The Curious Charms of Arthur Pepper

by Phaedra Patrick

  “I don’t want to sell. I’m just looking for some information about it. It belonged to my wife.”

  “Righto. Well, the bracelet itself is eighteen-karat gold. Heavy-duty stuff. Probably European, maybe English. I’d have to look up the mark. The charms, though, they vary in quality and age. They’re all good but some are better than others. The elephant one—that’s a top-class emerald in there.

  “I’d say the bracelet is Victorian, but most of the charms are newer. The heart looks like a modern piece, it’s new. See, it hasn’t even been soldered in place properly, just the jump ring pinched together. Did your wife buy that one recently?”

  Arthur shook his head. “I don’t think so...”

  “Well, that one looks like it was added hastily,” Jeff continued. “The tiger is nice but mass produced, I would say, probably in the fifties or sixties. The thimble and book are lovely quality, but the elephant is exquisite.”

  “I think it’s Indian.”

  “I wouldn’t argue with you there, Arthur.” Jeff peered more closely. “Hmm, the flower charm could be acrostic.”

  “Is that when you’re not sure of higher powers?” Mike said.

  Jeff laughed. “No. That’s agnostic. Acrostic was popular in Victorian times. It’s jewelry set with gemstones that spell out a name or message. It’s usually given by a relative or loved one as a sentimental gift. Here—” he took a gold ring out of a cabinet “—can you see the stones are set in a line? The first letter of each of the gemstones spells out the word dearest. Diamond, emerald, amethyst, ruby, emerald, sapphire and topaz.”

  “So you think the flower spells something?” Arthur said.

  “Well, let’s see. It’s probably 1920s—art nouveau style. I think it was originally a pendant rather than a charm as the link is very dainty. There’s an emerald, amethyst, ruby, lapis lazuli and a peridot.”

  Arthur rearranged the initials in his head several times. “The outer stones could spell pearl. And is that a tiny pearl set in the middle?”

  Jeff nodded. “It sure is. Impressive stuff, Arthur. Do you know anyone called Pearl?”

  Arthur frowned. “I think it might have been Miriam’s mother’s name.” He had always called her Mrs. Kempster, even after he and Miriam had married. She died before Dan was born.

  When Miriam had first invited him for tea, her mother’s first observation was that he had big feet. He had looked down at his size tens and didn’t think they were unduly large, but from then on he had become conscious of them.

  Mrs. Kempster had been a still, stiff kind of woman with a square jawline and steely-eyed stare. Miriam always called her “Mother” and never “Mum.”

  “Well, there you go, then. Does that date ring true, then—1920s?” Jeff said.

  “She would have been born around then.”

  “Maybe a christening present.” Jeff shrugged. “Then she might have given it to your wife.”

  Arthur nodded. It sounded entirely plausible.

  “I like the look of this paint palette, too. It’s a nice item. It’s got tiny initials engraved on it. S.Y. It’s not a mark I’m familiar with.” He slid the bracelet back over to Arthur. “You have yourself a beautiful piece of jewelry. I reckon you’d be looking at a grand, or more, to replace it. I’d happily take it off your hands for that.”

  “Really. That much?”

  “Charm bracelets are special to people. The charms usually mean something significant and important. It’s like wearing memories on your wrist. Looking at these charms, it looks like your wife had an exciting and varied life. I bet she could tell a few tales, eh?”

  Arthur looked at the floor.

  Mike noticed. “Well, cheers, Jeff, mate,” he said.

  Back outside Arthur felt the weight of the bracelet back in his pocket. The visit had left him even more confused. The heart charm couldn’t be new, could it? And he still wasn’t quite sure if Miriam’s mother had been called Pearl. He hadn’t noticed the initials S.Y. before.

  “Were you tempted to sell?”

  “I don’t know.” He felt a little shaken to learn so much from a stranger, to uncover more clues when he’d thought his search had come to a pause. “I suppose I’d better go.”

  “Go where? Do you have a train ticket home?”

  Arthur said that he didn’t. He looked around him blankly.

  “Do you have anywhere to stay tonight?”

