Lost Property

by Isabella Muir

  ‘We will bring a bottle of wine,’ I say, but she waves her hand at me.

  ‘No, I have kept some wine from my last visit home, for a special occasion. And this is special,’ she says, beaming. ‘So sad Mr Furness will not join us, but I will meet his friends.’

  ‘It’s not possible for him to be any happier at the moment, Rosetta, so don’t worry about him,’ I say, ‘and I promise to give him a full account of our Italian extravaganza on my next hospital visit.’

  Greg and I pick up dad, managing to squeeze Charlie into the back of the car. Libby brings Phyllis, who is still hobbling a little as a result of her swollen ankle, but has no hesitation about using a walking stick. As Ethel Latimer said, there isn’t much that will stop Phyllis once she sets her mind to something.

  When Rosetta opens the door to us an infusion of garlic, basil and oregano wafts through from the kitchen. As we walk into the dining room I notice the absence of tinsel and coloured streamers that bedeck dad’s house. Instead, in the bay window, is a beautiful hand-made crib. While Libby takes control of all the introductions, I bend down to inspect the crib. The figures of Joseph, Mary and the three wise men are exquisitely hand-painted and the little baby Jesus is even wrapped in a muslin swaddling cloth. Rosetta has positioned the crib on the window seat that fills the bay and has the curtains pulled back, allowing the warm yellow streetlight to shine over the nativity scene, as a reminder of the Star of Bethlehem.

  It has me so entranced I miss Libby’s questions, which have resulted in Rosetta telling us all about her homeland. According to Libby, it is the one country she has always wanted to visit. It’s the first I have heard of it, but as Rosetta’s face lights up as she chatters away, I realise Libby has done exactly the right thing to kick-start the evening.

  ‘Your nativity scene is perfect,’ I say. ‘Where did you get it?’

  ‘I bring it from my home,’ she says, beaming. ‘A little bit of Puglia in Tamarisk Bay.’

  I walk dad over to the bay window and describe the crib to him, promising that by next year we will have one just as beautiful, even if I have to make it myself. ‘Can you imagine,’ I say, feeling the thrill of anticipation as I speak, ‘it will be Bean’s first Christmas.’

  ‘Don’t rush the months away. Your little one might even be crawling by then,’ Phyllis says, having overheard our conversation. ‘So, you can forget about hanging Christmas baubles. The whole lot will be on the floor before you know it.’

  ‘Rosetta, in a few days’ time my Aunt Jessica is visiting,’ I tell her, as she pours drinks for us all. ‘I’d love you to meet her. She has spent the last few years in Italy, I don’t know which region, but perhaps she will know about your home town?’

  ‘It would be wonderful to talk about Italy with your Zia. Does she make only a short visit?’

  ‘We don’t really know. We have years to catch up on and it seems we will also be meeting her friend,’ dad interjects, with an emphasis on the last word.

  ‘It is not a surprise if she has found love in Italy, it is the country of amore,’ Rosetta says, beaming.

  ‘All we know is that his name is Luigi,’ I say.

  ‘Another mystery for you, perhaps?’ Rosetta says with a wink. We take our seats around the dining table, ready for a starter of salami and olives. It’s my first experience of both and Greg explodes with fits of laughter at the face I pull when I bite into the first olive.

  ‘Ugh,’ I exclaim, when the bitterness of the dark flesh hits my tongue.

  ‘You will get used to it,’ Rosetta says, smiling.

  ‘Er, no, I don’t think I will,’ I say, surreptitiously returning the other untasted olives to the central dish.

  I manage to get my own back when we launch into the main course. I delight in watching Greg and Libby struggle to wind the spaghetti around their fork, with sauce being splashed everywhere, but Phyllis shows us all up with her masterful manipulation of the wriggling strands. To save any embarrassment for dad, I cut his up, but then proceed to make as bad a job of eating my own and Rosetta watches on amused.

