‘Resident, here?’ a twinkle of understanding flickered across his face. ‘Oh, you thought …’ he chuckled, surprising Jake by his light-hearted demeanour under the circumstances. ‘Dear me, no.’
‘Ah, I see now how I’ve confused you. I didn’t give you my home address because …’ He trailed off.
Jake followed his gaze to the window. He understood; Arnold would be right there, spending every waking moment that he could with his wife, while there was time.
‘I lost my wife,’ Jake said suddenly, impulsively, surprising himself by sharing such an intimate, painful detail with a stranger. He had never shared his thoughts, not even with Faye, refusing to open the door to a topic he did not want to discuss; refusing to open the door to feelings he wanted to keep buried.
Jake silently cursed himself for opening that door. He knew what was coming; he waited for the inevitable battery of concerned questions that masked people’s morbid curiosity. Instead, Arnold simply said two words. ‘Did you?’
Jake stared at him. What did he mean –did you?Jake didn’t understand the question. Was he referring to whether she actually died up there, on the mountain? As far as Jake was concerned, that was beyond question. Or was it simply the case that Arnold, quite bizarrely, had not heard about the accident that had claimed her. That made no sense. He couldn’t fail to have heard about it on the news, or read about it in the paper – unless he was from another planet. It had been the top news story in town at Christmas.
‘Anyway,’ Arnold slapped his knee with the palm of his hand as though he had been listening in on Jake’s rambling thoughtsand had heard enough; it was time to move on. He pointed at a lady’s black leather handbag perched on the bedside table and asked Jake to fetch it. Jake passed Arnold the bag.
Arnold did not make a move to take the bag. ‘You open it.’
Jake sat down on the bed and undid the clasp. He glanced at Arnold’s wife and hesitated; despite Arnold’s presence, Jake still felt uncomfortable opening her handbag. What if someone walked into the room and saw what he was doing?
‘Go ahead – it’s all right.’
Jake gingerly put his hand in the bag and brought out a crumpled brown envelope.
Jake turned the envelopes over and noted the names written on the fronts – William Ross and Ralph – but there were no addresses.
‘She has moments of lucidity when she knows who I am. Lately, when I thought she was having one of her more lucid moments, she talked to me as though I was somebody else.’ He lowered his voice. ‘Sometimes she calls me Ralph.’
‘Ralph. Is it a name from her past, her first husband, perhaps, if she was married before?’
Arnold slowly shook his head. ‘It could all be irrelevant. I just don’t know anymore.’ He sighed. ‘The only thing of which I am certain is that when she sees the letters,’ he dropped his eyes to the envelopes in Jake’s hand, ‘she gets very agitated.’ He sighed heavily. ‘I want to help, I really do. But I don’t know what she’s trying to tell me. All I know is that it had something to do with those, and the two people’s names on the envelopes – William Ross and Ralph.’
‘No surname?’ Jake asked.
Arnold shook his head. ‘Afraid not.’
Jake imagined that now Martha’s condition had advanced, there would be few lucid moments in which to organise her affairs herself before she died. Arnold clearly had no choice butto step up and sort out her private affairs now.
All the same, Jake thought that it was all rather strange, being married to someone and having secrets from them. Jake glanced at the letters. That was how this felt; almost as though there was something Martha wanted to hide.
He wasn’t quite sure what Arnold expected him to do for Martha now that he was there, although he understood why Arnold had contacted him. He imagined Arnold didn’t just want to send the letters on to their intended recipients, in case the letters didn’t reach them, and went astray.
‘The worst thing is she pleads with me, with her eyes …’
Jake stared at the envelopes.
‘… as though she knows her faculties are going.’
He no longer wanted to read the letters. Perhaps it was best if he just gave them to William or, better still, Aubrey to sort out. Aubrey would know what to do. He always knew what to do. But this wasn’t business, Jake reminded himself. This seemed personal. Perhaps, in hindsight, it was better that he had not got through to Aubrey on the phone about this. What if Martha was someone from William’s past that he’d rather Aubrey knew nothing about?
‘… but deep down, there’s a part of her still trying to reach me.’
He suddenly felt as though he couldn’t breathe.
‘Are you alright, Mr Campbell-Ross? You look a little pale.’
Jake stood up. ‘I’ve got to go,’ he said abruptly. He didn’t even make a show of looking at his watch or offering an excuse.
Arnold looked up at Jake in surprise. ‘Oh, of course. Sorry, I do tend to chat,’ he said apologetically as Jake strode to the door. ‘I’m always here. Come back – anytime.’
Jake paused in the doorway on his way out and took one last look at the two high-backed chairs by the window before closing the door.