  “I hadn’t thought that far ahead. I suppose I’ll find a hotel.” He couldn’t bear the thought of shacking up in a hostel again.

  “Well.” Mike mused for a moment. “You’d better stay at mine, then. It’s not much, but it’s home. Hotels can cost a pretty packet around here.”

  This silly adventure of his was muddling Arthur’s mind. He had messed up the head of the man in the café and now he was doing the same to himself. He didn’t want to sleep in a stranger’s house but his whole body felt rigid, as if he was turning to stone. The thought of venturing back into the tube station filled him with dread.

  He nodded and took hold of Lucy’s leash.

  Mike’s Apartment

  MIKE’S APARTMENT WAS sparsely furnished. At the end of a concrete corridor the bottle green wooden door had a hole where it looked as if someone had kicked it in. Inside all the furniture was well-worn and old fashioned. A 1970s coffee table, coated in orange varnish, had a blue-and-white-tiled mosaic top. A sofa with wooden legs was covered with a floral sheet. The floorboards were scuffed and spattered with paint.

  Arthur found himself staring at the bookcase. It was six feet tall and fully stocked. There were thrillers, biographies, a Bible and Star Wars annuals. “You have a lot of books,” he said.

  “Er, yes, I can read,” Mike said. His voice was prickly.

  “Sorry. I didn’t mean anything by that...”

  “Oh. Okay.” Mike delved his hands into his pockets. “Sorry. I snapped a little then. You know, when you make a living on the streets, some people automatically think you have no brain power. I’ve been on the receiving end of a lot of snotty remarks. I get a bit touchy. I’ll make us a drink. Is coffee okay? I’ve run out of tea.”

  Arthur nodded and sat down on the sofa. Lucy leaped up and settled on his lap. He stroked her head and she looked up at him with her orange eyes.

  “Where’s next on your travels?” Mike said as he placed two steaming mugs on the table. “What’s the next charm you’re trying to trace?”

  “I don’t know. I’m intrigued by the paint palette. And I haven’t thought about my mother-in-law for years. Or perhaps I should just stop searching. It makes my head hurt.”

  “You should never give up,” Mike said. “Those charms on your bracelet could be lucky.”

  Arthur shook his head. After what he had been through, he doubted it. “Lucky?”

  “You know. Lucky charms. Lucy is like my lucky charm.”

  “I don’t think so...”

  “How old are you, Arthur?”

  “Sixty-nine.”

  “Well, that’s kind of elderly, but not decrepit. You could have twenty years of life left. Are you really going to waste it planting hyacinths and drinking tea? Is that what your wife would have wanted you to do?”

  “I’m not sure.” Arthur sighed. “Before I found the bracelet, I’d be doing just that and thinking it’s what Miriam would have wanted for me. But now I don’t know. I thought I knew her so well, and now I’m finding out all these things that she didn’t tell me, that she didn’t want me to know. And if she kept these kinds of secrets from me, what else did she not tell me? Was she faithful to me, did I bore her, did I stop her from doing the kinds of things that she loved to do?” He looked down at the multicolored rag rug on the floor.

  “You can’t stop people doing what they want to do if they really want to do
it. Perhaps she thought that her life before you was no longer relevant. Sometimes when you’ve lived a chapter of your life, you don’t want to look back. I lost five years of my life through drugs. All I remember is waking up feeling like shit, or roaming the streets looking to score, or the delirium after I’d shot up. I don’t ever want to look back at that. I want to get back on my feet, get a proper job, maybe find a girl who’s good for me.”

  Arthur nodded. He understood what Mike was saying, but it wasn’t the same. “Tell me about your books,” he said. “I’d like to hear about them.”

  “I just like them. I still remember one from when I was a child. It was about a bear trying to get into a jar of honey. He never gave up. I thought about that when I was trying to get clean. I had to just keep on trying to open that honey jar.”

  “I liked to read to my kids when they were young. My son much preferred my wife to do it, but when I got to do it, it felt really special. I liked the stories, too.”

  “Everyone has a good story to tell, Arthur. If you’d have told me last night that I’d have an adventurous old bloke kipping at my house for the night, I’d think I was going mad. But here you are. You’re all right, Arthur, for a posh pensioner,” he teased.

