I was sorry to lose this as it throws forward nicely to future instalments, but it had no reason to be there, so SNIP!
I found it hard not to have a look. It was quite a comprehensive biography, it even had photos. An 8 X 10 blow up of a picture of me and my old friend James Daninsky, a little drunk on the streets outside a Paris nightclub, a Photostat copy of someone’s family portrait containing my darling Louisa – which I stopped for a good few seconds to look at, reflectively.
There were other snippets of note: a newspaper cutting in Arabic recounting an eyewitness testament to having seen a Mummy on board a luxury cruise ship, a Sûreté police record about the suspicious suicide of a Count, a post-mortem report on an Oxford student totally drained of blood…
It was not a happy or flattering experience to see ones life boiled down to a few pages and prints, especially as the key moments of note all had all seemed to have had such unpleasant connotations for me.
I closed the docket, and re-wound the green string to lock it closed. It felt strangely satisfying to shut the file on my own life.