‘Nope.’
‘So do you – do you know why?’ said Zander, eventually.
‘No,’ said Ana. ‘No – it doesn’t really make any sense.’
‘I do,’ he said, his head dropping slightly into his chest.
Flint and Ana glanced at each other.
‘What?’
‘I know.’
‘You know?’ said Ana.
‘Uh-huh.’ He nodded his head, heavily. ‘I know exactly why she did it.’
‘Why?’ demanded Flint.
‘Why what? Why do I know or why did she do it?’
‘Both, for God’s sake,’ hissed Flint. ‘Both.’
Zander sighed and let his head fall on to his fist. ‘Comeupstairs with me,’ he said, ‘come up to my room. I’ll explain everything up there.’
‘Here,’ said Zander, wheeling himself away from his desk and clutching a thick wodge of purple paper, ‘this was from Bee. She posted it to me with my birthday gift. Quite inappropriate I think you’ll agree after you’ve read it.’ He passed the purple paper to Ana. ‘She sent me this, too.’ He handed a sheet of white paper to Flint. It was a will, signed by Bee and witnessed by a Miss Taka Yukomo.
‘Who the hell is Taka Yukomo?’ said Flint.
Ana shrugged. ‘I have no idea.’
‘Sushi,’ said Flint, clicking his fingers, ‘the coroner’s report said she ate sushi during her last hours. She must have taken the will down to the restaurant with her that night. Got a waitress to witness it for her. Posted it that night.’
‘Yes,’ said Ana, ‘and Amy said she went out that night, at about nine o’clock. She must have decided to go out for one last meal. On her own …’ She petered off as she felt tears threatening. What an absolutely tragic thought.
‘Your mother’s not going to like this, Ana.’
‘What?’ Ana looked over Flint’s shoulder.
According to Bee’s will, everything was going to Zander.
The cottage. The money in her bank accounts. Her royalty payments. Her books and CDs. The £7,000 hidden under her bed in a cigar box.
‘But I visited her solicitor,’ said Ana, scanning the page, ‘he said she hadn’t made a will. That he’d advised her to and she refused. I mean – does this actually have any legal standing without a copy being lodged with her solicitor?’
Flint and Zander shrugged. ‘I wouldn’t worry about that right now, anyway,’ said Zander. ‘Read that letter first. Read that letter and then try making sense of things. It’s quite rambling – incoherent. A bit of a stream of consciousness, you might say …’
Ana perched herself on the edge of Zander’s bed and began reading.
28 July 2000
My dearest Zander,
I went to the shops on Tuesday, looking for a birthday present for you. I went into Hampstead. It was a beautiful day. I had lunch at a French café and sat outside on the pavement. I had a bowl of Vichyssoise. It was freshly made. It was delicious. With it I had an iced coffee, served in a glass mug with whipped cream on top. After lunch I went to Gap and bought you the enclosed clothes. I hope you like them. And then I just wandered around for a while, soaking up the sun, people-watching, window-shopping. I bought myself a pair of shoes from piedàTerre and a dress from Ronit Zilkha.
You’re probably wondering why I’m telling you this. Well – there is a reason. It’s because now, from the perspective of today, I can see that Tuesday was a turning point in my life. And that wandering around Hampstead High Street that afternoon was the end of an era for me. And if I’d known it at the time, maybe I’d have appreciated it more.
Because – and I don’t really expect you to understand this–you may have the intellect and bearing of a man of thirty but you still have the emotional capacity of any sixteen-year-old boy – because about ten minutes after I bought my shoes, I saw Ed. I saw Ed and Tina, and they had their three babies with them. Three tiny new babies in a huge buggy. Tina was adjusting the parasol on their pram and Ed was holding all the baby stuff. And then Edleaned down into the pram and I saw him smile, a smile of complete and utter adoration. And then they carried on walking and everywhere they went, people smiled at them, complete strangers smiled at them, because they had three perfect, identical babies and the two of them looked so proud and complete.