  “And so are you, for a bit of a scruffbag.”

  The two men laughed.

  “I am rather tired now,” Arthur said. “Do you mind if I go to sleep?”

  “Not at all, mate. The bathroom is at the end of the hallway. You have my bed and I’ll sleep on the sofa.”

  “I won’t hear of it. I’m absolutely fine on here and it looks as though Lucy will be joining me.” The little dog had curled up beside him and gone to sleep.

  Mike left the room and returned with a green woolen blanket that smelled a bit musty. “This will keep you warm.”

  “It certainly will.” Arthur laid it over his legs.

  “Good night, then, Arthur.”

  “Good night.”

  Before he went to sleep he tried to phone Lucy again to tell her where he was and about her little furry namesake. But there was no reply. He stuffed his mobile under the cushion on the sofa. He lay down and his eyes began to close straightaway. The last thing he saw was the paint palette charm glinting, catching the light from the streetlamp outside.

  * * *

  When Arthur woke the next morning, Lucy was gone. He yawned and glanced around Mike’s sitting room. His eyes slowly fell upon the coffee table. There was nothing on it. The charm bracelet was no longer there. It no longer glinted in the light.

  His eyes widened and he sat bolt upright. A wave of nausea hit him in the back of his throat. Where was it? He was sure he had left it there. Standing, he nearly fell back over. His knees had locked and his back was curved. He slowly eased himself upright. Mike couldn’t have taken the bracelet. He trusted him. This was his flat. But then he wondered if it really was. There were no personal possessions. He remembered how Mike had tensed when he had mentioned the books.

  “Lucy?” he called out. His voice sounded hollow and he listened for the sound of her nails clipping on the floorboards. All he could hear were a couple shouting in the flat next door. He called her a lazy git. She called him a fat loser.

  He dropped the green blanket to the floor, then stood and walked around the flat. Again, all the furniture was functional. There were no photo frames or ornaments. In the bathroom there was an empty tube of Colgate on the sink. He opened the fridge and there was only half a pint of milk inside. He was alone. There was nothing here.

  He sank back onto the sofa and held his head in his hands. Pulling out his phone from under the cushion he saw that Lucy hadn’t returned his call. He should never have started on this journey. His boring life felt like a luxurious comfort now compared to this roller-coaster ride of emotions and events. Then he remembered his backpack. Had that disappeared, too? He had put his wallet in the front pocket. How the hell could he get across London with no money? He didn’t even know where he was. “I’ve been an absolute pillock, Miriam,” he said aloud. He would have to do whatever he could to get out of here and get back home.

  It wasn’t possible for his heart to feel any heavier when he heard a key in the front door. His heart leaped. “Mike?” he called out. “Mike. Is that you?”

  “That’s my name. Don’t wear it out.” The front door slammed shut. Lucy scampered toward him. She leaped up at his legs and he rubbed her neck.

  Mike dumped a carrier bag on the sofa. “I’ve been out to get a few supplies. I can’t afford much but I got bread and some butter for toast. I couldn’t afford milk and the stuff in the fridge is off, so black coffee only.”

  Arthur couldn’t help himself. He stepped over and hugged Mike. The young man’s body stiffened. “Er, is everything okay?”

  “Yes.” Arthur nodded with relief. His eyes flicked to the coffee table.

  “Ah. You’re wondering where your bracelet is. You woke up and saw it was gone and I was gone. You thought I’d done a runner.”

  “I’m sorry. It crossed my mind. I’m not very trusting at the moment.”

  “I can understand that.” Mike walked over to the bookshelf and slid out a dictionary. He took out the bracelet. “I got robbed last month. I don’t leave anything valuable hanging about—not that I have anything any longer.”

  “Did you lose something important?”

  “My dad’s watch. It was a gold Rolex. Jeff offered me a fortune for it, but I couldn’t let it go. I’d prefer to starve than to sell that watch. It was the only thing of his I had left. I sold the other stuff to pay for drugs. I really regret it now. He died when I was three.”

  “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 François 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.