The Missing Treasures of Amy Ashton

by Eleanor Ray

  “No,” said Rachel. “I’m going to call the council. The mice are coming from your house. I know they are.”

  Amy was sure Rachel could know no such thing, unless she spent her evenings tracking mice through the cellars of Ivydale Close. The walls were thin enough for Amy to know that was not what she did of an evening. She argued with her husband, watched EastEnders, and then had noisy sex, presumably with said husband. The smell of cigarette smoke used to follow all three activities, but recently Amy had smelled something sweeter. She’d wondered briefly if Rachel had made the unlikely transition from smoking to baking, until she realized it was the saccharine flavor of a vanilla vape wafting through the air.

  “I’ve never seen a mouse in my house,” Amy replied.

  “They’ll be hiding under all your rubbish.”

  “There is no rubbish in my house,” said Amy with pride. Her house was fairly full, of course, but that was because it was filled to the brim with treasures.

  “We both know that’s not true,” replied Rachel.

  “And I’d thank you to keep that cat away from my property,” continued Amy. “I hate to think of the damage he could do to my birds.”

  Rachel rolled her eyes at the mention of Amy’s birds and opened her mouth, but her words remained unspoken as both women were distracted by the growl of a large engine. Their little street of suburban terraced two-up two-downs rarely saw much traffic, and they both turned to watch as a large moving van pulled in.

  “Old Mrs. Hill’s place. It must be,” said Rachel. The women enjoyed a temporary truce as they watched the van attempt to park.

  Amy missed Mrs. Hill. She’d been a perfect neighbor, quiet and undemanding. Even when Amy had shared the house with Tim and Chantel, they’d never made it beyond a gentle nod of greeting and an occasional muttered “hello” if either was feeling particularly gregarious. In fact, she hadn’t even noticed that Mrs. Hill was gone until her grown-up children turned up one day to fill up their cars with her possessions. Sad as Amy had been, there followed a glorious time with no neighbors at all on that side, a luxury rarely afforded in the area. Then the FOR SALE sign was replaced with a triumphant boast from the estate agent. SOLD.

  And now, here they were. Her new neighbors.

  Well, not exactly. Two men in bright-blue overalls emerged from the truck and opened it up. “I’m going to see if they’d like a cuppa,” said Rachel, trotting over to the van. She turned back to Amy as she went. “Sort out the mice or I will be forced to report you. I mean it this time.”

  She watched Rachel smiling at the removals men while trying to get a good peek inside the truck. Amy went back into her house. She couldn’t help but want to nose too, but she decided to take a subtler tack and headed to her living room.

  Even she had to admit, this room was at capacity. Boxes were piled up like pyramids. Some had mirrors leaning on them; some had vases still waiting for flowers. There were several clocks that had long since ceased to tick. Lighters were scattered like confetti on what little floor space there was.

  Many boxes were adorned with birds.

  Amy kept as many of her birds out as she could. It seemed cruel to have them cooped up in darkness when they loved the sunlight, but Amy couldn’t make space for them all to be free at once. She’d kept the sofa mostly clear to give herself a rather indulgent place to sit, and she’d also made sure she had a thin walkway to the window. She traversed her miniature ravine, then turned back to admire the room.

  Hundreds of little china eyes peered back at her. She’d quite a collection in her aviary, as she liked to call it. Inquisitive blue tits, exotic parakeets, diving swifts, angry jays, proud kingfishers. Perched on shelves, on boxes, on the windowsill.

  Exquisite.

  She felt she shouldn’t have favorites, but she couldn’t help herself. She approached the windowsill and placed a gentle hand on Scarlett’s back. Amy still remembered the moment she’d found her in the bargain bin of Amy’s favorite charity shop. The china body of a robin, her breast bright red and her eyes gleaming. Full of hope. But her delicate legs were broken and her feet were nowhere to be seen.

  Amy had frantically rummaged through the bin, to the amusement of the volunteer staff, until she emerged triumphant with the robin’s china perch, complete with spindly feet still tightly gripping the branch. She’d bought the bird at once and rushed home. Some glue and a nervous wait later, and the robin was whole again, albeit with legs that would forever be crooked.

