The Keeper of Lost Things

by Ruth Hogan

  He hopped into the kitchen behind her and waited patiently for her to take a handful of raisins from a tin on the draining board.

  “What will you do without me?” she asked as she threw a couple onto the kitchen floor. The bird gobbled them up and looked to her for more.

  “Outside now, my friend,” she said, scattering the rest of the raisins onto the doorstep.

  She took her tea back into the sitting room, making precarious progress with a single stick, and gingerly lowered herself into her chair. The room was full of pretty things; weird and wonderful baubles and ornaments. Eulalia had been a magpie all her life, surrounding herself with sparkle and glister, twinkle and velvet, the magical and the macabre. But now the time had come to let them go. These were her treasures and she would decide their fate. She couldn’t take them with her, but neither could she bear the thought of her precious things being picked over by a white van driver called Dave—“House Clearances—no job too big or small.” Besides, some of the things could get her into trouble. Some of the things weren’t exactly . . . legal. Well, not here, anyway. There were skeletons in her cupboards. Truly.

  By the time she had filled her tartan shopping trolley with the chosen objects, it was almost midday. Her ratchety limbs, lubricated by activity, moved more freely now as she headed toward the public gardens by the park. She would give her things away. She would leave them where others would find them; as many things as she had been able to drag in her trolley. And as for the rest, no one would have them. It was a school day and the park and gardens were deserted save for a couple of dog walkers and a poor unfortunate soul still asleep in the bandstand. Eulalia was unobserved as she placed four snow globes, a rabbit’s skull, and a gold pocket watch on the little wall that encircled the ornamental fountain. Farther into the park, two silver church candlesticks, a stuffed weasel, and a set of gold-plated dentures were secreted in the niches of the war memorial statue. A mummified pig’s penis and the ormolu music box from Paris were left on the steps by the pond, and the china bride doll with empty eye sockets on the seat of one of the children’s swings. Back in the gardens the crystal ball wallowed in a stone birdbath and the bowler hat with a cockade of crow’s feathers was perched on top of the sundial. The ebony cursing bowl was placed at the foot of a sycamore tree whose leaves were a molten kaleidoscope of scarlet, orange, and yellow. And so she continued until, almost emptied, the trolley bounced along behind her on skittish wheels. She sat down on the wooden bench facing the park and breathed a sigh of contentment. A job well done—almost. The final item on the wooden slats beside her was a bone china cup and saucer painted with gold and violets. It rattled in the aftershock of an explosion two streets away that killed a postman and seriously injured a passerby. A thick pall of smoke smudged a dark column into the afternoon sky and Eulalia smiled as she remembered that she had left the gas on.

  “Put the gas on under the kettle, tea to the teapot, milk to the jug.”

  Back in the kitchen Laura smiled as Sunshine talked herself through the tea making as she always did with any task that required concentration. There was a knock at the back door, and without waiting for a reply, Freddy came in. Laura had spoken to him the night before to let him know that his job was still there if he wanted it, and to invite him for tea in the kitchen, rather than drinking it alone in the garden as he usually did. He had been away since the funeral, and when he had left, the situation at Padua had still been uncertain.

  She had surprised herself by issuing the invitation, but reasoned that the more often she came into contact with him, the less flustered she might be when she did. Because she couldn’t help but find him rather increasingly attractive.

  “Two sugars, please,” he said, winking at Sunshine. She blushed deeply and found something fascinating to look at on the teaspoon she was holding. Laura knew how she felt. There was something intriguing about this laconic man who tended the garden with such care, and did odd jobs around the place with quiet efficiency. Laura had learned scarcely anything about his life away from Padua; he gave so little away and she hadn’t yet found the courage to ask. But she was building up to it, she promised herself. The only information he seemed to require was what needed doing, and were there any biscuits.

  “Freddy, this is Sunshine, my new friend and assistant. Sunshine, this is Freddy.”

  Sunshine tore her gaze away from the teaspoon and tried to look Freddy in the eye.

  “Hi, Sunshine. How’s it going?”

  “How’s what going? I’m nineteen and I’m dancing drome.”

  Freddy smiled.

  “I’m thirty-five and three-quarters and Capricorn.”

