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new, important angle from which to confront the mystery of Scott’s last month. I thought I should invite Katie to consider it. So I did.
    â€˜Women, Katie,’ I said.
    It must have sounded more like a wistful expression of longing than the question I was asking myself aloud.
    â€˜Sorry?’
    â€˜Women. Scott. The way he was at the end, there had to be a woman in there somewhere.’
    â€˜There was Anna.’
    â€˜Did you know her?’
    â€˜I knew who she was. I’d had her pointed out to me in thestreet. But I never spoke to her. I don’t think she mixed a lot with the servants.’
    The adder’s tongue of malice flicked and withdrew. I knew how much Katie had cared about Scott. Maybe the caring hadn’t been entirely platonic. Maybe she had seen in him the wastage of a man she might have saved, as women sometimes will.
    â€˜Nah,’ I said. ‘That’s not what I mean. It was gone between him and Anna. Somebody else. He was living raw. There’s only one ointment I can think of for that kind of pain. And he wasn’t that different from me.’
    Katie was finding the chopping of the vegetables an act of total concentration.
    â€˜What do you think?’ I said.
    â€˜What would I know about that?’
    â€˜Katie. What you don’t know about the people around you, it wouldn’t even cover a penny. And watch you don’t include a couple of fingers in the soup. You’re going at it hard there.’
    The knife nearly came down strong enough to split the bread-board in two. She turned towards me, the knife still in her hand. She was a formidable woman. I thought I could hear The Ride of the Valkyries starting up faintly in the background. I pretended to duck behind the table.
    â€˜Don’t throw it,’ I said.
    Buster, with his finely honed sensitivity always aware of everything except what was going on, began to growl. Jokes seemed to be lost on him. A nuance to Buster was whether to bite your right leg or your left.
    â€˜Your dog’s daft, by the way,’ I said. ‘You should get him a brain transplant. I’ll pay for it.’
    â€˜Leave Buster alone. You don’t understand him. He’s got a lot of affection.’
    â€˜He’s a dumb bastard. You should shave his head and tattoo National Front on it.’
    She put down the knife. She stared at the wall immediately in front of her.
    â€˜Jack,’ she said. ‘Why are you so angry? It’s only a dog. And that stuff you’re asking. That’s personal. Any talks Scott and me had are between us.’
    â€˜What’s this, Katie? The sanctity of the pub confessional? Who do you think I am? An income-tax inspector? I’m his brother, for Christ’s sake. I loved him.’
    â€˜Do you want another cup of coffee?’ she said.
    â€˜I want some answers,’ I said.
    She sighed and wiped her hands on her apron. She took a fresh cup and saucer and put them on the table across from me. She collected the percolator, filled my cup and filled her own. She replaced the percolator. She came and sat at the table. She took a cigarette from my packet, lit it and gave it across to me. I love the way a woman can make a ceremony out of a passing moment. Maybe society is a masculine distortion of reality but civilisation is feminine. I felt disarmed by small kindnesses.
    â€˜What is it. Jack?’ she said.
    â€˜Katie,’ I said. ‘My life’s collapsed about my ears. And I’m trying to rebuild it. Simple.’
    â€˜When do men grow up? I can still see you in short trousers.’
    As if on cue, I went in the huff.
    â€˜We’re in different plays,’ she said.
    â€˜What?’
    â€˜Men and women. We’re in different plays. Women are realistic. You lot are trying to act out some grand drama that isn’t there.’
    She sipped her coffee black. She looked at me steadily. Her mood had taken off the morning and its