  That didn’t matter to Amy, of course. She loved her all the more for her imperfections. She pulled the curtain to one side, and they looked out of the window together.

  Rachel was flicking her hair around and laughing at something the younger of the two removals men had said, and the older man was unloading chairs from the van alone. He had a round belly and a nasty cough. Amy peered at the chairs. There were four, wooden and nondescript. Not much to be gleaned about the new neighbors from that.

  Amy had barely noticed it at first, but the area, once having rather a grimy edge, had gradually become desirable. Laundromats had been replaced by artisan bakeries, and the price of a cup of coffee had gone up fourfold. Couples and young families were snapping up properties like organic croissants. The row houses were small but came with gardens and an easy commute into the city. Amy supposed that she should be pleased that her house, which she had scrimped and saved for when her landlord wanted to sell it, had gone up in value. But the truth was it made no difference to her. She couldn’t imagine ever moving.

  What if Tim came back?

  She watched Rachel walk past Amy’s house and back to her own. Amy was pleased to see that the older man had the help of his companion again. They lifted a table out of the van, then unloaded something garish: bright yellow and plastic. Amy strained her eyes, trying to work out what it was.

  A car. She looked again. No, a bed in the shape of a car. A child’s bed.

  Damn.

  It was inevitable, she supposed, and there were other children on the street. But right next door? Her hand found Scarlett again, and for a moment she imagined the robin to be quivering with fear. Children were breakers. They both knew that. Silently she promised Scarlett that she would keep her safe.

  She watched more furniture as it was paraded past her window. A futon. Beanbags. A number of houseplants at various stages of dehydration. Numerous boxes, their contents a mystery.

  Rachel emerged from her house clutching a large plate with what looked to be a Victoria sponge sitting on top. She certainly hadn’t had time to bake it—she must have run to the local shop. Amy leaned forwards, pressing her forehead against the windowpane. Sure enough, Rachel was panting as she made her way past Amy’s house to old Mrs. Hill’s place. Amy couldn’t see the door from her perspective, but she heard the bell ring and a woman answer. Not one but two children emerged from the house and into her field of vision.

  Both were boys. Amy couldn’t help but feel that was even worse news. A nursery rhyme about slugs and snails and puppy-dog tails started to play in her mind.

  The older child might have been eight or nine and began kicking a black-and-white ball at the side of the removals van. Balls could cause a lot of damage. Amy watched him kick, wondering if he had enough power to get it through her window. The younger child was perhaps three, and was watching his brother and sucking his thumb, every once in a while throwing a little air kick.

  “Charles Frederick, stop kicking that ball at once,” commanded a woman’s voice from inside the house. “You’ll break something.”

  It was exactly what Amy had been thinking, and she was pleased to see that the boy obeyed her. He nestled the ball under his arm and bent down to pet Smudge, who’d left Amy’s front garden to entwine himself around the boy’s legs.

  The men left a pile of boxes on the pavement and all the adults disappeared inside the house. The voices stopped. Presumably Rachel and the men had been invited in for tea and maybe a piece of the cake. Amy found she
was hungry herself and almost wished she’d been friendlier and could join them all. She decided to prepare a snack. She was pretty sure she still had a lump of cheddar in the fridge, and some crackers somewhere. She’d eat with Scarlett. She watched the elder boy attempt to pick up Smudge, but the cat made a run for it.

  She heard a thud. The heartbreaking sound of something being smashed. Amy closed her eyes and put her hand to her head, fearing the worst. A sob broke out.

  It all came from outside, she told herself. Not her house. She opened her eyes and looked. Sure enough, one of the boxes had fallen. The smaller child was on top of it, his face crimson and his mouth bellowing in anguish. He must have tried to climb the boxes and had knocked one over.

  Amy hated the thought of anything at all being broken, but at least it was nothing of hers. The larger boy abandoned the cat and the ball and grabbed his brother in a big hug. The little boy held out his hands, and his brother inspected them and dusted them off. The ball rolled away, making its escape from the scene of the crime.

  “Charles Frederick!” Amy watched as their mother charged out of the house, ignoring the small crying child and starting to lambaste his older brother. “What did I tell you about kicking your ball here?”

