The Memory Game Part 31

I looked up.

'h.e.l.lo, Claud.'

Claud had lost at least a stone in weight. He looked leaner, sharper, with a touch more grey in his cropped hair. He wore a faded blue sweats.h.i.+rt, black jeans and training shoes. He half looked round at where Griffith Singer was hovering in the doorway.

'So, I'll leave you two together,' Singer said awkwardly, as if he had brought us together on a blind date and wasn't sure how we would get on.

Claud nodded.

'Shall I sit here, Barry?' he asked, gesturing at the chair opposite mine in the circle. Barry nodded. He sat down and we scrutinised each other.

'You're looking well, Claud,' I said.

He was was looking well, better than I'd ever seen him. He gave a slight nod, acknowledging the compliment. He reached into his trouser pocket and removed a crumpled cigarette packet and a grey metal lighter. He offered me a cigarette and I shook my head. He lit one for himself and drew deeply on it. looking well, better than I'd ever seen him. He gave a slight nod, acknowledging the compliment. He reached into his trouser pocket and removed a crumpled cigarette packet and a grey metal lighter. He offered me a cigarette and I shook my head. He lit one for himself and drew deeply on it.

'This is a stimulating environment,' he said. 'There are interesting ideas being developed here. In various respects, I think it's an improvement on the Barlinnie model. And as for me personally...' He gave a modest shrug. 'It's a remarkably healthy existence. But how are you?'

'Have you heard about Alan?'

'I don't look at television or read the newspapers.'

'He's become a literary star again.'

'How so?'

'He's written a prison memoir. It's called A Hundred and Seventy-Seven Days. A Hundred and Seventy-Seven Days. The publishers rushed it out this month. It's been a sensation. The The publishers rushed it out this month. It's been a sensation. The New Yorker New Yorker devoted an entire issue to publis.h.i.+ng it complete. The reviews compared it favourably to devoted an entire issue to publis.h.i.+ng it complete. The reviews compared it favourably to One Day in the Life of Ivan Denisovich. One Day in the Life of Ivan Denisovich. Alan told me that Anthony Hopkins is going to play him in the film version. I think Alan's only uncertainty at the moment is whether he's going to get the n.o.bel Prize for literature or for peace.' Alan told me that Anthony Hopkins is going to play him in the film version. I think Alan's only uncertainty at the moment is whether he's going to get the n.o.bel Prize for literature or for peace.'

Claud smiled. He tapped his cigarette and the ash fell on the floor by his right foot.

'So you're on speaking terms?' he said.

'Very much so. Alan took me in his arms and forgave me. I was very moved, even though it was in a TV studio on live television.'

'What happened to your therapist?'

I shrugged.

'How are the boys, Jane?'

'Paul's fine as well. He did a completely re-edited version of his film. It's been sold all over the world. He's at a television festival in Seoul as we speak.'

'Good. I thought the original was rather superficial, myself.'

'It must have seemed so to you, Claud.'

'What about your hostel, Jane? Is it functioning?'

'Not exactly, but we do have our third official opening date and we've got closer to it without it being cancelled than ever before. I'm hopeful.'

'I'm glad to hear it, Jane. That's a good sign. It's a wonderful project. I'm happy for you.'

A pain was gathering strength behind my eyes.

'And what about your own magnum opus magnum opus? I hear you're writing a novel.'

Claud laughed. 'Has Griff been blabbing about it? I know that one should never show people one's work until it's finished, but he wouldn't be denied.'

'What's it about?'

'I'm writing a sort of crime story, almost as an intellectual exercise. I must say that I've found it quite satisfying.'

'What's the plot?'

'It's about the murder of a teenage girl.'

'Who kills her?'

'That's the interesting part. I'm trying to get away from the old hackneyed image of young girls as sweet, pa.s.sive creatures. The murder victim is a manipulative adolescent, conscious of her awakening s.e.xual powers. She is beautiful and charming, but she uses these qualities as tools to damage all those around her. She finds out their secrets and blackmails them.'

'Is that why she's killed?'

'Not quite. She can't resist using her physical attractions even on the men in her own family. Unknown to everybody else, she starts to lead her own eldest brother on.'

'How does she do that?'

'You know the sort of thing, a look here, a touch there, an air of complicity, moments of flirtatiousness. One of the things I'm trying to capture is the transition in a family from the stage where the relations.h.i.+ps are innocent to the stage where similar behaviour becomes s.e.xually charged, because the girl has become a s.e.xual being and she is aware of the power she exercises.'

'What happens?'

