apartment, then what on earth had I deemed so important that it must be hidden away in a vault?
I went straight into Budapest on the metro with the intention of stopping at the bank, but by the time I got there it had closed for the day. So I went first thing this morning, after a restless night of anticipation and unease. It was one of the larger banks in a busy part of the city. When I got to the entrance and saw that the doors were open, I hesitated. There could be any one of a number of terrible revelations waiting for me inside that building. Perhaps it would be better not to know? The anonymous note was going round and round my mind. What was the Ninth Circle? The dying child had passed on the mystery woman’s statement that the Ninth Circle had ‘ taken everything from me ’. The anonymous letter deliverer had written that the Ninth Circle would not hide me much longer. And Antaeus, the murderous giant of ancient Greek mythology, was the gatekeeper to the Ninth Circle of Hell itself… But then perhaps, after all, there was no bad news waiting for me in the bank. Perhaps the deposit box would just give me answers, maybe even tell me where my family were…
With an effort, I emptied my mind. I detached myself from the scene so that it was some other man, some stranger, who went and asked to visit his vault. I was shown to box 328 and left alone there. My hands did not tremble as I turned the key in the lock and drew out the slim, harmless looking drawer. I sat down at the table, removed the lid and ran my gaze over everything in the box. Pain twisted inside me as I realised the truth — the truth that had been eluding me for so long and was now all here in this little box, unable to hide from me any longer.
There was no money. No weapons, no ominous, suspicious objects as I had been half afraid that there might be. Instead, there were documents and papers and a letter. It hurt me, what was inside. First I saw the marriage certificate. Then the birth certificate. And my heart lifted. But then I saw the death certificates. There was one for a Nicola Antaeus, aged thirty. And a second for Luke Antaeus, aged four. Their names were unfamiliar to me. And yet I was listed on both as the next of kin. Husband of Nicola Antaeus… father of Luke Antaeus…
‘No,’ I said, staring at the two innocent pieces of paper.
This wasn’t fair! This wasn’t fair at all!
‘No!’ I said again, thumping my fist on the table.
Cause of death… car crash… London…
I rummaged around for something else in the box. Something that might take the sting out of the two death certificates lying on the table before me — as if anything could. But there was nothing to take comfort in here. I uncovered a letter I’d written to an aunt that had never been mailed. I realised why when I found a solicitor’s letter informing me of my aunt’s death and the fact that she had left all her wealth to me. That explained the money hidden under my floorboards, anyway…
I stared at the letter until black spots winked across the page. I shook my head, pinched the bridge of my nose, tried again. My heart sank as I read the opening line: ‘ As the only relation I have left, I’m just writing to let you know that I’m leaving London… ’ My only relation? Only one? Surely not. Surely there must be someone else left? ‘ I can’t stop thinking about Nicky and Luke… I can’t stop seeing them… I’m moving to Budapest to concentrate on my writing
… I don’t want to see anyone, I don’t want to talk to anyone… I don’t know when I’ll be back… ’
‘ No! ’ I cried again.
I felt the strong urge to tear all these dreadful papers into shreds, but at the same time I wanted to preserve them as the one link I had to my life before. And my anger faded quickly, leaving behind this aching, empty longing, which was worse. Energy drained out of me and I sat there until one of the staff came and knocked on the door, asking me if I needed any help. I realised I couldn’t stay any longer and hastily piled the contents of the box into my bag to go.
I suppose I must have caught the metro back home but I don’t remember the journey. I’d feared that what was inside the deposit box would upset me, but I had been unprepared to receive such devastatingly bad news as this. The worst news I could have got. And now I suddenly had the most thumping headache, pressing in behind my eyes, throbbing relentlessly with every pulse of my heartbeat. I got into the elevator inside my apartment block and pressed the button for my floor. Then I put a hand to my head, fingers massaging my temples, trying to relieve the pain. There were tears pricking my eyes. I could throw the rest of that fish food away now. I was never going to need it. Everything was ruined. Everything was totally ruined. I couldn’t even remember them! I couldn’t even see their faces in my head…
‘Are you okay?’
I dropped my hand and glanced up, realising that the elevator had come to a halt on my floor and the doors were open. My neighbour, Casey March, was stood there gazing at me. She was wearing a barmaid’s uniform; her dyed hair tied back; a satchel on her shoulders.
‘Are you okay?’ she asked again. ‘It’s Gabriel, isn’t it?’
I glanced round fearfully but there was no way to avoid her. I couldn’t leave the lift without walking past her. Anyway, she had seen me now.
‘I’m fine, I’m fine,’ I said, desperately trying to pull myself together long enough to get past her and back to my own apartment.
Casey hesitated, glancing at my shaking hands. ‘Do you want me to call someone for you?’
‘No, I’m okay,’ I said, stepping out of the elevator. ‘I… I just got some bad news, that’s all.’
‘Oh, I’m sorry,’ she said, looking like she meant it.
I nodded, and the movement seemed to almost split my head in two. I couldn’t help but cry out and instinctively jerk my hands back to my head again. What was this? I hadn’t been drinking! Where had this agonising headache come from? Why was the light suddenly blinding me? Why could I taste bile rising at the back of my throat?
‘What?’ I asked, realising that Casey had just asked me something.
‘I said do you suffer from migraines?’
‘Migraines?’
I automatically went to say that, no, I’d never had a migraine in my life, but then I hesitated. How could I know? How could I know? I don’t remember anything! The pain was so bad I thought I was going to throw up.
‘It looks like a bad one. My brother gets them. You can have some of his medicine if you want.’
I would have eaten a poisoned apple at that point if I’d thought it was going to help.
‘Thank you,’ I managed.
‘I’ll just get it for you.’
I followed her back to her apartment and waited outside until she came back with a foil strip of tablets in her hand.
‘The adult dose is two tablets every four hours,’ she said. ‘It might help if you draw the curtains in your bedroom and lie down for a while. That’s what I do for Toby. Anyway, I’d better go or I’ll be late for work. I hope you feel better.’
10th October
Casey’s advice worked. Although the pain lingered for a good twenty-four hours, it only felt unbearable for a few of those. I’ve never known anything like it. If Casey hadn’t realised I was having a migraine attack I would have thought I was dying — having a brain haemorrhage or something. I checked my cupboards the next day and found migraine medicine in there, so I clearly have had migraines before. I don’t know how often I have these attacks but I sincerely hope they don’t occur often.
I couldn’t even sleep. I wish loneliness could be the way it’s portrayed in romantic comedies. When the lovely heroine feels lonely, she goes to her best friend for comfort, the friend gives her a tub of ice-cream and this very often seems to quickly solve the problem. I wish real loneliness was like that; I wish it really could be solved with ice-cream. Since I remember neither Nicky nor Luke, you’d think I wouldn’t miss them as badly as I do.
What will happen when I am an old man, unable to take care of myself any more? There will be no children, no younger relatives to come to my aid. There will be no one. I will have to move myself into an old people’s home. Still, at least I would be living with other people again; I wouldn’t be on my own any more… But that’s many years away yet. Perhaps I should ring some retirement homes and find out what the minimum age of admittance is, to
