“I mean…” Mum looked confused for a second. Then shedecided. “No. It’ll confuse things if we start thinking like that. Champ is still Furbs’s little brother, but…even more so, because they’re actual blood relatives as well as furry Lambert brothers.”
By now, knowing my foolish, foolish dad as you do, you can probably guess what he said next: “Sal, they’re not brothers at all, I’m afraid.” He leaned down, stroked Champ (“Trying to tempt him over to your side, against me,” Mum said tearfully later), and said, “How about that, Champy? Our last dog was your great-uncle Furbert.”
Okay, listen. Talking about family relationships and the importance of names is making me a bit emotional. I can’t do it anymore, can’t keep the name of the unmentioned person I love to myself any longer, not when I’m constantly going on about all the other people I love.
Besides, I’ve already mentioned her name. And I’m going to state it once more now, in full this time. She’s called Rhiannon Madeleine Lambert, and she’s my sister.
23
Connor
Hello, Large. It’s me: Detective Connor Chantree. First of all, I apologize for not warning you that you would meet me inside this book I’ve given you to read. I thought if I told you that, I’d put you off by making it sound too complicated. But give me a chance and I’ll explain.
When I opened the damp box that contained all the pages, I knew I’d have to work out the right way to arrange them if I wanted them to make sense. I was mainly successful in my attempt, but there were quite a few pages that I couldn’t get to fit anywhere, no matter how hard I tried. Everything you’ve read so far, I had no problem putting together. And there’s more to come that was equally easy to put in the clear right order too. But there was also a lot that I couldn’t get to fit anywhere, though I’ve done my best to make some guesses about those bits, in case that helps. Those are the sections I’m going to share with you now.
You’re probably thinking, “Why include them at all if they can’t be fit into the proper sequence of events?” I agonized over this and decided to compromise. So, I’ve left out the completely incoherent fragments and the ones that seem to have no relevance at all to anything as far as I can see, but I’ve included a few odds and ends that felt too weighty to leave out. If a murder was committed (I know you think that can’t possibly have happened, and so do I with the rational bit of my brain), then we have to ask ourselves: Who among all these people seems most likely to turn murderous? Do these bits I’m about to share with you give us valuable insights into several of our key players’ ways of looking at life? I’d say yes—or else they in some way lay the groundwork for what happens next, once we get back to the properly organized story, which will happen immediately after this chapter of assorted passages.
So, there are three separate headings, I guess you’d call them. As follows:
The Gardenia Incident
Resemblances
The poem on the bedroom wall at Corinne Sullivan’s Lake District house—the one Sally Lambert read that wasn’t by Corinne’s granddaughter.
I’ll start with the poem, as it’s the shortest. It was crushed into a damp ball that I found in the corner of the box. The last verse you’ve already seen as part of one of the “Sally” sections.
It Matters
For my brilliant friend Corinne, who keeps getting fired by dimwits. With all my love, HS xx
23 February 2008
All of us net some wins; all suffer losses,
But something I have noticed on my journey,
A truth that I have often come across is:
It matters—whether you are an attorney,
A chiropractor, vet, or idling stoner,
Whatever work you do (or don’t)—it matters
If you are an employee or the owner,
Since formers are more vulnerable than latters.
The stoner might be poor. We might not find him
Among the world’s top luxury afforders
But no firm’s board has forcibly resigned him,
No one is giving him his marching orders,
The show he stars in is his own creation
