I see his fist clench and brace myself. ‘I’m sorry I’m in love with Saffron. I’m sorry that I plied her with an overdose of gin,’ I continue.

‘And an overdose of lies.’

‘That too,’ I concede. ‘How can I make it up to you?’

‘By leaving my wife alone.’

‘I can’t agree to that. It had never happened before and will never happen again.’ I pause. ‘Please forgive me?’

He slowly unclenches his fingers. ‘I’ll try to. After all, for better, for worse, you’re the only brother I’ve got.’ The edges of his lips curl up and then fall. ‘And most of the time you’re a good brother to have.’ A shake of the head. ‘But you’re on your last chance now.’

43

Miles

Aiden leaves. I sink into the sofa in the drawing room and memories swirl around me. I’m back at public school and it’s prize-giving day. Pupils are sitting in rows at the front of the hall. Parents, stiff with pride, are sitting behind. The hall murmurs with anticipation. The self-congratulatory gathering is packed into the oak-panelled hall decorated with painted names of previous heads and regal crests. Touches of gold filigree and pillar box red.

The head begins to call the names of the lucky winners. Each pupil walks across the stage to shake hands with the head, who presents them with silverware. Each pupil’s prize presentation is accompanied by their proud parents standing to take a photograph – and by the rest of the audience’s unenthusiastic clapping. No one seems very excited about the success of another person’s child. Proud parents rise in minute-long intervals to form a Mexican wave of expensive outfits and hats. Aiden wins the lower sixth prize for cricket. I turn and look back at Mum and Dad, standing, clapping. But Mother has a stiff, wooden, smile-free face.

My year’s turn, the upper sixth, arrives.

History – Miles Jackson.

Debating – Miles Jackson.

English literature – Miles Jackson.

Greek – Miles Jackson.

Latin – Miles Jackson.

I stumble across the stage five times, beaming at the audience. Thanking the headmaster. So much silverware, I try to balance it on my knee and place it beneath my seat without clanging it together.

Then I pull myself from the scene. I am no longer in the school hall living through the moment. I am sitting in Wellbeck House fretting about Aiden’s behaviour towards you, Saffron.

What happened next on that school prize-giving day? I ask myself. An uneasy feeling comes over me; a realisation that something isn’t fair, and there’s nothing I can do about it. Then I remember where it came from.