Mr. Lewisham held his head in his hands across the other side of the oversized wooden desk. Covered in paperwork and dusty textbooks, he seemed to lose everything from his pen, to his glasses, to the place he was at on the page. This was his third apology since Harry arrived in the office twenty minutes earlier.
“I’m only sorry that we couldn’t get more. The damage was, I’m afraid, just too great to bear.”
“It’s all right, really,” said Harry, shifting in the uncomfortable Chesterfield chair. “There was nothing more that could be done.”
“If they’d saved the roof then maybe we could have pushed it, but all we had to sell were walls and a tile floor. Better to sell it as it was, and when the insurance monies come in, we can clear the rest of the debts.” Taking a magnifying glass from the desk, he scanned the page. “Now sign here and I’ll get whatever monies are left over transferred to you in due course. Plus, that insurance policy to which Steven Bradbury relinquished his claim. Yes, that’s it, just there where there’s a cross.”
The auction had taken place a few days before. Since then, Harry had been back twice to see Elsie, leaving with a promise to return as often as he could. He didn’t want to leave her wondering, as his mother had left her wondering once before. Having people in his life who had loved him across the years was something to be cherished. He had also delivered the coat and shoes back to Mr. Wright, with whom he was scheduled to have cake the following Thursday.
“Thank you,” Harry said then as he set down a pen. “I’m just glad to have it all finalized. Sorry it took me so long.”
“That’s no problem at all. It couldn’t have been an easy search. Did you find the box your mother was searching for?” Mr. Lewisham asked as he opened the front door onto the busy treelined St. George’s Place in Cheltenham city center.
“I beg your pardon?”
“Oh, I know all about it. She said it was some sort of family heirloom. A jewelry box, wasn’t it?” he said. “Did you happen to find it?”
“I suppose so, Mr. Lewisham. Yes, I did.”
“Well, that’s good. At least now it’s back where it belongs. Your mother, God bless her, can rest in peace.”
Although he wasn’t sure about Mr. Lewisham’s final statement, by the next morning, with the house sold and the box safely recovered, he felt unburdened in a way he had never expected. Waking early, he ate breakfast and drank a coffee, before opening the box for one final time. The items in the box told a story he had never known before, one in which he was cherished right from the moment of his birth. Carefully taking each item out he told himself that it was all right to keep some things, especially those that were special to him. But this time, as he removed the items from the box, he found that one of the lower levels also lifted out.
Underneath the false bottom he found a series of what looked to be tattered envelopes, all with her mother’s name and address on them. Opening the first, he found a letter from one of his foster carers, those people who had given him life and experiences, and who had offered him what he now realized was love. He read each subsequent letter, one for each year, detailing a different stage in his life, the things he was doing and the things he liked. They told of his immature loves, like yo-yos, hiking, skateboards. Encyclopedias, National Geographic magazines, and the trumpet. Bowling, naval ships, and heavy metal music. And as he read, he built the picture in his mind of the past he had lived, all that exposure to novel hobbies, interests his guardians had introduced him to, then written about in agreed annual letters to his mother. These letters were documentation of the life he’d lived, and the person he had been throughout his years.
And as he thought of his old home, the one he had shared with his mother, he realized then that the things she had collected were not for her at all; instead she had been collecting things for him, for a possible life that neither of them was living. She had collected things that she had been told he liked. It had all been his all along.
He could look upon the way she lived differently then, with a kinder more generous eye. It made sense somehow, in a way it never had before. In the absence of what you truly love, you keep the next best thing. She had relied on material objects to remind her that she had a son whom she loved. Letters that could take her back to the man she loved, and items that once belonged to parents whom she lost too soon, which perhaps could transport her back to a time when she was safe and loved. Her passion for collecting and preserving history mutated into a pathology, brought into existence by too many losses and periods of hurt. How could Harry not forgive her failings after realizing that? Reaching back into the box he pulled out the final object, the last thing to be buried under the false bottom. It was a small broach in the shape of two birds. It was covered in diamonds, or something similar, and quite beautiful. It reminded him of the bird painted on Tabitha’s shoulder, wings mid-flight, ready to take off. Spread your wings, Harry, he thought. Perhaps he was finally ready to do so.
When he called his boss, Victor, and arranged his return to work, he had not expected to find a new place to live. But after hearing about the fire Victor said he would have it no other way. Moving into Victor’s house came as a relief, as did being able to slip back into the routines he knew at work. He saw a couple of apartments for rent, and decided upon a small garden flat with large doors that he could open up and let the world in. It would be ready the following month. Polly said how pleased she was to see him back at orchestra practice, and even John seemed relieved by his presence. Busy at work, his days were filled with activities, people who wanted to hear of his travels, and others who just wanted him to read the newspaper aloud. But when he slipped into bed at night, he always found himself thinking about Tabitha, and exactly what he was supposed to do now that she was gone.
