Touching the Wire

by Rebecca Bryn

‘Look it out for me, will you?’

  Stacey clacked down the corridor on high heels. She returned a while later holding a dog-eared A4 envelope that bore the name Blundell W.W. and a four-figure number in thick black ink.

  ‘Thanks, Stacey.’ Frank Mason opened the envelope and took out a sheet of paper. He read it twice and then glanced at the carving. ‘This details an instruction given to us by your grandfather. We do hold something in his name but it’s somewhat unusual. It’s to be opened in ninety-nine years from the date it was deposited with us.’

  She leaned forward. ‘Ninety-nine years… The letter with this carving said it had to be returned to you within ninety-nine years, too. What is it you hold?’

  ‘That I can’t tell you. It does state that other packages will be forwarded here, and we’re to keep those under the same conditions. Maybe the one you have is one of them?’

  Lucy jiggled Duncan on her lap. ‘There are more?’

  ‘So it seems. Mind you, whether the others will arrive… We moved from number 27 years ago, and changed our name.’ He held out the piece of paper and looked in the envelope again. ‘It says there are full instructions.’

  She recognised Grandpa’s handwriting. ‘According to this there are five packages in all, Luce.’ She looked back to Mr Mason. ‘How many have you got?’

  ‘I’ll check.’ Minutes later he was back with a parcel. He blew dust from it before putting it on his desk. ‘Just the one. I’ve asked Stacey to see if there’s anything else on file but it may be the relevant instructions are inside.’

  Stacey’s clacking stopped outside the door. ‘I can’t find anything, Frank.’

  She fiddled with her ring finger. ‘Doesn’t the package belong to Gran now that’s Grandpa’s dead?’

  Frank Mason’s hands made a tent shape and his fingertips tapped together. ‘It depends if we’re holding this on trust, in which case we would be bound by that. This merely states instructions, presumably what’s to be done when the ninety-nine years have passed, not the terms on which we hold it.’

  Lucy frowned. ‘So what happens now?’

  ‘Unless I find paperwork to the contrary, if his wife inherited everything that will include the parcel.’

  She pushed her hair away from her eyes. ‘And we can take it away?’

  ‘She can dispose of it as she wishes.’

  ‘We can open it?’ She was itching to know what was inside. Her hand almost touched it.

  He moved the carton. ‘I’ll need to make a thorough search to satisfy myself we’ve discharged our responsibility before I release the package. I’ll also require proof of ownership, ideally your late grandfather’s will. Is your grandmother able to come to the office?’

  ‘She’s almost ninety. I doubt she’d want to make the journey.’

  ‘Then I’ll need a witnessed letter allowing one of you to act on her behalf. If you’d like to make another appointment?’ He pushed back his chair, and stood. ‘Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to prepare for my next client.’

  The package taunted her. ‘Of course.’ She got to her feet. ‘We’ve come a long way. Is there any chance you could fit us in later if we can get hold of the will?’ She glanced at Lucy. ‘If Grant will be okay with the children?’

  ‘I’ll text him and tell him we may be late.’

  Mr Mason smiled. ‘Ask Stacey to pencil you in at five-thirty. I’m here until six anyway.’

  ‘What if the other packages arrive?’

  ‘The same terms will apply.’ He smiled. ‘I’ve no doubt my father charged Mr Blundell for such an eventuality. We’ll forget inflation, this time.’

  ***

  Two o’clock. Charlotte turned the key in the lock and picked up her suitcase. Home? The coffee table in the lounge was overturned, and a whisky glass lay smashed by the lounge wall.

  Lucy’s hand on her shoulder made her jump. ‘Looks like Robin threw his teddy out after the rattle.’

  ‘He was upset.’

  ‘And you weren’t?’ Lucy sniffed. ‘Duncan needs changing.’

  ‘Use the bathroom.’

  ‘I’ll be as quick as I can.’

  She followed Lucy up the stairs and yanked open a drawer. She folded clothes into the case. Passport, driving licence, birth and marriage certificates were in the study, neatly filed. She stowed them in her handbag, finger’s trembling. Her stomach churned: she was glad she hadn’t come alone. If Robin turned up in an aggressive mood she’d leave immediately, and she wasn’t sure she’d ever come back.

