Spring seems to bloom overnight. After months of wintery skies and endless damp, grey days, I wake up to discover the sky is blue, the sun is shining, and the street is lined with fluttery pink-blossom trees. Sweet, warm air, like the scent of freshly laundered clothes, wafts in as I push open the stiff sash window, and when I reach into my wardrobe, I pull out a T-shirt – an actual T-shirt.
Slipping my winter feet into flip-flops, I head briskly towards the charity shop. I’m taking the last of Monty’s clothes. I dropped most of them off last week in the taxi, but one of the smaller suitcases fell behind the back seat and was only discovered much later by the driver. He brought it over the next day, but I’ve been busy so I’m only taking it now.
The lady in the charity shop recognizes me as I enter.
‘Back again!’ She looks pleased to see me. It was quite evident that Monty’s clothes were of a higher quality than the contents of most of the bin liners left in the shop doorway overnight.
‘Just one more.’ I gesture to the suitcase.
She smiles broadly. ‘Wonderful, thank you. We’ve sold so many of the items you brought in last week. They’ve raised over a thousand pounds already.’
‘I’ll let his wife know. She’ll be pleased.’
‘Such a difficult time.’ Her expression is sympathetic. ‘I hope she finds comfort in knowing she’s supporting those in need.’
‘Yes, I’m sure,’ I nod, opening the case and taking out the rest of Monty’s belongings. I know she’s trying to be nice, offering up such platitudes, but having witnessed Cricket’s heartbreak, there seems to be little comfort to be gained when someone you love dies. It’s just a case of necessity. Of getting on with it. Of putting one foot in front of the other, and breathing in and out.
‘Do you want to check through all the pockets, just in case?’
‘That’s not necessary, we did that already—’
‘Well, if you’re sure.’
She takes them from me and begins shaking out his clothes and slipping them on hangers, ready for their new owners. I watch her pick up the raincoat Monty found in Paris and my chest tightens. I turn to leave.
‘Oh, wait a minute, dear!’ The lady calls me back. ‘This was in the inside pocket.’
She’s holding out an envelope. I go to take it from her.
‘Oh, thank you. Good job you checked!’
‘Well, it was here, look . . .’ She starts showing me the raincoat. ‘It can appear just like a seam but it’s actually a little secret compartment for tucking away your wallet, or passport, or anything important that you don’t want to lose.’
‘Right, yes.’ I nod, slipping it into my bag. ‘Well, thanks again.’
She smiles cheerfully as I say my goodbyes and leave the shop. Only when I’m outside do I take it out again for a closer look. It’s addressed to Monty, and the edge of the envelope has been neatly slit by a letter opener. I was half expecting it to be postmarked Paris and contain some old love letter from sixty years ago, but it’s more recent, by the looks of it, and the stamp says España.
As I turn it over, a black-and-white photograph slips out. Taken underneath a tree, it’s of two men embracing.
My heart starts to beat a little faster. Is that—?
Written on the back is an inscription: Monty, t’estimo per sempre, Pablo.
I’m grateful for: