I know you always disapproved of my hobby, and I did lose my share of bets in the early days. But at the end I had three good wins. Let’s just say I had some good tips from a bloke I’d bumped into a few times over the years. I took the chance and won big. My plan was to leave the box in your mother’s room in the nursing home as a personal possession to be opened in case of emergency. But then your mother died. It was so unexpected. I was going to put the money in the bank, but then I knew it would become a part of the estate and somehow Henry would get his hands on it. I decided the money should go to you. It is a gift, son. From me and your mother. I asked Gemima Murray to pass it on after enough time for Henry to have passed too.

Whatever has happened to you since we went, I hope there has been joy. If not, I hope you have the fortitude to not let it destroy you. James is a terrific kid. You’re so lucky in the friendship you have.

With all my love, Dad.

I am howling as if I hope someone will hear and come to help me. The money is from my father, not the Vasilievs, or Tito, or some other family of crooks — my self-serving, coat-and-tie father. That he would have given any thought to the personal stuff in my future is impossible to believe. I read it again and again, and see the word ‘friendship’ when he talks about James, and take it to mean he was envious of our link. I never thought he would have wanted friendship with me.

Weirdly, the word sticking in my head amongst all those bombshells is ‘love’. It wasn’t a word my father or his generation ever really got the hang of. When I think of the word and the concept, I think of James, Sarah, and Mum. I do not think of him. Maybe I do now. Not because of the money, but because there was more fear and loneliness in him than I ever realised. It must be terrible to have the person you love not remember you, and then be afraid you cannot afford to look after her. I think I am grieving for him, for everybody, and I might even be grieving for me.