'She gets more than she bargains for. She is leading him on, so he makes her go the whole way. He makes her see the logical result of her own behaviour. But this is the twist, you see. Even here, she uses her s.e.xuality as a form of power over her brother, taunting him with it, humiliating him. What is meant to be her punishment becomes a pleasure to her.'

'What happens?'

'It's one of those things that might have fizzled out, but she becomes pregnant.'

'Couldn't she have an abortion?'

'That doesn't arise between them. She threatens her brother with it. He receives a note from her saying that she will expose him to the family.'

'You sound as if you're on the murderer's side.'

'You always have to see every side of a story. It's what makes us human, isn't it, our imagination? That's what you used to say, anyway.'

'Do you think you will be able to persuade readers that a young girl deserves to be murdered by the brother who made her pregnant?'

Claud allowed himself a small smile and a shrug. 'It's an artistic challenge.'

'How does he set about it?'

'Yes, that's interesting, isn't it?' Claud's face was quite calm, reflective. 'Easy to kill, difficult to avoid detection. The brother considers two contrasting methods. The first is to kill her openly, as if by accident in a quarrel. At worst the killer might receive a short prison sentence; if he's lucky he might not even be charged. But it's an unattractive solution. I needed to...' Claud paused, suddenly at a loss. He stubbed his cigarette out on the sole of his shoe and lit another. 'I want to create a character who kills his sister almost as a matter of decorum. Obviously she has provoked him, but she is also poisoning the entire family. She is a girl who ferrets out secrets and then uses those secrets. Families need their secrets, the little subterfuges that hold them together. This girl is going to destroy a good family, a fine family. Many people might agree that it is better to lose a girl than to lose an entire family.'

'We don't seem to be hearing much of the girl's point of view in your story.'

'Her point of view is perfectly clear: to follow her own immediate desires, whatever damage that does to anybody else.'

'How does he actually carry out the murder?'

'It's quite straightforward. There is going to be a large summer party at the country house where the family live. People will be staying all over the place. A disappearance will not be noticed. The brother is organising the party and he has an inspiration. He arranges for a barbecue to be constructed at the last minute, and orders matters with the builders so that it is only half finished on the evening before the party. He summons his sister to a meeting late that night. She has been involved in a flirtation with a local boy and he suggests she tell her roommate that she is going to see this new flame. He strangles her and buries her at a relatively shallow depth in the site where the barbecue will be tiled and constructed the following morning.'

'Wouldn't the barbecue be an obvious place to look?'

'The beauty of the plan is that there are various other factors at work. The novel is set in 1969. At that time, if a restless, difficult sixteen-year-old girl disappears, it will be a.s.sumed that she has run away. By the time grimmer possibilities are being considered, it is much later and in the chaos of the party it is difficult to establish exactly when she disappeared. But people have a vague impression that they saw her at the party. The brother has told various local artisans and some friends that the sister will be fulfilling various functions at the party. Of course, when the party begins she is already dead and buried. But the sister had a close friend of the same age. A sweet girl. They look alike, they dress alike. The friend isn't much known in the locality because she lives in London. All that I needed all that the story needs is for one or two people to mistake one for the other at the party and the hiding place becomes not just very good but perfect.'

I looked over Claud's shoulder at Barry who was looking bored. Obviously not a book lover.

'But I wasn't at at the party, Claud.' the party, Claud.'

'Yes, I know. Theo told me all about it when I came back from India. This is the bit that isn't in the novel. It's just too serendipitous to be credible in the tightly organised structure of the book I'm writing. As you say, you were not on hand at the party in order to provide the crucial alibi. Yet when Gerald Docherty walked across the bridge over the Col on Sunday the twenty-seventh of July on his way to help dismantle the marquee, you were were there, resembling Natalie. Not only had you provided an even more effective distraction from Natalie's resting place, you had given me an alibi so perfect that I could never have constructed it for myself. You were, quite unconsciously, my fellow-artist in creating a perfect deception.' there, resembling Natalie. Not only had you provided an even more effective distraction from Natalie's resting place, you had given me an alibi so perfect that I could never have constructed it for myself. You were, quite unconsciously, my fellow-artist in creating a perfect deception.'

'Why did you marry me, Claud? Why did you marry me and have children with me?'

For the first time Claud looked surprised.

'Because I fell in love with you, my darling. I've never ever loved anyone else. I'll always love you. You're the one. And I wanted to make you love me. The only flaw in the plan was my inability to keep you in love with me. Everything proceeded from that failure.'

