Nicci French: The Memory Game

‘You’re looking well, Claud,’ I said.

He was looking well, better than I’d ever seen him. He gave a slight nod, acknowledging the compliment. He reached into his trouser pocket and removed a crumpled cigarette packet and a grey metal lighter. He offered me a cigarette and I shook my head. He lit one for himself and drew deeply on it.

‘This is a stimulating environment,’ he said. ‘There are interesting ideas being developed here. In various respects, I think it’s an improvement on the Barlinnie model. And as for me personally…’ He gave a modest shrug. ‘It’s a remarkably healthy existence. But how are you?’

‘Have you heard about Alan?’

‘I don’t look at television or read the newspapers.’

‘He’s become a literary star again.’

‘How so?’

‘He’s written a prison memoir. It’s called A Hundred and Seventy-Seven Days. The publishers rushed it out this month. It’s been a sensation. The New Yorker devoted an entire issue to publishing it complete. The reviews compared it favourably to One Day in the Life of Ivan Denisovich. Alan told me that Anthony Hopkins is going to play him in the film version. I think Alan’s only uncertainty at the moment is whether he’s going to get the Nobel Prize for literature or for peace.’

Claud smiled. He tapped his cigarette and the ash fell on the floor by his right foot.

‘So you’re on speaking terms?’ he said.

‘Very much so. Alan took me in his arms and forgave me. I was very moved, even though it was in a TV studio on live television.’

‘What happened to your therapist?’

I shrugged.

‘How are the boys, Jane?’

‘Paul’s fine as well. He did a completely re-edited version of his film. It’s been sold all over the world. He’s at a television festival in Seoul as we speak.’

‘Good. I thought the original was rather superficial, myself.’

‘It must have seemed so to you, Claud.’

‘What about your hostel, Jane? Is it functioning?’

‘Not exactly, but we do have our third official opening date and we’ve got closer to it without it being cancelled than ever before. I’m hopeful.’

‘I’m glad to hear it, Jane. That’s a good sign. It’s a wonderful project. I’m happy for you.’

A pain was gathering strength behind my eyes.

‘And what about your own magnum opus ? I hear you’re writing a novel.’

Claud laughed. ‘Has Griff been blabbing about it? I know that one should never show people one’s work until it’s finished, but he wouldn’t be denied.’

‘What’s it about?’

‘I’m writing a sort of crime story, almost as an intellectual exercise. I must say that I’ve found it quite satisfying.’

‘What’s the plot?’

‘It’s about the murder of a teenage girl.’

‘Who kills her?’

‘That’s the interesting part. I’m trying to get away from the old hackneyed image of young girls as sweet, passive creatures. The murder victim is a manipulative adolescent, conscious of her awakening sexual powers. She is beautiful and charming, but she uses these qualities as tools to damage all those around her. She finds out their secrets and blackmails them.’

‘Is that why she’s killed?’

‘Not quite. She can’t resist using her physical attractions even on the men in her own family. Unknown to everybody else, she starts to lead her own eldest brother on.’

‘How does she do that?’

‘You know the sort of thing, a look here, a touch there, an air of complicity, moments of flirtatiousness. One of the things I’m trying to capture is the transition in a family from the stage where the relationships are innocent to the stage where similar behaviour becomes sexually charged, because the girl has become a sexual being and she is aware of the power she exercises.’

‘What happens?’

‘She gets more than she bargains for. She is leading him on, so he makes her go the whole way. He makes her see the logical result of her own behaviour. But this is the twist, you see. Even here, she uses her sexuality as a form of power over her brother, taunting him with it, humiliating him. What is meant to be her punishment becomes a pleasure to her.’

‘What happens?’

‘It’s one of those things that might have fizzled out, but she becomes pregnant.’

‘Couldn’t she have an abortion?’

‘That doesn’t arise between them. She threatens her brother with it. He receives a note from her saying that she will expose him to the family.’

‘You sound as if you’re on the murderer’s side.’

‘You always have to see every side of a story. It’s what makes us human, isn’t it, our imagination? That’s what you used to say, anyway.’

‘Do you think you will be able to persuade readers that a young girl deserves to be murdered by the brother who made her pregnant?’

Claud allowed himself a small smile and a shrug. ‘It’s an artistic challenge.’

‘How does he set about it?’

‘Yes, that’s interesting, isn’t it?’ Claud’s face was quite calm, reflective. ‘Easy to kill, difficult to avoid detection. The brother considers two contrasting methods. The first is to kill her openly, as if by accident in a quarrel. At worst the killer might receive a short prison sentence; if he’s lucky he might not even be charged. But it’s an unattractive solution. I needed to…’ Claud paused, suddenly at a loss. He stubbed his cigarette out on the sole of his shoe and lit another. ‘I want to create a character who kills his sister almost as a matter of decorum. Obviously she has provoked him, but she is also poisoning the entire family. She is a girl who ferrets out secrets and then uses those secrets. Families need their secrets, the little subterfuges that hold them together. This girl is going to destroy a good family, a fine family. Many people might agree that it is better to lose a girl than to lose an entire family.’

‘We don’t seem to be hearing much of the girl’s point of view in your story.’

‘Her point of view is perfectly clear: to follow her own immediate desires, whatever damage that does to anybody else.’

‘How does he actually carry out the murder?’

‘It’s quite straightforward. There is going to be a large summer party at the country house where the family live. People will be staying all over the place. A disappearance will not be noticed. The brother is organising the party and he has an inspiration. He arranges for a barbecue to be constructed at the last minute, and orders matters with the builders so that it is only half finished on the evening before the party. He summons his sister to a meeting late that night. She has been involved in a flirtation with a local boy and he suggests she tell her roommate that she is going to see this new flame. He strangles her and buries her at a relatively shallow depth in the site where the barbecue will be tiled and constructed the following morning.’

‘Wouldn’t the barbecue be an obvious place to look?’

‘The beauty of the plan is that there are various other factors at work. The novel is set in 1969. At that time, if a restless, difficult sixteen-year-old girl disappears, it will be assumed that she has run away. By the time grimmer possibilities are being considered, it is much later and in the chaos of the party it is difficult to establish exactly when she disappeared. But people have a vague impression that they saw her at the party. The brother has told various local artisans and some friends that the sister will be fulfilling various functions at the party. Of course, when the party begins she is already dead and buried. But the sister had a close friend of the same age. A sweet girl. They look alike, they dress alike. The friend isn’t much known in the locality because she lives in London. All that I needed – all that the story needs – is for one or two people to mistake one for the other at the party and the hiding place becomes not just very good but perfect.’