  The boy muttered something inaudible, but Amy could tell from the hang of his head that he was taking the blame.

  “It’s the last straw,” the woman continued. “I warned you. Didn’t I?” Amy listened. There was something in the tone of voice that she didn’t like at all. For a moment she hesitated, wanting to keep the neighbors at arm’s length. Then she rushed out of her house, forgetting to close the door behind her.

  “It wasn’t him!” she declared to the woman, who scowled at her for a moment before turning her gaze to the smaller child. He was holding his brother’s leg and had a little scrape on his knee that attested to his guilt. Amy found herself temporarily distracted by his T-shirt—a dinosaur sniffing anachronistically at a lighthouse.

  “Daniel Joseph!” said the woman. “Was it you?” The smaller child cowered and started to cry again. Amy felt terrible. This little boy getting in trouble wasn’t what she’d intended, even if he was to blame. A trickle of clear snot joined forces with the tears on his face. He paused from his crying to lick it up, and Amy found herself feeling a little nauseated.

  His mother looked momentarily sickened too. “Get your brother a tissue,” she said to the older boy.

  “It was me,” said Charles Frederick, wiping his brother’s nose with his sleeve. “I knocked over the boxes. That woman is lying.”

  “You mustn’t accuse strange women of lying,” said his mother. She turned to Amy and squeezed out a smile. “I’m so sorry about that. I don’t know where he gets his manners from.” She wiped her hands on her jeans and reached one hand out to Amy, who was wondering what to feel about the “strange woman” comment. “I’m Nina. These two are my partner’s children.” She shrugged a little, looking as though she was feeling better now Amy knew that they were not her offspring.

  Inspiration struck Amy. “It was Smudge,” she said.

  “Excuse me?” said Nina.

  “Smudge knocked over the boxes,” she said triumphantly. “Rachel’s cat,” she added in explanation, seeing Rachel emerge from the house at the commotion, with a little cream at the corner of her mouth.

  “Oh gosh, I’m so sorry,” said Rachel. “Of course I’ll pay for any damage.”

  “No need, I’m sure it’s nothing,” said Nina pleasantly. Amy looked at the two women, uncomprehending. How could they be so relaxed when something could be damaged? “Let’s go back inside.”

  “Don’t you want to check the box?” asked Amy. “What if one of your things is broken? A bottle, maybe, or a glass? You might need to repair it.”

  “What if it’s one of my diggers?” asked Charles, looking anxious.

  “That’s not going to be urgent, is it?” Nina said with a laugh. She looked at Amy. “Will you join us for cake?”

  Amy’s stomach rumbled, but she declined. “I’d really feel better if you checked in the box,” she said. Rachel gave Nina a knowing look, and Amy had the impression that she’d already been a topic of conversation.

  “This is your new neighbor, Amy Ashton,” said Rachel, sounding apologetic.

  “Can I look in the box?” Amy was feeling increasingly sick. “I have some glue.…”

  Nina shrugged and walked to the box. “A few mugs and some toys were all that was in here,” she said dismissively as she opened it. “Nothing valuable.” Amy followed her, peering over her shoulder. A jumble of little yellow cars looked back at her. No, not cars. Diggers.

  “Are my JCB construction machines okay?” asked Charles, rushing over to the box and leaning in so far it seemed he might tumble inside. “My remote-controlled metal die-cast excavator was in there!” He began to take out the toys one by one, including several still in their original boxes. He lined them up on the pavement. Smudge came over and gave them a curious sniff.

  “We’re trying to move into the house, not onto the curb,” said Nina. “Take those inside.”

  “They’re all okay,” said Charles, looking relieved. “Tough machines, JCBs.” He smiled at Amy.

  Amy looked at what remained in the box: an assortment of mugs, one clearly damaged. Nina followed her gaze. “Only one mug broken,” said Nina cheerfully. “No real harm done.”

  It was no wonder a mug had been broken. The packaging was a couple of sheets of loose bubble wrap, woefully inadequate. Amy looked at the casualty. It was a beautiful shade of yellow with a pretty sheen, like butter melting on a summer’s day. The handle had come off and the mug itself was broken in two. It would always have a hairline scar down the middle, but all the pieces were there. Amy was sure she could fix it.