'And you were prepared to sacrifice Alan for your own survival. Was the note you planted really by Natalie or did you fake it?'

'It was a note Natalie sent me. me. I only had to tear the paper to remove the "Dear Claud" or words to that effect at the beginning. I wasn't sacrificing Alan. You've always talked about his theatrical nature. I saw the way events were moving and gave them a small nudge. He embraced the role by confessing. And from what you tell me, I a.s.sume he has never been happier. I'm not proud of it, though, if that's what you mean. I'm afraid I saw it as a way of getting you back and that may have blunted my powers of reasoning. That was the flaw, wasn't it? You realised that if Alan was innocent then I must have planted Natalie's note in his diary.' I only had to tear the paper to remove the "Dear Claud" or words to that effect at the beginning. I wasn't sacrificing Alan. You've always talked about his theatrical nature. I saw the way events were moving and gave them a small nudge. He embraced the role by confessing. And from what you tell me, I a.s.sume he has never been happier. I'm not proud of it, though, if that's what you mean. I'm afraid I saw it as a way of getting you back and that may have blunted my powers of reasoning. That was the flaw, wasn't it? You realised that if Alan was innocent then I must have planted Natalie's note in his diary.'

Claud leant forward and his voice dropped to little more than a whisper.

'Do you want to hear my one regret, Jane?' I didn't reply and made no movement. 'If you had discovered this when we were still married...' Claud frowned and shook his head. 'I don't mean married, I mean when we were together, really together, then you would have understood. No, don't say anything. I know that you would. There's just one more thing I want to say to you, because I know that you'll never come to see me again. That's all right, Jane. I don't mind any of this. All that matters is that I still love you. You haven't said what you think of me, and maybe that's the best I can hope for from you. Just remember, Jane, the family and our two boys, that's my gift to you. You will always live in the world I made for you.'

I touched my name tag. As Barry led me out, I avoided catching Claud's eye. Neither of us spoke.

Griffith led me back through the corridors to the front door. He held out his broad hand.

'Goodbye Mrs Martello. If it's of any consolation to you, I...'

'Goodbye. Thank you.'

I stepped outside, and the door swung shut behind me, closing with a m.u.f.fled click. While I had been inside, the day had changed. The sun shone in a sky that between its strips of clouds was almost turquoise. The few dry leaves that still hung on the small trees fringing the path gleamed. I pushed my hair back with both hands, and tipped my face towards the light, and stood with my eyes closed in the warm air. After a few seconds the roaring in my head quietened. 'That's it, Natalie,' I said out loud. 'That's finished.' Then, 'I wish you were still here with us. My sister. My friend.'

Slowly, I walked down the shallow paved steps, between the low hedges and neat, empty flowerbeds, then stopped again. In the car park a tiny figure in a bulky dufflecoat, with a pointed hood like a pixie's, was twirling in a shaft of sunlight. She stopped, tipped, then sat down abruptly while her world went on spinning. A young man with s.h.a.ggy blond hair and a thick sweater hanging down under his beaten-up leather jacket ran towards her, picked her up, and threw her high into the air. f.a.n.n.y squealed with laughter, her hood falling back and a cloud of bright hair flying loose. Robert threw her up again, then lowered her gently onto the tarmac, and stood holding her by the shoulders.

Caspar and Jerome walked towards them; they were talking earnestly, and at one point Caspar stopped and put his hand on Jerome's arm. They joined the other two, and f.a.n.n.y slipped her hand into Caspar's, tilting her pale solemn triangle of a face up to his, saying something. Jerome pulled her hood back over her wild hair.

Then they saw me and stopped talking. They turned towards me and waited: three tall men and a little girl. I took a deep breath, and I walked down the steps to join them.

Nicci French about Nicci and Seanabout The Memory Game The Memory Gamethe recovered/false memory controversytop tensJane Martello's recipesthe books [image]

about Nicci and Sean Nicci Gerrard was born in June 1958 in Worcesters.h.i.+re. After graduating with a first cla.s.s honours degree in English Literature from Oxford University, she began her first job, working with emotionally disturbed children in Sheffield. was born in June 1958 in Worcesters.h.i.+re. After graduating with a first cla.s.s honours degree in English Literature from Oxford University, she began her first job, working with emotionally disturbed children in Sheffield.

