‘I didn’t go to sleep,’ she says, rubbing the thick sleep out of her eyes. ‘Hello,’ she adds, looking at Jeremy. She sits on my hip and stares, with the unabashed curiosity of a child. She inserts one of Duck’s knotted corners into her mouth. I can’t think quickly enough.
Jeremy stares at Ruby, his body still. His face, which I once thought very handsome, is bloated and ugly in the aftermath of tears. ‘Hello,’ he says, quietly. Then he smiles. ‘You must be Ruby.’
‘What’s your name?’
He glances at me, I shake my head. ‘Paul,’ he tells her, extending a hand. ‘I work with your mummy. It’s very nice to meet you, Ruby.’
She looks at his hand but doesn’t shake it. ‘How do you know my name?’
‘I’ve heard all about you! Your mother’s very proud of you,’ he says.
I feel faint. Jeremy Rothschild is talking to my daughter. I have a letter from Janice on the coffee table.
Ruby squashes her lips together, considering this man, with his red face and surprising knowledge.
‘My big name is Ruby Cerys Bigelow Philber,’ she says. ‘Do you want to know what my short name is?’
‘I do.’
‘Ruby Booby!’ She falls about laughing, and Jeremy gamely joins in.
Then: ‘Who’s that?’ she asks, pointing at his phone. He’s just checked it again, for perhaps the tenth time since he’s arrived. It’s the same each time he touches it. A photo, the time, and a couple of bars of service.
Jeremy looks down. ‘My son,’ he says.
Ruby holds out her hand for the phone. ‘Please can I look at him?’
‘Ruby ...’
‘Please?’ she adds. I tell her no, but Jeremy is already up. ‘It’s OK,’ he says. ‘Here you go.’
I sit back down with Ruby. Together, we look at the man on the screen. He has one of those enormous foam fingers they wave around at American sporting events; a broad smile bursting out from under a cap. ‘What’s his name?’ she asks.
‘Charlie,’ Jeremy said, and I see the pride in his eyes. ‘His big name is Charlie Ellis Rothschild.’
‘Where is he?’ Ruby asks, looking at Charlie Ellis Rothschild.
My heart. My heart might never recover from the sight of my little Ruby, talking to Jeremy Rothschild.
‘He’s in London at the moment ... But generally he lives in Boston, which is a big city across the sea.’
‘Why does he live across the sea?’
‘He’s studying there. At university.’
‘Uvines ...’ Ruby says, trailing off. She purses her lips again, considering Jeremy. Then: ‘Does he miss you?’
‘I hope so!’
‘I don’t want to live across the sea,’ she tells us, after a pause. Then: ‘Does he like you?’
At this, Jeremy laughs out loud. ‘I think he does, yes. He’s a bit angry at the moment, but he still likes me.’
‘Why?’
I want nothing more than to remove Ruby from this room, and then Jeremy from my house, but I want to hear his answer. I want to know every ridge and furrow of the Rothschilds’ family life. I always have.
‘Why is he angwy?’ Ruby asks, in her wheedling baby voice. She wraps her hands around the arm scroll of the sofa, swinging back and forth.
