Which was precisely what I was afraid of doing.

I had a short-lived wave of relief when I saw that the Finding Fathers spreadsheet was actually just a lot of empty columns, before I realized the whole point was that I was supposed to be able to fill in all those missing details.

Name, phone number, location, probability, outcome. I did a double take on the last one and that initial relief took a sharp wrong turn into queasiness, which I don’t think was from the six Hobnobs I’d stuffed into my mouth in quick succession. Outcomes. They were a bit like consequences. To be avoided at all costs, if you ask me.

Leonard’s face remained neutral as he sat at the kitchen table nibbling on his first Hobnob, fingers poised over the keyboard, while I tried to coax information out of the murky depths of my memory into a world it was never meant to come. I had no idea what was going through his head, but I was pretty sure that sifting through this caliber of sordid details wasn’t exactly the kind of thing he was used to.

While it definitely took a while to warm to my task, after encouragement from a few more biscuits and with nowhere else to go, my mind reluctantly shuddered to a stop back at a shadowy time in Edinburgh in the months after my father’s death. When, with nobody left to disappoint except myself, I’d headed boots and all down the path of self-destruction. Staying one step ahead of anything that resembled a feeling or a memory by doing things that had no need for feelings or, coincidentally, leave too many memories. Because, the way it looked to me, my father had already done the damage and I was merely tying up the loose ends. You and me, Sadie. Us against the world, love. It was a hard lie to outrun.

Considering the proportions of alcohol and food consumed during that brief period (lots of one and not very much of the other), with Leonard’s help I actually managed to dredge up more of a recollection than one might expect. And by one, I mean me, because in the end, despite more than a few stumbles around dead-end corners and several dark alleys I very hastily turned tail at before I got too far in, eventually my brain served me up some winners.

While the more names I came up with, the happier Leonard seemed to get (which was gratifying and embarrassing in equal measure), some deeper mental spadework weeded out a couple of clear nonstarters. Even though the chances of Aldo the bodybuilding steroid dealer from Latvia still being in the UK were slim anyhow, more importantly I remembered that the police had started banging on his van window before anything meaningless had actually taken place. The last time (which was very shortly after the first time) I saw him, he was running through the grounds of Edinburgh Castle with a sports bag full of illegal drugs and nary a backward glance.