  ‘It is not hard,’ she says, ‘you do it like this.’ Using just a fork, she twizzles the spaghetti around in the plate, gathering a perfect quantity so that once it reaches her mouth it is popped in without any mess or trouble.

  The chatter is lively and comfortable. Now and then I glance over at Rosetta. She is like the proverbial cat with the cream, completely in her element, revelling in the company and an opportunity to immerse herself once more in the tastes and smells of her homeland.

  A couple of hours later and we are all replete. The men have enjoyed Rosetta’s vino rosso and Phyllis surprises us by announcing that she has spoken to the Central Library manager about helping out with the library van, starting in January.

  ‘Don’t think you can take a back seat, though,’ she tells me, with a wink. ‘I’ll drive and you can do the rest.’

  ‘Sounds like a perfect deal to me,’ Greg says, a little too enthusiastically.

  Before I can get into a conversation about driving, Libby intervenes. ‘Janie has an important task to accomplish before we have dessert.’

  Everyone turns to look at me and for a moment I’m not sure what she is expecting of me. Then I remember.

  ‘Ah, yes, finally I get the chance to use this,’ I say, pulling my camera from my bag. For the next ten minutes I fuss around, positioning everyone for various group shots. While I am in the middle of snapping away, Libby takes the camera and holds my hands out in front of her to study my fingers. ‘Is it working?’ she asks.

  ‘See for yourself.’

  ‘I’ll give you eight out of ten for effort. Your nails are still a bit scruffy for my liking, but I reckon the varnish is doing some good. Just keep it up, okay?’

  ‘Yes, boss.’

  ‘Now, let me take a picture of you and Bean before its arrival?’ she says.

  ‘One of mum, dad and Bean, I think,’ I reply, grabbing Greg’s hand.

  The end of the evening comes too soon, but I have to admit to being the first to flag a little. We say our goodbyes and Libby and Phyllis follow us out to the cars.

  ‘Okay, I’ve decided,’ Libby says, giving me a hug. ‘The money you kindly gave me, I know what I’m going to use it for. I’m booking a trip to Roma and with that extra money I’ll be able to really see the sights. Fancy joining me?’

  Greg sidles up to us, takes my hand and squeezes it and, in unison, we both reply, ‘maybe next time. We have a baby to plan for, remember?’

  With my newly developed photos in my duffel bag I make my way to the hospital. If Raymond is visiting I will make my excuses and disappear, but as I approach Hugh’s bedside there are no visitors and his oxygen mask is still in place. This might be a one-sided conversation, but I’ve come to recognise his expressions over the time I’ve known him, so body language will tell me all I need to know. For the moment he is dozing, his eyes gently closed and his breathing steady. The frown that had become an almost permanent feature has dissipated. I sit and watch him for a while, imagining that first meeting between him and Raymond, his only child. I hold my hands over my bump and whisper to Bean. ‘We are so lucky, you, dad and me. The three of us will be indomitable, caring and sharing, with no secrets and no lies.’

  The sheets rustle as Hugh wakes and turns his head towards me.

  ‘Hello,’ I say, wishing I could give him a hug. ‘How are you feeling?’

  He gives me a thumbs-up and smiles.

  ‘It’s been quite a journey, hasn’t it? I’ve brought some photos to show you the celebratory supper we had in your honour. It’s just a shame you couldn’t be there.’

  I take the photos and lay them out on his bedspread. He picks each one up to examine them more closely.

  ‘As you can see, we all struggled with the spaghetti. Except for Rosetta, of course. She is the only one who doesn’t have spaghetti sauce down her front. Phyllis did rather well too. I have a feeling she might have been to Italy at
some point, when she was young maybe.’

  He gives me a quizzical look.

  ‘Phyllis? She’s Libby’s grandmother, part of the Janie Juke mystery solving team,’ I say, winking at him. ‘You’re thinking there’s bound to be a few interesting anecdotes that I need to coax out of her, aren’t you?’