In the early eighties she taught English Literature in Sheffield, London and Los Angeles, but moved into publis.h.i.+ng in 1985 with the launch of Women's Review Women's Review, a magazine for women on art, literature and female issues. In 1987 Nicci had a son, Edgar, followed by a daughter, Anna, but by the time she became acting literary editor at the New Statesman New Statesman her marriage had ended. She moved to the her marriage had ended. She moved to the Observer Observer in 1990, where she was deputy literary editor for five years, and then a feature writer and executive editor. It was while she was at the in 1990, where she was deputy literary editor for five years, and then a feature writer and executive editor. It was while she was at the New Statesman New Statesman that she met Sean French. that she met Sean French.

Sean French was born in May 1959 in Bristol, to a British father and Swedish mother. He too studied English Literature at Oxford University at the same time as Nicci, also graduating with a first cla.s.s degree, but their paths didn't cross until 1990. In 1981 he won was born in May 1959 in Bristol, to a British father and Swedish mother. He too studied English Literature at Oxford University at the same time as Nicci, also graduating with a first cla.s.s degree, but their paths didn't cross until 1990. In 1981 he won Vogue Vogue magazine's Writing Talent Contest, and from 1981 to 1986 he was their theatre critic. During that time he also worked at the magazine's Writing Talent Contest, and from 1981 to 1986 he was their theatre critic. During that time he also worked at the Sunday Times Sunday Times as their deputy literary editor and television critic, and was the film critic for as their deputy literary editor and television critic, and was the film critic for Marie Claire Marie Claire and deputy editor of and deputy editor of New Society. New Society.

Sean and Nicci were married in Hackney in October 1990. Their daughters, Hadley and Molly, were born in 1991 and 1993.

By the mid nineties Sean had had two novels published, The Imaginary Monkey The Imaginary Monkey and and The Dreamer of Dreams The Dreamer of Dreams, as well as numerous non-fiction books, including biographies of Jane Fonda and Brigitte Bardot.

In 1995 Nicci and Sean began work on their first joint novel and adopted the pseudonym of Nicci French. The novel, The Memory Game The Memory Game, was published to great acclaim in 1997. The Safe House, Killing Me Softly, Beneath the Skin, The Red Room, Land of the Living, Secret Smile, Catch Me When I Fall, Losing You The Safe House, Killing Me Softly, Beneath the Skin, The Red Room, Land of the Living, Secret Smile, Catch Me When I Fall, Losing You and and Until It's Over Until It's Over have since been added to the Nicci French CV. have since been added to the Nicci French CV. The Safe House, Beneath the Skin The Safe House, Beneath the Skin and and Secret Smile Secret Smile have all been adapted for TV, and have all been adapted for TV, and Killing Me Softly Killing Me Softly for the big screen. for the big screen.

But Nicci and Sean also continue to write separately. Nicci still works as a journalist for the Observer Observer, covering high-profile trials including those of Fred and Rose West, and Ian Huntley and Maxine Carr. Her novels Things We Knew Were True, Solace Things We Knew Were True, Solace and and The Moment You Were Gone The Moment You Were Gone are also published by Penguin. Sean's novel are also published by Penguin. Sean's novel Start From Here Start From Here came out in spring 2004. came out in spring 2004.

about The Memory Game The Memory Game This was your first book as a team. Why did you decide to write together?

Nicci: It's hard to say now (hard to remember) how something that for a long time had been a vague and slightly mad idea became a reality. Because when we met we were already writers and obsessive readers we had talked about what made a 'voice' in a book, and wondered whether it would be possible for two people to create one, seamless voice. We used to say that one day, when we had time, we would try to write a book together, to see if it was possible. And then one day when we had no time, no money, four tiny children, a life of clutter and chaos we came across this idea for a book that seemed new and exciting. And we just thought that if we were ever going to do it, now was the time. It began almost like a literary experiment, and then quite soon it took us over. It's hard to say now (hard to remember) how something that for a long time had been a vague and slightly mad idea became a reality. Because when we met we were already writers and obsessive readers we had talked about what made a 'voice' in a book, and wondered whether it would be possible for two people to create one, seamless voice. We used to say that one day, when we had time, we would try to write a book together, to see if it was possible. And then one day when we had no time, no money, four tiny children, a life of clutter and chaos we came across this idea for a book that seemed new and exciting. And we just thought that if we were ever going to do it, now was the time. It began almost like a literary experiment, and then quite soon it took us over.

So how did you actually go about it?

Sean: We spent weeks and months around the kitchen table with gla.s.ses of wine and gin and tonics sketching out the story and even, in the case of We spent weeks and months around the kitchen table with gla.s.ses of wine and gin and tonics sketching out the story and even, in the case of The Memory Game The Memory Game, drawing a detailed map of the Martello property. But when it came to writing the book, we wrote separately. One of us would write a section, then hand it to the other who was permitted in theory, at least to cut, add, rewrite without fear of retribution.

