Chapter 5: What Richard Knew
He came to the house three days later.
I had imagined someone imposing.
Someone who would walk in and immediately occupy too much space.
A man of fifty-six who had married a twenty-two-year-old — I had a picture of him fully formed before he knocked.
The man at my door was thin.
Grey at the temples.
He held a carrier bag with both hands and looked, if anything, slightly nervous.
"Mrs.
Callahan," he said.
"Thank you for letting me come."
"It's just Diane," I said.
"Come in."
He sat at the same kitchen table.
Chloe sat beside him, close but not touching.
I made tea because I needed something to do with my hands.
"You knew my husband," I said, setting the cups down.
"I did.
We met at St.
Andrew's.
I was doing a rotation there — I'm a cardiologist.
Daniel was a patient."
I sat down.
"He never told me he was ill."
"He didn't want you to know.
He was afraid you'd think he was using it to get sympathy." Richard wrapped both hands around his cup.
"He was very particular about that.
He said whatever happened between the two of you had to happen honestly or not at all."
"He was ill for how long?"
"He was first diagnosed about eight years before he de@d.
He lived with it longer than most people do." Richard looked at the table.
"He talked about you and Chloe constantly.
He had a photograph.
He kept it in the drawer beside his bed."
Chloe made a small sound.
I didn't look at her.
"Why did you keep the letters?" I said.
"Because he asked me to.
He said — " Richard paused, choosing the words carefully.
"He said that if Chloe ever wanted to understand who he was, the letters were the most honest thing he'd ever written.
He didn't want them thrown away.
But he also didn't want them sent somewhere they weren't wanted."
"He thought they weren't wanted."
"You sent two back."
"I know what I did."
The kitchen was quiet.
Outside, a car passed slowly on the road.
"I'm not here to make you feel guilty," Richard said.
"I want to be clear about that.
Daniel never blamed you.
Not once, in all the years I knew him.
He said the leaving was his fault and everything that came after was the consequence of that."
"He was right about that."
"He was.
But he also said—" Richard stopped again.
"Say it," I said.
"He said he hoped you'd found some happiness.
That was what he wanted most.
Not forgiveness.
Just for you to have had a good life."
I looked at my hands on the table.
"I worked doubles at a care home for fifteen years," I said.
"I sold my car to pay Chloe's fees."
"I know.
Chloe told me."
"Did she tell you I did it alone?
That there was no one?"
"Yes."
I looked up at him.
"Then you'll understand that when I hear he wanted me to be happy, I feel something complicated about that."
"I do understand," Richard said.
"I'm not asking you to feel grateful.
I'm just telling you what he said."
Chloe reached across and put her hand over mine on the table.
I didn't pull away.
"There's something else," Richard said.
He reached into the carrier bag and set a small box on the table.
Wooden.
Latched.
"He left this for Chloe.
He asked me to give it to her when I thought the time was right." He looked at Chloe.
"I thought the time was now."
Chloe looked at the box.
She didn't move to open it.
"What's in it?" she said.
"I don't know," Richard said.
"He sealed it himself.
May you like
I never opened it."
We all three looked at the box sitting in the middle of the table.