  Sunshine placed a cup of tea in front of Freddy and then the milk jug and sugar bowl. Then a teaspoon and a plate of biscuits. And then a fork, a bottle of washing-up liquid, a packet of cornflakes, and an egg whisk. And a box of matches. Freddy’s slow smile split his handsome face, revealing a perfect set of white teeth. The smile burgeoned into a deep, throaty laugh. Whatever it was, he had passed Sunshine’s test. She sat down next to him.

  “St. Anthony has left all the lost things to Laura and we have to get them back at the right people. Except the cup and saucer.”

  “Is that right?”

  “Yes, it is. Shall I show you?”

  “Not today. I’ll finish my tea and washing-up liquid first, and then there’s a job I have to go to. But next time I’m here, it’s a date.”

  Sunshine almost smiled. Laura was beginning to feel a little superfluous.

  “Anthony was certainly a very good man, Sunshine, but strictly speaking, he wasn’t a saint.”

  Freddy drained his cup. “Well now, he could have been. Have you never heard of St. Anthony of Padua, the patron saint of lost things?”

  Laura shook her head.

  “I kid you not. It’s true. Five years at Sunday school,” he added by way of explanation.

  Sunshine smiled triumphantly. Now she had two friends.

  CHAPTER 19

  Laura was throwing away her old life. It was going to be a messy business. She tipped a boxful of junk into the bin and slammed the lid shut, blowing a puff of dust and dirt into her face in the process. She had been sorting through the last of her things she had brought with her from the flat, many of which hadn’t been unpacked since she had moved from the house she had shared with Vince. If she hadn’t needed them in the last ten years, she reasoned, she wasn’t likely to need them now. The local charity shop might have been glad to have some of her “junk,” but that would involve a trip into town which Laura wasn’t keen to make. “I’m too busy for that at the moment . . .” she convinced herself. Before the ink could dry on her words of excuse, they were smudged with guilt as she remembered Anthony’s letter: “There is a world outside Padua and it is well worth a visit now and then.” Another day, she promised herself.

  She wiped the grime from her face with her hands, and then wiped her hands on her jeans. God, she was filthy; time for a shower.

  “Hello. Do you work here?”

  The question came from a leggy blonde who appeared down the path at the side of the house in skintight jeans and pale pink suede loafers which boasted telltale Gucci horse bit trims and matched perfectly with her cashmere sweater. Laura’s dumbfounded expression clearly caused the young woman to assume that she was either foreign, simple, or deaf. She tried again, speaking very slowly and a little too loudly.

  “I’m looking for Freddo—the groundsman.”

  Thankfully, at that moment, the very man himself appeared, sauntering down the garden carrying a wooden crate of freshly dug potatoes that he set down at Laura’s feet.

  “Darling Freddo!”

  The young woman flung her arms around his neck and kissed him enthusiastically on the lips. Freddy gently untangled himself and took her hand.

  “Felicity, what in God’s name are you doing here?”

  “I’ve come to take my darling boyfriend out to lunch.”

  Freddy grinne
d. He looked a little uncomfortable.

  “Felicity, this is Laura. Laura this is Felicity.”

  “So I gather.” Laura nodded, but didn’t offer her hand, which was just as well because Felicity wasn’t in the habit of shaking hands with “the help.” The happy couple trotted off, arm in arm, and Laura took the potatoes into the kitchen and banged the crate down on the table.

  “Sodding cheek!” she fumed. “Do I look like I work here?”

  Catching sight of herself in the hall mirror, Laura was forced to reconsider. With her unkempt hair scragged back under a spotted bandanna, grime-streaked face, and baggy, shapeless sweatshirt, she looked like a modern-day scullery maid.

  “Bugger!”

  She stomped upstairs and had a long hot shower, but afterward, as she sat on her bed swathed in a towel, it was clear that the water had only succeeded in washing away the dirt and not her anger. She was jealous. She was mortified to admit it, but she was. The sight of that wretched woman kissing Freddy had thoroughly annoyed her. Laura raised her eyebrows at her own reflection in the dressing-table mirror and smiled sheepishly.

  “I can go out to lunch if I like.”

  That was it. She would go out to lunch. Anthony had wanted her to go out, and so she would. Today. Right now.

