had done exactly that herself, in 1990, with another man’s child, to keep a very large house and a very old surname.
She accused me of using a baby to secure a fortune.
She was the only person in that entire family who ever had.
And then there is the white hair.
Tobiah has it too.
He has dyed it since he was thirteen.
His mother made him. He told me once, early on, laughing, in bed, that she had said it made him look unwell in school photographs, and that she had marched him to a salon the week it came through properly and he had been going every five weeks ever since.
He has no idea why. He has never once asked.
He is thirty-six years old and he has been colouring over his own father every five weeks since he was a child, because his mother told him to, and he thought it was about photographs.
