‘You could even write a piece—’
‘No.’
‘Or we could arrange an interview, with someone great—’
‘No.’ The word cracks. But I’ve had enough.
I amdonewith my personal life being treated like a commodity.
‘All right,’ says Blake, with a put-upon sigh. ‘If you’re not comfortable with it, then of course we’ll keep it under wraps. But you still should have told me.’
‘I thought you’d try to use it.’
‘You’ve asked me not to.’
‘I still thought you’d do it.’
‘God –’ he gives me, then the others, an appalled frown – ‘what kind of monster do you all think I am?’
Monstrously, he insists we walk the nearly three miles to the pub, even Emma. It will look more spontaneous, he says, than us turfing up in a car. He does, however, agree to send a driver to fetch us after our lunch.
‘No later than half one,’ I tell him.
‘Why the hard stop?’ he asks. ‘Have you got something on?’
‘Nothing you need to know about,’ I say, which it isn’t.
I’ve given my word to Roger Westin, the head of Tim Hobbs’s nursing home, that I won’t risk anyone from the press getting wind of my appointment to visit Tim this afternoon.
But Tim has agreed to it.
Apparently, hewantsto meet me.
‘He’s a huge fan,’ said Roger, when we spoke on the phone, back on Monday.
It was Imogen who gave me his number. I could easily have found it online, but I didn’t want to approach him behind her back. She’s been so open with me, it would have felt wrong, keeping this from her. And, to my relief, when I told her how desperate I’ve become to get to the bottom of what really happened the nightMabel’s Furydisappeared, she wasn’t remotely put out.
‘I wish you better luck than me,’ she said. ‘Just don’t expect too much of Tim. It’s been a while since I last saw him, but like I’ve said, even then, his memories had grown very confused.’
‘He does have a favour to ask,’ Roger told me, on the phone. ‘He’d like you to bring Felix and Nick with you, if you can. He’s intrigued to shake the hands of the men who’ll be immortalizing him and Robbie.’
‘Of course,’ I said, since how could I have turned down a request like that?
They were both pretty pumped, when I invited them along. And, actually, I’m glad that they’re coming. I’m glad Nick is. I don’t want this to be another secret between us. I’ve been letting far too many of those build up.
Plus, with everything else going on, I couldn’t bear to leave him alone again. Not like I did yesterday.
Idon’t want to be alone.
But I am getting fairly keyed up myself about seeing Tim.
Don’t expect too much,Imogen told me.
I’m not expecting anything.
Yes, as I set off with Nick, Emma, and Felix for Heaton – the four of us wrapped up against the frozen weather in coats, scarves and hats – I think about Tim, waiting in his home, and feel a surge of anticipation.
Because he knew Robbie and Iris. He was a child withthem. He fought with them. Helivedwith them. He talked and laughed and, almost certainly, loved with them. He used to look them in the eye, every single day, and now I’m going to look into his, and perhaps,maybe, discover something new.