  The Moon Is Missing was a “smart casual” pub with “black tie” aspirations. Its proximity to St. Luke’s meant it was popular for post-funeral pick-me-ups and pre-wedding loin-girders. Laura ordered a whiskey and soda, and “herb-crumbed goujons of cod served with hand-cut wedges of King Edwards and a lightly frothed tartare sauce,” and took a seat in one of the booths that lined the wall facing the bar. Her bravura had deserted her almost as soon as she had left the house, and what should have been a treat had become something to endure, like a visit to the dentist or a crawl through rush-hour traffic. Laura was glad she had arrived early enough to bag a booth, and that she had remembered to bring a book with her to hide behind, just in case anyone tried to talk to her. On her way here, it had suddenly and rather worryingly occurred to her that Freddy and the frisky Felicity might also be lunching in this particular pub, but much though the thought horrified her, she was too stubborn to turn back. And so here she was, drinking in the middle of the day, which was unheard of, and pretending to read a book she wasn’t really interested in, while waiting for a lunch that she didn’t really want. All in order to prove a point to herself and not let Anthony down. And to think that she could have been at home cleaning the cooker. Even Laura couldn’t help but crack a wry smile at her own ridiculousness.

  The pub was filling up, and just as the waitress brought her posh fish fingers and chips, the booth next to Laura’s was occupied with a great deal of huffing and puffing and shedding of coats and shopping bags. As her new neighbors began reading aloud from the menu, Laura recognized the imperious alto of Marjory Wadscallop accompanied by the dithering descant of Winnie Cripp. Having decided upon and ordered two “poussin and portobello potages,” the pair chinked their glasses of gin and tonic and began discussing the production of Blithe Spirit currently in rehearsal by their amateur dramatics group.

  “Of course, technically, I’m far too young to play Madame Arcati,” asserted Marjory, “but then the part does require an actor of extraordinary range and subtlety, so I suppose, considering the dramatis personae at Everard’s disposal, I was the only real choice.”

  “Yes, of course you were, dear,” agreed Winnie, “and Gillian’s an absolute pro at costumes and makeup, so she’ll have you looking old in no time.”

  Marjory was unsure whether to be pleased about this or not.

  “Well, she absolutely looks like a ‘pro’ with the amount of slap she normally wears,” she replied tetchily.

  “Naughty!” Winnie giggled and then fell guiltily silent as the waitress arrived with their chicken and mushroom soups accompanied by “an assortment of artisan bread rolls.” There was a brief hiatus while they salted their soups and buttered their bread.

  “I’m a bit nervous about playing Edith,” Winnie then confessed. “It’s the biggest part I’ve had so far and there’s an awful lot of lines to remember, as well as all that carrying of drinks and walking on and off.”

  “You mean ‘stage business’ and ‘blocking,’ Winnie. It’s so important to use the correct terminology.” Marjory took a large bite from her granary roll and chewed on it thoughtfully before adding,

  “I shouldn’t worry too much, dear. After all, Edith is only a housemaid, so you won’t be required to do very much real acting.”

  Laura had finished her lunch and asked for the bill. Just as she was gathering her things to leave, the mention of a familiar name caught her attention.

  “I’m sure Geoffrey will be a perfectly serviceable Charles Condomine, but in his younger days Anthony Peardew would have been ideal for the role; tall, dark, handsome, and so very charming.” Marjory’s voice had taken on an almost wistful tone.

  “And he was a writer in real life too,” added Winnie.

  Marjory’s tongue sought to dislodge a grain from her roll which had become caught under her dental plate. Having succeeded, she continued:

  “It does seem rather odd that he left everything to that rather prickly housekeeper of his, Laura.”

  “Mmm. It’s a funny business, all right.” Winnie loved a side order of scurrilous gossip with her lunch. “I shouldn’t wonder if there wasn’t a bit of ‘funny business’ going on there,” she added knowingly, delighted at her double entendre.

  Marjory drained the last of her gin and tonic and signaled to the waitress to bring her another one.

  “Well, I expect she did a little more for him than just the dusting and hoovering.”

  Laura had intended to try to sneak past them without being seen, but now she turned and faced them with a brazen smile.

