Next was a birthday card with a filthy joke about how much sex would keep him happy on the front. That was a side to Nico I hadn’t seen. More in keeping with the sort of thing Sam’s dad would find funny. The thought of Caitlin and Nico having sex made me feel queasy.
Tickets for Andrea Bocelli in Leeds, November 2013. Il Divo concert, Rotterdam, April 2012. I’d better not admit I’d only been to one live concert and that was One Direction with Sam.
I picked up a postcard of Bath Abbey. I’d always fancied a weekend in Bath. Sam’s dad had pushed the boat out and taken me for a night at a pub in Dudley once, where he’d proceeded to drink himself to a standstill on snakebite. I should have realised he wasn’t in it for the long term.
I turned the postcard over.
June 2012
My darling Caitlin,
Whenever I go to Bath I will think of that wonderful weekend. I’m still trying to work out a way for us to be together forever!
All my love, always, P.
I looked at the date. Four years ago. What did he mean about ‘a way to be together’? Surely he didn’t mean for him to die as well? Had he contemplated a suicide pact? Did he know she was ill then? I remembered my mum telling me that she’d been absolutely fine, developed stomach pains over Easter 2013 and died the following year in February. Anyway, none of my business, whatever he’d meant.
I heard Nico call from the bottom of the ladder. I jammed everything back into the box and bunged the padded cushion on top, my heart skipping guiltily at poking into his private love notes, the little snippets of his life before me.
Before cancer had chosen his door to knock on.
I leaned out of the hatch and took the mugs of tea from him as he climbed up.
The little break had done him good. His face was less pinched. He made his way over to Francesca. ‘How are you getting on?’
‘Okay. I should chuck all these old schoolbooks away. But, I don’t know, I just feel that I won’t ever get the chance to write about Mum or draw her again. I sort of like the idea of having pictures of her that I drew before she was ill.’
‘Darling, you keep whatever you want.’
‘Maggie found a lovely jewellery box for me, didn’t you? The one that plays opera music when you open it.’
Nico looked puzzled. I lifted it up, bracing myself for ‘Oh yes, I bought that when we had an amazing weekend in Vienna/Verona/Paris.’
He frowned. ‘I don’t remember that.’
I opened the lid.
He rolled his eyes. ‘I didn’t know you could even get jewellery boxes that played opera.’
‘Which opera is it?’ Francesca asked.
Nico laughed. ‘No idea. Opera’s such a racket. I used to send her with your grandmother whenever I got the chance. God knows where that box came from.’
A shared passion for opera was not going to be my route to bonding with Anna. I tried not to feel uncomfortable about all the little insights I was absorbing about Caitlin. I didn’t want to find fifty-five thousand more areas where I could consider myself inferior. Thankfully Francesca pulling out a pair of tiny ladybird wellies distracted Nico.
‘I remember you wearing those! You went in a puddle so deep that all the water came over the top and I had to carry you home on my shoulders with bare feet.’
Grateful as I was that I didn’t have to hand over the box and watch his face take on the bittersweet glow of forgotten memories, I still couldn’t understand how any man could possibly engrave a present for his wife then totally forget about it. Was he protecting my feelings?
But I didn’t feel I could march over there, rip out the velvet padding and start jabbing my finger at the writing inside, ‘Look, look, you had it engraved for her!’ without appearing completely unhinged. Which, if the sick feeling in my stomach was anything to go by, I might become.
Francesca stood up, stretching her back. ‘Right. Which one shall we do next, Dad?’
‘Take your pick,’ Nico said, swivelling round towards me. ‘How are you getting on, Maggie?’
Tempting as it was to say, ‘Feeling more inadequate by the minute,’ I managed a relatively cheery ‘Fine, I don’t think there’s much here you’re going to want to keep. Just university course books. Perhaps we could donate them to the library?’
Nico shrugged. ‘Or there’s a book bank down at Morrisons’ car park.’
We sorted through a couple more crates, putting all the photo albums to one side. I promised myself I would never be tempted to open them, concentrating instead on the idea that if we tied up Caitlin’s loose ends as soon as possible, I’d feel less like an impostor bluffing my way in through the door with a stick-on moustache. But despite my best intentions, my mind kept drifting back to the postcard. The depth of devotion Nico had for Caitlin had floored me. Maybe I was just a housekeeper with benefits, rather than a second chance at love.