House of Ashes (28 page)

The ex-PM flattens down his shirt in a manner which says he is done now. He glances at his watch. As if on cue, his grandson appears from the door and says, ‘Thank you for your visit. My
grandfather must now go and rest.’

Joseph rises. He wants to say something, maybe even shake the old PM’s hand, but he is struggling to get up. They are not friends; they are not colleagues or brothers.

‘Your Excellency,’ he says, surprising himself. ‘Why did you . . . want to see me? Allow me here? There must be a reason. You didn’t have to let me in.’

The old man is now on his feet.

‘Reason? Yes. Of course there was. I am dying. I have numerous ailments. My dreams are still rich, though, and yet I know the end is soon. I had a feeling you would come. I can die now,
you see. I can go to the grave quietly, having met you again. I will die soon and the City of Silk will flourish after my death. I needed to see you too, you see. Just like you needed to see me. I
must go. Goodbye now.’

Clarissa has also appeared and Joseph waits until the old man has left the room and then he allows her to usher him out into the hall. At the door she pauses and puts her hand on his arm and
says, ‘His Excellency wants you to have this.’

He looks down. On a small white card is the name of a well-known police superintendant and two numbers, a cell and a landline.

‘He said it is what you came for. He wrote this before you came. I’m assuming it’s still what you need.’ She looks at him studiously, as if she’s just worked out
who he is, and then she closes the door quickly on him, a short sharp push out into the world. He steps on to the driveway; the two Dobermans are still chained up. Joseph takes the card and slips
it into the pocket of his lucky suit. He walks towards the high gates. They begin to slide back in a rickety kind of way and he remembers his promise to his wife, to talk to her, tell her
everything. He thinks of the leatherback turtles, how the great oceans of the planet provide them with cover to grow to mature. Okay then, I will confess my sins to the mother of my child. I will
start at the beginning and take my time in telling her my story, all of it.

In January 2011, a lengthy Commission of Enquiry into the events of 1990 began in Trinidad. The many witness testimonies were crucial to the writing of this book. I would also
like to thank those who I was able to talk to personally: Raoul Pantin, Jones P. Madeira, Raffique Shah, Ralph Brown, David Millet (in particular his essay on NUFF); also Satya Crystal and Kim
Johnson for enlightening conversations early on. Also many thanks to Jerleanne John at Udecott for letting me into the Red House in Trinidad in April 2012, even though it was under reconstruction,
and to Sharon Miller for the photographs which helped. Thanks to Judy Raymond for use of
The Trinidad Guardian
archives and being so helpful with contacts. Also a great thanks to Bunty and
Rory O’ Connor for their companionship during my stays at their cottage in Chicklands, Carapichaima, in early 2013. Much writing was done there, as well as at Man O’ War Cottages in
Charlotteville, Tobago. In Grand Riviere, thanks to Len Peters for his knowledge of the history of the conservation of the leatherback turtles in northern Trinidad. Also a big thank you to Lou,
David and fellow commune-ista Piero Guerrini, owner of Mount Plaisir Hotel for space to write, edit, draft and think. For reading drafts and pages thanks to: Joanna Pocock, Sean Thomas, Lisa Allen
Agostini, Ira Mathur and Angelo Bissessarsingh. Thanks to my agent Isobel Dixon and my editor Clare Hey at Simon & Schuster UK for making this a better book. Thank you also to my brother, Nigel
Roffey, for much support and insight into this story, and to my mother, Yvette Roffey, once again, third time round, for giving me a place to write.