  “Fellatio,” she announced. “Every Friday.”

  And without another word, she swept out.

  Winnie turned to Marjory with a puzzled expression.

  “What’s that when it’s at home?”

  “Italian,” said Marjory, dabbing at her mouth with a napkin. “I had it in a restaurant once.”

  CHAPTER 20

  Sunshine set the needle onto the spinning licorice disk and was rewarded with the mellifluous tones of Etta James; hot and rich like smoked paprika.

  In the kitchen, Freddy was sitting at the table, and Laura was making sandwiches for lunch.

  “She’s got great taste.”

  Freddy tipped his head in the direction of the music.

  Laura smiled.

  “She’s choosing the music for when we scatter Anthony’s ashes. She says it’s like the film where the dog gets a bone and the clocks stop because St. Anthony’s dead but he’ll be together forever with Therese. But she calls her ‘The Lady of the Flowers.’ And your guess is as good as mine.”

  She sliced cucumber into translucent slices and drained a tin of salmon.

  “She wants to make a speech as well, although I’m not sure we’ll make head or tail of it.”

  “I’m sure we’ll make it out just fine.”

  Freddy spun a teaspoon that was idling on the table.

  “She just has her own way of saying stuff, that’s all. She knows the words that we all use, but I suppose she just likes hers better.”

  Laura licked a smudge of butter from her finger. She wasn’t used to having actual conversations with Freddy. His way of saying stuff was usually a combination of nods, shrugs, and grunts. But Sunshine wasn’t having any of that. With her solemn eyes and soft, fluty voice, she coaxed the words from him like a snake charmer.

  “But isn’t she just making life harder; setting herself further apart . . .”

  Laura’s voice trailed off along with her train of thought, stymied by political correctness. Freddy weighed her words carefully and without judgment.

  “Further apart from ‘normal’ people, you mean?”

  It was Laura’s turn to shrug. She didn�
�t really know what she meant. She knew that Sunshine had made few friends at school, and had been mercilessly taunted by the feral teenagers who hung around in the local park drinking cheap cider, vandalizing the swings, and having sex. Were they normal? And if they were, why should Sunshine want to be like them? Freddy balanced the neck of the teaspoon on the tip of his index finger. Laura went back to the sandwiches and began cutting them viciously into triangles. Now he would think she was a . . . A what? Bigot? Idiot? Maybe she was. The more she saw of Freddy, the more it mattered what he thought of her. Laura’s idea of inviting Freddy to take his breaks in the kitchen in order to facilitate a more relaxed relationship between them could not yet be deemed a success, but the time they spent together was the part of the day she looked forward to most.

  Freddy placed the teaspoon carefully down in front of him and leaned back in his chair, rocking the two front legs off the floor. She fought the urge to tell him to sit properly at the table.

  “I think it’s a sort of camouflage”—he rocked back onto four legs—“the way she speaks. It’s like a Jackson Pollock. There’s so many specks and splashes of paint that if one of them happens to be a mistake, no one can tell. If Sunshine does get a word wrong, we’ll never know.” He shook his head, smiling to himself. “It’s genius.”

  At that moment the genius came into the kitchen looking for her lunch. Laura was still thinking about what Freddy had said. A gardener using the art of Jackson Pollock as a linguistic metaphor was a little unexpected, and another intriguing insight into the kind of man he really was. It made Laura both eager and determined to find out more.

  “By the way,” said Freddy to Laura, “the film. It’s Four Weddings and a Funeral.”

  Sunshine grinned and sat down next to her newest friend.

  After lunch, they all went through to the study. Sunshine was desperate to show Freddy Anthony’s museum of missing things, and Laura was toying with the idea of asking if he had any bright ideas about returning them to their rightful owners. Each time she came into the study it seemed to Laura that the room was filling up; less space, more things. And she felt smaller; shrinking, sinking. The shelves seemed to groan, threatening collapse, and the drawers creak, dovetails about to fly open and burst. She feared she would be buried under an avalanche of lost property. For Sunshine it was a treasure trove. She stroked and held and hugged the things, talking softly to herself—or perhaps the things themselves—and reading their labels with obvious enchantment. Freddy was appropriately astonished.