbye?

Yes, I think. That’s why I’m here. I’m doing the right thing.

So why do I hate myself?

‘It’s okay,’ says Anna. ‘You go ahead and cry. It’s okay.’

We take a cab to the restaurant. We’re shown to our table, outside on the pavement. White tablecloth, held down with plastic clips, a basket of bread. The evening is warm and pleasant, the air still, loaded with promise.

We chat. Once I recovered we told ourselves we must spend the evening celebrating Kate’s life as well as mourning her death. We laugh, there’s an ease between us; Anna even takes out her phone and takes a snap of the two of us with the river in the background. She tells me she likes this area of the city and wants to live here, one day. ‘It’s very central,’ she says. ‘By the river…’ She orders a carafe of wine. As the waiter begins to pour I put my hand over the top of my glass and shake my head.

‘You’re not drinking?’

‘No,’ I say. I think of the excuses I’ve made in the past – I’m on antibiotics, I’m dieting, or driving – but then the inevitable happens. Other excuses begin to crowd in, the ones that tell me why this time, this one time, I can take a sip. It’s been a difficult day, I’m stressed, it’s been fifteen years and it won’t do any harm.

My sister has been killed.

‘I’m fine.’

I think back to what I’ve learned. I can’t avoid the temptation to drink, I have to recognize the urge. I have to know that it’s normal, and temporary. I have to challenge it, or ride it out.

‘To be honest, I don’t drink. I haven’t for a while.’ Anna nods and sips her wine while I ask for some sparkling water. She looks interested but asks no questions, and I’m relieved. When she puts her glass down I see that she’s distracted, restless. She shifts in her seat, rearranges her napkin.

‘I wanted to talk to you about something.’

‘Go on.’

She hesitates. I wonder what she’s going to say. I know the police have interviewed her extensively; the bar Kate was in that evening is one she goes to. I brace myself for a revelation.

‘It’s about the money…’

I smile. Kate’s will must have surprised her, and Hugh warned me she’d probably mention it.

‘The money Kate left to you?’

‘Yes. It was a shock…’ She picks off some bread. ‘I really wasn’t expecting it. To be honest, I had no idea she had any money to leave, let alone that she’d leave some of it to me… And I didn’t ask her for it. I do want you to know that.’

I nod. I remember it’d been Hugh who had persuaded Kate to write a will in the first place, and we’d both been relieved when she’d later changed it to include Anna. It meant she had friends, she was putting down roots.

‘I know. It’s okay.’

‘Were you surprised? That she left money to me?’

‘No. It makes sense. You were her best friend. Kate was a generous person. She must have wanted you to have it.’

She looks relieved. I wonder whether it’s because of the money, or the fact that this conversation isn’t proving as awkward as she’d feared.

‘Where did it come from?’

‘Our father. He died a couple of years ago and left his money to Kate. Just what was in the bank, plus the proceeds from the sale of his house. It came to a lot more than anyone expected.’

A lot more, I think. Almost a million pounds. But I don’t say it.

‘Did he leave some to you?’

I shake my head. ‘He thought I didn’t need it, I guess.’

Or maybe it was guilt. He knew he’d neglected his younger daughter. He was trying to make it up to her.

Anna sighs.

‘Oh, it’s okay,’ I say quickly. ‘Hugh has money in the family and Kate was struggling.’

‘But she didn’t spend it.’

‘No. Hugh suggested she put some of it away, save it for a rainy day. But neither of us thought she would actually listen to him.’

‘I would happily give my share to you. If you want?’

She’s being serious. I put my hand on her arm. ‘Absolutely not. Besides, she left the rest to Connor. It came to quite a lot.’ A lot more than she left to you, I think, though again I don’t say it. ‘I’m his trustee, though I’m not giving it to him until I’m sure he won’t spend it all on computer games and new trainers.’

She says nothing. She looks unconvinced.

‘Kate clearly wanted you to have that money. Enjoy it…’

Her face breaks into a smile of relief. She thanks me, and a moment later the waiter comes over and for a minute we’re lost in the choosing and ordering of our food. Once he’s retreated, there’s silence. The sun pours its golden light over the river. People stroll, arm in arm. The veil of my grief lifts, briefly, and I glimpse peace. I feel myself almost capable of relaxing.

‘This is so lovely,’ I say. ‘I can see why Kate came to Paris.’

Anna smiles. I think how things might’ve been, if my sister and I had somehow managed to reconcile our differences and found a way back to the closeness we’d shared until the last few years. Perhaps then I could’ve visited them both. It might’ve been the three of us sitting here, chatting, gossiping, having fun. Were we really that different, Kate and I?

I turn to Anna. For the first time I feel able to ask her. ‘I wish I knew what happened,’ I say quietly. ‘That night…’

She sips her wine then pours herself more.

‘Normally we’d have gone out together,’ she says. Something in her tone makes me think I’m not the only one who feels guilty. ‘But I was busy that day. She was on her own.’

I sigh. I don’t want to imagine it.

‘Is it a bad area? Where she was found?’

‘No. Not particularly.’

‘What happened, Anna?’

‘What’ve the police said? Do you talk to them?’

‘Yes. Not as much as Hugh. The Foreign Office said they’d prefer to liaise with just one of us. It keeps it simple, I suppose, and he volunteered. But I speak to them, too.’

‘And you discuss what they say?’

‘Oh, he tells me everything. But none of it’s very helpful.’

‘Really?’

‘No. It’s all dead ends. There’s no motive. They said they’d talked to her friends, but—’

‘But none of us knew anything…’

‘No. So they just keep drawing blanks. The only thing they’re puzzled about is her earring.’

I close my eyes. This is hard. I can’t help but visualize my sister’s body. She was found wearing one earring. It looked as though the other had been torn off.