  “Stop,” she exclaimed, as Nina went to toss the pieces into a large wheelie bin. “I can repair it.”

  “It’s just a cheap mug,” said Nina. “Don’t bother.”

  “Let her,” said Rachel. “It’s easier.”

  “Fine.” Nina passed her the broken pieces, and Amy cradled them carefully. “Thanks,” Nina added, clearly not meaning it.

  Amy hurried back to her house. The door was still open, which was lucky as she’d not brought her key. It still made her uncomfortable: What if Smudge had crept inside? It could have been carnage for her birds. She vowed not to forget herself like that again.

  But despite her hurry, she could hear Rachel talking to Nina. “She didn’t used to be like this, apparently,” she said, the excitement of gossip audible in her voice. “Poor Amy. It’s tragic, really, what she’s been through.”

  Amy had no desire to hear her story told by Rachel. She closed her door with a thud.

  October 1998

  “Who put the Spice Girls on?” asked Amy, looking around the room. The house party was in full swing and no one answered, though she suspected the two girls dressed as cats, busy touching up their whiskers with eyeliner as they peered into a small mirror. Amy shuffled through the CDs and selected the new Garbage album. “Dance?” she suggested, skipping to the second track.

  Chantel pulled herself up from the sofa and joined her. Amy lifted her arm and Chantel twirled out and then back again, her black skirt swirling up to reveal her stripy yellow-and-black leggings. It was their signature dance move, so of course it came out at every opportunity, even shoeless on the carpet at this party Seb had thrown for Halloween while his parents were out of town.

  “Take a break?” asked Chantel, as the CD came to an end and someone replaced it with the Verve. Her voice was already a little breathless and her face sweaty. “It’s hot work being a bumblebee.”

  “Sure,” said Amy, and they both sank back into the sofa. “You must be roasting in those leggings.”

  “True, but they’re the best bit of the costume,” said Chantel. “If I take them off, I’d just look like a naff fairy.” She gestured to her small wings, designed for a fairy costume.

 
; “Or a fly for my web,” said Amy, wiggling her fingers at Chantel in a not very convincing spider impression. She was pretty pleased with the costume she’d pulled together. She’d had inspiration from a black vest top she’d had already, with silver cobwebs printed over it. She’d added a black woven skirt, fishnet tights, and as many plastic spiders as she could sew to her clothes.

  “I can tell you’re an artist,” said Chantel, surveying the costume. “You’ve got that eye.”

  “I can’t wait to start my foundation course.”

  “Your costume is freaking me out,” said Chantel. “I keep thinking you’re crawling with real spiders.” She shuddered and passed Amy the plastic Coke bottle they’d topped up with Malibu. Amy took a deep swig and handed it back, feeling the room spin a little. A whiff of cannabis floated through the air. Amy knew that Chantel was bound to sniff it out and befriend whoever’d brought it.

  “It would have been better if you’d come as a flower,” said Chantel. “You’d match my costume and you wouldn’t be quite so terrifying.”

  “Or a jar of honey,” mused Amy. “Not very Halloween-y though.”

  “I smell the good stuff,” interrupted Chantel inevitably, sitting up and eyeing the room like a meerkat. “Want some?”

  “No,” said Amy. “I’m fine with the Malibu.”

  “Probably a good idea. You’d terrify yourself, wearing those insects stoned.”

  “Spiders aren’t insects,” she started, but Chantel was gone. Amy looked around the party. Seb, dressed as a cowboy, was fervently snogging a witch on the sofa. The two girls with cat ears and black noses had put Five on the CD player and had taken her and Chantel’s place dancing. She briefly watched them bouncing up and down while counting to the music on their fingers. She took another swig of her drink.

  “I’ve always liked spiders,” said a boy wearing a bright-orange T-shirt and black jeans. “And Garbage.” Amy felt he was slightly familiar, but she didn’t think she’d spoken to him before. He had an apologetic slope to his shoulders typical of the very tall and a Noel Gallagher haircut, and he was, Amy realized, excessively handsome. “Mind if I join you?”