Clark,

A few weeks will have passed by the time you read this (evengiven your newfound organizational skills, I doubt you will have made it to Paris before early September). I hope the coffee is good and strong and the croissants fresh and that the weather is still sunny enough to sit outside on one of those metallic chairs that never sit quite level on the pavement. Its not bad, the Marquis. The steak is also good, if you fancy coming back for lunch. And if you look down the road to your left you will hopefully see L'Artisan Parfumeur where, after you read this, you should go and try the scent called something like Papillons Extreme (can't quite remember). I always did think it would smell great on you.

Okay, instructions over. There are a few things I wanted to say and would have told you in person but you would have got all emotional and you wouldn't have let me say all this out loud. You always did talk too much.

So here it is: the cheque you got in the initial envelope from Michael Lawler was not the full amount, but just a small gift, to help you through your first weeks of unemployment, and to get you to Paris.

When you get back to England, take this letter to Michael in his London office and he will give you the relevant documents so you can access an account he has set up for me in your name. This account contains enough for you to buy somewhere nice to live and to pay for your degree course and your living expenses while your are in full-time education.

My parents will have been told all about it. I hope that this, and Michael Lawler's legal work, will ensure there is as little fuss as possible.

Clark, I can practically hear you starting to hyperventilatefrom here. Don't start panicking, or trying to give it away - its not enough for you to sit on your arse for the rest of your life. But it should buy you your freedom, both from that little claustrophobic little town we both call home, and from the kind of choices you have so far felt you had to make.

I am not giving the money to you because I want you to feel wistful, or indebted to me, or to feel that it's some kind of bloody memorial.

I'm giving you this because there is not much that makes me happy any more. but you do.

I am concious that knowing me has caused you pain, and grief, and I hope that one day when you are less angry with me and less upset you will see not just that I could only have done the thing that I did, but also this will help you live a really good life, a better life, than if you hadn't met me.

You're going to feel uncomfortable in your new world for a bit. It always does feel strange to be knocked out of your comfort zone. But I hope you feel a bit exhilarated too. Your face when you came back from diving that time told me everything: there is a hunger in you, Clark. A fearlessness. You just buried it, like most people do.

I'm not really telling you to jump off tall buildings or swim with whales or anything (although I would secretly love to think you were), but to live boldly. Push yourself. Don't settle. Wear those stripy legs with pride. And if you insist on settling down with some ridiculous bloke, make sure some of this is squirrelled away somewhere. Knowing you still have possibilities is a luxury. Knowing I might have given them to you has alleviated something for me.

So this is it. You are scored on my heart, Clark. You were from the first day you walked in, with your ridiculous clothes and your bad jokes and your complete inability to ever hide a single thing you felt. You changed my life so much more than this money will ever change yours.

Don't think of me too often. I don't want to think of you getting all maudlin. Just live well.

Just live.

Love,

Will

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