Only when he said, “So you’ll go then? This weekend would be best,” did I drag my mind out of the quicksand of introspection and pay attention.

“This weekend?” I asked.

“Yes. That would be best. The house is by no means gutted, you know. Well, I suppose you don’t, because you’ve never shown an interest in it. The fire department got there quickly and saved a lot. The furniture came off worst. All that old wood and French polish. It must have gone up like a Roman candle. But the bones are there. The bones are definitely there.”

“You said something about an inventory?” My mind rewound our conversation and dredged up keywords.

“That’s right. I’d go myself, but the Masters golf tournament at the club is this weekend. I can’t get away, and the insurance company isn’t prepared to wait. It has to be now. They need a full inventory of the furniture that was in the house, as well as the appliances and electronics.When you see what’s there, it will jog your memory.”

Histrionics have never been encouraged in my family. You didn’t make a show of yourself. Arguments were conducted in private and in a furious undertone. Emotions were never a reason for shirking your duty.

“You want me to go to the farmhouse and draw up an inventory of the contents?”

He sighed. “Yes. Haven’t you been listening?”

“I have never gone back. Not in two years.”

“I know. That’s what I’m saying. You never ask about the house. You show no interest in its condition. It’s time you made yourself useful, and it will be good for you to start driving again. This will benefit you too in the end—a good payout from the insurance company.”

There was a pause while we listened to each other breathing. The air rushed into his lungs as he realised his mistake.

“When I’m dead, I mean. Obviously. When I’m dead and gone. It will all come to you in the end.”

Daddy don’t make me. I’m scared. Don’t make me go back there. I haven’t driven a car in weeks.

“Where are the keys? The house is locked, I assume?”

“The insurance company put up a temporary fence around the place. One of those unscalable security fences. I’ll drop the keys off in your post box. You had better take a can of Q20 with you. The lock will be stiff.”

If the English Department at the University of Constantia is a site of secondary trauma, what does that make the farmhouse where the attack occurred? Ground Zero? Omaha Beach?