During one wakeful night at Victor’s, he logged onto the internet to search for her in the capacity of her new job in New York. And there on the website of the auction house, under the tab NEWS, was an article announcing her imminent arrival. There was a photograph, black-and-white, and in it she looked proud and strong. It felt as if she was moving a thousand leagues further from him. Yet he didn’t resent it. The sight of her moving forward made him feel as if he didn’t want to live in the past anymore either.
The following evening he sat in the orchestra looking out at the growing audience. It was incredible to him that so many people had come to see them play, and he was so thankful to be there. Smiling at the noise, the hubbub as people found their seats, he was shaking with a sort of nervous exhilaration. Although he wished there was somebody in the audience to play for, he also realized that this time he was happy to play for himself, keeping a promise he made to the person he wanted to be. As the show began, he forgot all about the crowd as he played through the repertoire. As the notes vibrated through his body, he vowed to himself right there and then, as his lips stung and his lungs throbbed from effort, that he would always strive for life to feel as good as it did in that moment.
It was during the final song, a rendition of “Unchained Melody,” when he saw her moving through the crowd. That flaming hair was undeniable even in the dark of the theater. Tabitha, right there, still in the UK. Before he could think he was on his feet.
“Tabitha,” he shouted, but she kept on moving. Certain that he was on his feet as part of the performance, the rest of the band stood up for a rousing finale. John was loving every minute of it, his arms waving about to the climax of the show. “Tabitha, wait,” he called, trying to push his way forward. But he couldn’t move for brass instruments, and found himself stuck behind the trombones to his left and the percussion section to his right. Kettle drums too big to pass, and too heavy to shove out of the way. Just moments later the show was over. Cheering and applause flooded the auditorium. Trapped onstage, he watched as Tabitha slipped through the doors, his free bird lost once more.
When he woke up the next morning, his original plan for the box seemed uncertain now that he knew Tabitha was still around. They had searched for it together, and he knew the value she placed on it. It wasn’t monetary, the true value it’s preservation and discovery. Staring at the box, packaged with Benoit’s name written on it, it didn’t seem right to send it without even letting Tabitha know it had been found. Perhaps it didn’t belong with him as Mr. Lewisham and his mother had implied, but perhaps it also didn’t belong to Benoit either. The value of this box was about more than one family, or one person. It was about a wider wrong being rectified. It was about truth being set free. Unwrapping the box, he reached in and took out the broach, and quickly wrote a letter to Tabitha. Sealing the broach inside an envelope, he grabbed the box, stuffed it in his rucksack, and left Victor’s house.
Moving quickly through the streets, he was desperate to reach the museum, a grand old building with a stucco frontage and columns holding up a portico. He had never seen where Tabitha worked, but he felt sure this was the right place. Stepping into the reception, a large, echoey space with a marbled floor, silence all around save the beat of his own feet, his hands suddenly began to shake. What was he doing? Was this a mistake? But then a young woman with shiny black hair who was sitting at the only desk waved him over. She smiled as he approached.
“Hello there,” she said. “Can I help?”
“Er, yes. I’d like to leave something for Tabitha Grant.”
“Okay,” the receptionist said, taking the bag as Harry handed it to her. “I’ll just give her a call to come down.”
“No, no, it’s okay,” Harry said as she reached for the phone. “There’s no need. She’s not expecting me. But along with that bag, could you please just give her this.”
Setting the envelope down on her desk she nodded her head. “If that’s what you want. Would you like to leave a name?”
“No,” Harry said, already moving away. “Everything I need to say is in that note.”
Tabitha couldn’t believe it was him as she saw him walking across the street away from the museum. What was he doing there? Pushing back her chair she headed from her office, past the boxes packed with textbooks ready to ship to New York. After charging down the stairs she crossed the foyer, breaking into a sweat as she rushed to Jenny at reception.
“Oh, I was just calling you,” Jenny said. “Somebody just left you a package.”
“I saw him. That was Harry.”
“Oh god!” Jenny said, her hand cupping her mouth. “That was him?” Then she smiled. “He’s very sexy, in a sort of let me rearrange your bookshelves kind of way.”
“I know.” Tabitha sighed, taking the envelope. Watching his performance the night before had been torture, never more so than when he stood up and called her name. It had only made the fact he wasn’t part of her life harder to bear. But she had to leave. She had to keep them both safe.
Tabitha tore the envelope open. The little broach dropped into her hand. Recognizing it instantly as something of value, she knew it was a Van Cleef and Arpels design from the unmistakable craftsmanship and the tiny inset jewels. It was almost identical to the one Benoit had in France.
