“I’m sorry.”
“The thing is, I reckon I know who it was. Those bastards next door. They know when I go out and come back. I kept the watch in a box in my kitchen cupboard. One day I got back from my pitch and the door had been forced. I knocked on next door and the bloke acted too friendly. He’d never had the time of day for me before but this time he offered me a cup of tea. I asked him about the watch and all the time his eyes were moving about, sly-like. I’m sure he’s got it. It had my dad’s name engraved on the back. Gerald.”
Arthur could offer little comfort. He knew how much an item of jewelry could be invested with emotions and memories. “I’m sorry to hear that. You must let me give you some money for letting me stay.”
“I don’t want it.” Mike lifted a cushion and then let it fall again. “I’m not a charity case. Where is my bleedin’ flute?”
“It’s on the bookshelf.”
“Oh. Right. Ta.” He shoved it into his pocket and picked up Lucy’s leash off the coffee table. He fastened it in a bow around her neck. She shook her head and then looked at Arthur.
“I’m not coming with you today.” He stroked her chin. “Just you and Mike.”
They had a quick brew and slice of toast and then they left the apartment together. The atmosphere had changed. Arthur felt like he might have offended the young man and didn’t want to make it worse.
Mike locked up and they made their way down the concrete stairs.
“All right, Arthur,” Mike said distractedly when they reached the bottom. “I’ll leave you to it. There’s a bus stop opposite. The 87a will take you to King’s Cross Station.”
“Thanks. Are you sure I can’t give you anything?”
Mike shook his head. “Nah. It was a pleasure. See you, then.” He turned and began to walk away.
Arthur stared after him. The two of them had shared an experience. There should be more to their goodbye than this. His friend had restored his trust and faith in people a little. He stepped forward. “Mike,” he called after him.
His savior turned, his brow furrowed. “Yeah?”
“Thanks for everything.”
“No probs. Now don’t get lost. No talking to strange men. And don’t forget to look on the bright side. Those charms might bring you luck.”
The Flower
ARTHUR GOT THE bus and traveled to King’s Cross, following Mike’s instructions. He boarded the train and slept all the way back home. He was awoken by a bony hand gripping his shoulder. “We’ve arrived in York,” an old man with eyebrows like white feathers said. “Do you need to get off here?”
Arthur nodded thanks. At the station he bought a bottle of water from a vending machine. Squirting it into his palms he splashed his face. Although he was still tired, there was a yearning sensation in his stomach.
He left the station and stood on the forecourt watching the taxis and people running for trains and those greeting relatives, loved ones and friends. He was glad to be back on home turf and recognized all the accents around him.
There was part of him that wanted to return to his house, to see Frederica and make a nice cup of tea. Yet there was also a part that wasn’t ready to settle back home. Not just yet. He wanted to find out more about Miriam’s mother.
As he walked, he took a bit of a detour, through the center of Thornapple. There was a more direct route home but he needed a bit of thinking space. The events of the past few days jumbled around in his mind and he wanted to reflect on them.
He had found out where Miriam had lived during her adventures, who she had known. But he didn’t know why she had left. It was unusual for anyone from Thornapple to do anything other than marry, have kids and stay in the village.
Had she been excited to live in a manor with tigers, or was it an inconvenience until she found something else? Did she know that Fran?ois De Chauffant was gay, or had he been the love of her life? Had her cold mother smiled when she handed over the little flower pendant? Had mother and daughter shared a tender moment? He supposed he would never find out.
What he had discovered were things about himself. He hadn’t expected to act so bravely while being mauled by a tiger. He had taken it in his stride. Really, he thought he would have screamed and freaked out. And he had survived a night in the strange manor, without his own toothpaste and pajamas. The day before that, the thought that his routine might have gone out of sync was enough to bring beads of perspiration to his forehead.
He offered relationship advice to a stranger in a café, and when he spoke he hadn’t sounded like the silly old man he told himself he was. He confronted a past love rival, when he could have walked away, and he tried to help Sebastian. His openness and acceptance of a young man with a drug problem and his dog had surprised him. These were qualities that he didn’t know he possessed. He was stronger and had more depth than he knew and he liked these new discoveries about himself.
What these people and events had stirred in him was desire. Not in the sense of lust or longing, but a reaction to others. When they had shown a need, he found a desire to help. When the tiger attacked he felt a desire to live. As the orange beast stood above him, he thought of the future and not the past.
This was at odds with all that he had felt over the months since Miriam died, when he wanted to go to bed at night and not wake up. When he planned to send his letter to Terry across the road to come and find him dead in his bed.
He had never paused to consider how other people lived their lives. To him, the whole nation might live in houses identical to his own, with the same layout. They would all rise at the same time in the morning and carry out their daily routines, as he did. He was forever reading in the newspaper about reality TV, following people in their everyday lives. How boring, he would think, not realizing that people’s lives varied wildly to his own.
Now he had uncovered difference and variety. People had their own gilded cages, like Sebastian waiting hand and foot on a man he had loved for mere months and who then became a stranger. He thought about Lord and Lady Graystock summoning each other by bell. They made his own life seem as gray as the cardigans in Miriam’s wardrobe.
Once he had looked back and viewed everything in Technicolor—the sky, the sand, his wife’s clothes. With each discovery the color of his memories was fading to a murky mingling together of hues. He wanted to stop, to turn back the clock, to put Miriam’s brown suede boots into the charity bag without first slipping his hand inside. Then he would be oblivious. He could be a widower in peace, looking back at his life with his wife through rose-tinted spectacles. Thinking that everything had been perfect.
Except it hadn’t been. He knew that really. He had two children who had drifted away from him. He heard the worry and love in Lucy’s voice when they spoke, but she kept her distance a lot. He hadn’t felt able to tell her about the charm bracelet yet. She was keeping things from him, too; he could sense it. When he sporadically called Dan there was always noise and the busyness of family life. They hadn’t managed to find the rhythm of being a family without Miriam.
He needed to bring back some control. Just as he was taking charge of the charm bracelet, of not letting its mysteries remain hidden, he had to do the same with his family. He had to find out the roots of the reason they were no longer tight-knit and pull them back together again.
He felt as though he was a seed that had been thrown away into a field onto fallow land. But against all odds there was a root emerging, pushing into the hard soil. A green shoot was peeping through. He wanted to carry on growing. Frederica’s leaves had once been withered and tinged with brown. He had nurtured her with water and attention and he was doing the same for himself.