  It was down to Robin now: until he could convince her he loved her, and could control his temper, what they had to say could be said over the phone. Aggressive, destructive… Dobbin…

  He lay on his side in the room Robin had had painted blue for a boy, one leg broken and an ear knocked off. Dobbin had only been here a week and already she’d let him be damaged. She knelt by the rockers and stroked the wooden nose.

  Lucy walked into the room: ‘Oh, sis. I know Robin must have felt his world had fallen apart, but why did he have to do this?’

  A Transit van clattered to a halt outside. It reversed into the drive as she opened the front door. Harry Bamford climbed out. ‘Sorry, love, I got held up. The rocking horse I brought last week, is it?’

  ‘Can we get him downstairs between us?’

  ‘We got him up there and we’ve got gravity on our side coming down.’

  She led the way up the stairs. ‘He’s already broken.’

  They pulled Dobbin to the top of the stairs. Harry called down to Lucy. ‘You stand clear with that baby, love.’

  At last Dobbin was safely secured in the van. She would miss him. ‘Can I pay you now? I may be away for a while.’

  He eyed the mess visible through the lounge doorway, and nodded his understanding. ‘I’ll do you a bill. Be right with you, love.’

  Guilt, anger, regret… The walls that had held her dreams now imprisoned her in a magnolia hell: she couldn’t undo the hurt Robin had inflicted. As Roy knew too well, words spoken in anger couldn’t be unsaid and actions couldn’t be undone. She wrote a cheque, scribbling Lucy’s address on the back. ‘You will look after Dobbin for me, won’t you?’

  ‘Course I will, love.’

  Three o’clock came and went. No Robin.

  Lucy carried Duncan to the door. ‘Come on, sis. We have to be at Mason and Hargreaves by half-past five. Let’s go.’

  A mile down the road her shoulders relaxed.

  Mum greeted her with a hug. ‘Robin rang. He says you’ve had a silly row. He thought you might be here.’

  ‘When?’

  ‘This morning… about ten. He sounded really worried.’

  ‘Damn, I forgot to pack my charger again. I could have checked my messages.’

  ‘I expect he thought you’d be here.’ Mum’s look was searching.

  Lucy stepped to her defence. ‘She’s been with me, Mum.’

  ‘So I see.’ Mum held out her arms for Duncan. ‘You could have come here, love, instead of driving all the way to Hampshire.’

  ‘You’ve enough on your plate. How are you settling in?’

  ‘It’s beginning to feel like home, and it’s better not having stairs. Gran’s resting.’

  Home: the brick terrace had been her only real home. She blinked back tears, and explained about the broken carving and the parcel at Mason and Hargreaves.

  ‘Dad wasn’t one for doing things without a reason, though what the reason is for this bag of tricks…’

  ‘I have to prove Gran’s entitled to this thing, whatever it is. We need to borrow Grandpa’s will.’

  ‘It’ll be among the paperwork, somewhere. I’ll ask Gran.’

  ‘Thanks, Mum. I’ll only need to borrow it.’

  ‘I’ll see if she’s awake.’

  Voices came from the bedroom. ‘Don’t fuss, I can manage.’ Gran walked with a stick. She raised it in admonishment when she saw her. ‘Now what’s this nonsense with Robin, young lady? You know he’s b
een phoning? The poor boy’s in bits.’

  She couldn’t face opening raw wounds yet, well-meaning though her family was. ‘Just a row, Gran. I’m waiting for Robin to apologise.’ She changed the subject resolutely. ‘I need you to sign a letter, and borrow Grandpa’s will, so I can collect a parcel he left with the solicitor.’

  ‘What parcel?’

  ‘I don’t know, but the packaging is the same as the one I found by the electricity meter.’

  Mum homed in on her distress but her voice was tinged with bitterness. ‘Charlotte, it’s a lonely life without a husband.’

  ‘It’s not that simple.’

  Gran sighed. ‘We want you to be happy, Charlotte. Marriage isn’t all calm water and sunshine, but storms do blow over.’

  ‘Sis, even Grant and I argue. Doesn’t Robin deserve time to get over…’ Lucy left the sentence unfinished.