“Wow,” Jenny said as she stood up to look at the broach. “Isn’t that a Van Cleef?”
“I think so,” Tabitha said. But she was more interested in the letter. It was short, and sweet.
This broach is for you. It’s worth something I’m sure, but that’s not why I’m giving it to you. It reminded me of you, the little tattoo on your shoulder, the love you had for the birds in my cages. I’ve let them go now, Tabitha, just as you wanted. You see, finally I understand that to know whether something is truly yours, first you have to let it go. What is in the bag is not for you, but it is for you to deal with. I know you will do the right thing.
“Give me the bag,” Tabitha said then, and without taking her eyes from the computer screen, Jenny handed it across the desk. Opening the clips, Tabitha peeled back the lid. Within a split second she knew what it was.
“Oh my god,” Tabitha said, closing the lid again. He had found it. He really had. Now he was leaving it with her. “I can’t believe it.”
“I know,” Jenny said, turning the screen to face Tabitha. “Look what it’s called.”
“I know what it’s called,” Tabitha began as she looked up. But Jenny wasn’t talking about the Klinkosch box. On the screen was the very broach that Harry had left for her. It was an old photograph, taken years before. “Is that the same one?”
“Sure is,” Jenny said. “Les Inséparables, made in nineteen forty-one by Van—”
“What did you say it was called?” Tabitha asked.
“Les Inséparables.”
Did he know the name of the broach? Was that why he gave her this? Suddenly, she realized, it didn’t matter. All her life she had latched onto people, tried to be their everything. But this time, just like his birds, Harry had set her free to be whatever it was she wanted. Only now she was totally free, she knew the thing she wanted the most was the very thing she had let slip away.
“Do not show anybody what’s in that bag until I get back,” she screamed, before flying from the museum.
Racing through the streets, at first she couldn’t see him, didn’t even know which direction to look. But suddenly there he was in the crowd ahead. Too many bodies lingered between them, hindering her progress to reach him. Running as fast as she could, the sheen of desperation shone slick across her brow.
“Harry,” she screamed, running some more. After a moment she had to stop to catch her breath. “Harry,” she called again. There was too much noise, he couldn’t hear her. Strangers glanced her way, wondering what was wrong with her. If she didn’t make him turn around soon, he was going to be gone for good. Seeing an opportunity she climbed on top of a nearby bin, rising her up above the crowds. Just about to turn the corner, she called once more. “Harrrrrrrrry,” she shouted as loud as she could, and just a moment later, along with several other people, he stopped.
Jumping down from the bin she charged through the crowds. Pushing just as hard to reach her, they were reunited. Reaching forward she grabbed his body, pulled it close. Holding him as tightly as she could, his arms enveloped her.
“You saw it?” he asked.
“Yes. I can’t believe you found it.”
He nodded. “I did.” His eyes were glassy as he smiled. “I thought you’d know what to do. I thought you would know what is right. You’d be able to find out where it truly belongs.”
“I do, and I will.”
“I looked for you, you know,” he said, stroking her arm. “I went to your house and the neighbor said you were gone.”
“I went to my parents’ place,” she said, unable to hide her smile. “I couldn’t leave without working things out with them first.”
His hand held hers, fiddling with her fingers as if he needed to make sure she was real. But his mind was elsewhere, on the very real facts as he knew them. “When do you leave?”
“Next week.” She closed her eyes like a small child trying to make something different from reality. “I have to go. But you know something? It doesn’t matter.”
“It doesn’t?”
“No. Because no matter where I am, I’m yours, Harry. Nothing can change that. You don’t belong to me, and I don’t belong to you. But we do belong together. We’re inseparable, aren’t we?”
All his life he had tried to hide how he really felt, scared to make demands of anybody. To try to be what people needed him to be, yet all the while scared to push himself into their lives for fear of not being wanted. He wasn’t scared to risk things anymore. Now he understood that he deserved something more, so there was no longer any reason to be afraid.
“We are,” he said, taking a shaky breath. It was now or never. “Which is why I was thinking that maybe we should leave together.”
“Harry, are you serious?”
“Nothing matters if we leave. Not Daniel’s threats, not the house, or the past. It would just be me and you, and a fresh start. If you want me to, I’ll come.”
Reaching down she took his hand in a grip so tight it almost hurt. “There is nothing I want more.”
As they walked away, her head resting against his shoulder, he realized that for the first time in his life he had given up everything that he had been clinging to, let everything go, and despite his worst fears, he was still there to live another day. In letting things go he had now only that which had come back to him. Now he wasn’t alone. Gazing up at the sky he saw a chink of bright blue struggling for space between two black clouds. Some things, he realized, important things that felt truly lost, were really there all along, safely hidden, just waiting to be found.