Nicci: It sounds simpler than it is, less messy and quarrelsome. We're often asked if we argue and the answer is that of course we do. We argue quite a lot (actually, I argue and Sean doesn't, which is extremely irritating). But it's not over the things you'd expect not over large ideas, or over the changing of words. It's more like a version of marital bickering: couples rarely argue over big issues, but over things like who does the was.h.i.+ng up. More than arguing, however, we struggle and disagree with each other, and I've come to think that our novels are born out of those disagreements: we often want to write about the things we can't quite settle on, the things that bother and disquiet us and we can't let go of, but come back to over and again. It sounds simpler than it is, less messy and quarrelsome. We're often asked if we argue and the answer is that of course we do. We argue quite a lot (actually, I argue and Sean doesn't, which is extremely irritating). But it's not over the things you'd expect not over large ideas, or over the changing of words. It's more like a version of marital bickering: couples rarely argue over big issues, but over things like who does the was.h.i.+ng up. More than arguing, however, we struggle and disagree with each other, and I've come to think that our novels are born out of those disagreements: we often want to write about the things we can't quite settle on, the things that bother and disquiet us and we can't let go of, but come back to over and again.

We thought, after The Memory Game The Memory Game, that we'd found a way of doing it, but that turned out to be nonsense. Maybe writing can never be easy and maybe it never should be. There are days when things go right, and then there's a kind of magic about the way that writing leads you, and you follow it in order to find out what you are thinking and then there are days when it's painful and slow and your head feels like glue. We have very few rules together. One is that we never tell anyone not even our family, not our children who are always asking, who wrote which bit (people try and guess and they're right about fifty per cent of the time). The other is that we'll change each other's words privately, not face to face, otherwise it's brutal.

Did you decide in advance who would write which bit for instance, who would write about recovered memory and the therapy sessions?

Nicci: Absolutely not. We both do all the research (in this novel, and in all the subsequent ones), and then whoever's turn it is to write will do so. It's imperative that we each own every bit of the book every piece of research, every word that's written. Absolutely not. We both do all the research (in this novel, and in all the subsequent ones), and then whoever's turn it is to write will do so. It's imperative that we each own every bit of the book every piece of research, every word that's written.

Why did you choose the name Nicci French?

Sean: We were always felt the book should be published under a single name. We felt that two names on the cover are a distraction when you read fiction, you want to hear a single voice talking to you. We were always felt the book should be published under a single name. We felt that two names on the cover are a distraction when you read fiction, you want to hear a single voice talking to you. The Memory Game The Memory Game had a female narrator, so it seemed natural to choose a female name. We played around with lots of possibilities but in the end we just gave up and contributed a name each. The only other name I remember, which we quite liked and everybody else hated, was 'Alice London'. As a private joke, we reversed one of the 'n's and made Alice Loudon the heroine of our third book, had a female narrator, so it seemed natural to choose a female name. We played around with lots of possibilities but in the end we just gave up and contributed a name each. The only other name I remember, which we quite liked and everybody else hated, was 'Alice London'. As a private joke, we reversed one of the 'n's and made Alice Loudon the heroine of our third book, Killing Me Softly. Killing Me Softly.

There's a lot in The Memory Game The Memory Game about families is any of that autobiographical? about families is any of that autobiographical?

Sean: Since this is a family history featuring crimes varying from murder to incest and culminating in two prison sentences, we were rather alarmed that our families claimed to recognize themselves in the book. Since this is a family history featuring crimes varying from murder to incest and culminating in two prison sentences, we were rather alarmed that our families claimed to recognize themselves in the book.

Nicci: When our families first read it, Sean's thought it was based on them and on his crowded summers in Sweden with all his cousins, and my family thought it was based on them. Both of them, for instance, recognised the mushroom hunt at the start of the novel because both Sean and I had experienced that. Part of the impulse behind the novel was our shared sense that every close, happy family is also unhappy and full of secrets, and that memory is unreliable, slippery and seductive. The past is a shadowy country; you can get lost there. When our families first read it, Sean's thought it was based on them and on his crowded summers in Sweden with all his cousins, and my family thought it was based on them. Both of them, for instance, recognised the mushroom hunt at the start of the novel because both Sean and I had experienced that. Part of the impulse behind the novel was our shared sense that every close, happy family is also unhappy and full of secrets, and that memory is unreliable, slippery and seductive. The past is a shadowy country; you can get lost there.