  He nods, lifts his hand and removes his oxygen mask.

  ‘We are all coloured by our experiences, that’s for sure,’ he says, his voice barely a whisper.

  ‘You shouldn’t take that mask off, we’ll have Sister shouting at both of us if we’re not careful.’

  ‘I want to thank you.’

  ‘It’s funny but when I took on your case I was pleased to earn some extra money and honoured that you believed in me and my abilities. But the best reward of all is knowing you and Raymond have found each other.’

  He nods and smiles.

  ‘I don’t need to ask you how it was when you first saw him, I can imagine it all too well. And what about Dorothy, do you think you can ever forgive her?’

  He shrugs his shoulders and gestures to his bedside locker. ‘In the drawer,’ he says.

  I slide open the drawer and inside, on top of the Bible, is a postcard with a photo of a fighter plane on one side. I hand it to Hugh, he turns it over and gives it back to me.

  ‘You will always be my hero, dad. Your son, Raymond,’ I read it out to Hugh and then give him the card back.

  ‘Winnie,’ he says, his voice now fading.

  ‘You wish Winnie could have met him, don’t you?’

  He nods and wipes away the tears that are appearing at the corner of his eyes, tears of mixed emotions, sadness, relief, joy.

  ‘Put the mask back on, Hugh, save your energy. I’ll stay for a while until you’re ready to sleep.’

  I watch him as he closes his eyes and drifts off into a peaceful slumber. Hugh’s troubles started before I was even born. Dorothy brought him years of anguish, but if he had never met her he wouldn’t have Raymond. Good things coming from bad. He has waited half a lifetime to meet his son. We have just a few months before we meet our precious child. I lay my hands on my midriff and enjoy the sensation of Bean moving around inside me.

  About the Janie Juke mysteries

  The setting for the Janie Juke mystery series is based on the area where Isabella was born and lived most of her life. When she thinks of Tamarisk Bay she pictures her birthplace in St Leonards-on-sea, East Sussex and its surroundings.

  Lost Property is the second in the series of Janie Juke mysteries. The first in the series, The Tapestry Bag, was inspired by one of the short stories from Isabella’s anthology, Ivory Vellum.

  Thank you

  As part of my research for the book I contacted The Keep, which provides a wonderful archive of East Sussex records: www.thekeep.info/collections/ They helped to ensure the details about Janie’s library van was as accurate as possible. Sussex Police were able to confirm Phillip Juke’s back story all made sense.

  In Lost Property it was vital that the information relating to the Second World War and the Special Operations Executive was authentic and for this I am enormously grateful for the advice I received from Tangmere Military Aviation Museum:

  www.tangmere-museum.org.uk/

  I was able to immerse myself in wartime anecdotes by reading through the BBC World War Two archives - The People’s War:

  www.bbc.co.uk/history/ww2peopleswar/

  Most authors will agree that writing can be a lonely pursuit. So I consider myself very fortunate to have the encouragement and support of some wonderful people. Janie might have withered along the way if it were not for them. My brilliant writing buddies, Chris and Sarah, and my brother, David, continue to offer me not only invaluable critiques, but inspiration to keep going. Heartfelt thanks also go to family and friends too numerous to list here. I am grateful to you all.

  And, in the words of one of my favourite songs, my love and thanks go to my husband Al, who is ‘the wind beneath my wings’.

  About the author

  Isabella rediscovered her love of writing fiction during two happy years working on and completing her MA in Professional Writing with Falmouth University.

  Aside from her love of words, Isabel has a love of all things caravan-like. She has enjoyed several years travelling in the UK and abroad and in recent times has been running a small campsite in West Sussex, with her husband.

  Her faithful companion, Scottish terrier Hamish, is never far from her side.

  Find out more about Isabella, her published books, as well as her forthcoming titles at: www.isabellamuir.com

  and follow Isabella on Twitter: @nofixedabode123