  Time to get over never being a father while he was married to her? Time to convince her he’d never hit her again? Time to word an apology? A sorry, a kiss and a bunch of flowers wouldn’t cut it this time. But he’d had cause to be angry, upset: a reason to have one drink too many. Was she being too hard on him? Or was this was how abused wives began: forgiving, making excuses, condoning emotional blackmail? For all she knew he could be finding solace with Nadia right now. She couldn’t hide her heartbreak.

  Mum held her as she did the last time her world fell apart, when Grandpa’s body had been found. She released her at last. ‘Promise me you’ll talk to him.’

  ‘I promise but I need time to think, by myself. If he rings…’

  ‘I won’t tell him where you are. You know what Gran would say?’

  Lucy spoke for her. ‘It’ll all come out in the wash, probably.’

  Gran smiled. ‘Well, I’d be right. These things sort themselves out. Now, what’s this you want me to sign, Charlotte.’

  Chapter Sixteen

  Charlotte fiddled with the strap of her handbag. The office door clicked open and Mr Mason shook the hand of his previous client. He turned to them. ‘Ladies, I’m sorry to have kept you waiting.’

  She sat in the chair he indicated. ‘Please, call me Charlotte.’

  ‘And this is Lucy, if I remember correctly.’ He smiled over his spectacles. ‘Frank… You’ve brought the documents?’

  ‘Yes.’ They’d peeked at the will. Written in 1950, when Mum was a tiny baby, it had left what money and possessions Grandpa owned to Gran. She handed the papers across the desk. ‘And my passport and driving licence.’

  ‘Either will do.’ He checked the documents. Stacey entered, carrying a mug of tea. He returned her passport and driving licence, and handed the girl the papers. ‘Thanks, Stacey. Do you mind making copies of these before you go?’

  ‘Will do.’

  ‘Everything seems to be in order and we’ve found no evidence that the item is being held in trust.’

  Lucy’s expression was hopeful. ‘We can have the package?’

  ‘I’ll fetch it now.’

  Footsteps hurried along the corridor and back again; Frank Mason placed the parcel in front of them. ‘I’ve no right to ask this, and it’s none of my business, but…’ He took scissors from a drawer and laid them on the desk. ‘My father and I have looked after this for thirty-odd years. I’m curious to know what’s inside.’

  She was reluctant, now, to cut the string and break the wax seal. She was being silly. This was Grandpa’s: he’d always kept her safe. She pulled open the cardboard flaps. ‘This newspaper wrapping’s dated July, 1978.’

  Lucy leaned forward. ‘We’d have been almost five.’

  The layers of time peeled back to reveal another carving. It had the same writhing flames, though lower, and the geometric base was a precise but different shape, a bit like a claw or part of a crescent moon. ‘I can’t see any joints.’

  ‘But I bet it’s hollow, too.’

  She fetched the Flames of Hell and its contents from her bag, placed the carving next to its sister and arranged the two wooden candles in front of them.

  Lucy exaggerated a shudder. ‘This one gives me the creeps too.’

  ‘It’s beautiful.’ She glanced up at Frank Mason. ‘I wonder if there’s something inside this, as well.’

  ‘Your guess is as good as mine.’

  She slipped the carving back in the box.

  He picked up the slip of paper that had been hidden in the carving she’d found on the meter shelf. ‘What does auribus teneo lupum mean?’

  A memory stirred but dissipated before she could catch it. ‘I am holding the wolf by the ears, whatever that’s supposed to imply.’

  He raised both eyebrows. ‘Well, what do think would happen if you held a wolf by the ears? You couldn’t hold it forever… What would happen when you let it go?’

  ***

  Charlotte turned the map upside-down as Lucy drove back to Hampshire: it was easier that way, travelling south. ‘Second right.’

  ‘You do mean right?’

  ‘No, left. I knew it would be better if I drove.’

  Lucy laughed but her voice was serious. ‘Sis, if you don’t go home to Robin… back to Cumming and Cummings… what are you going to live on?’

  ‘I have paid holiday owing. Roy will take my leave from that.’

  ‘And if you and Robin can’t get back on track? What then? What if this ends in divorce?’

  ‘I can’t bear to think that far ahead.’ But she had to. Lucy was right to ask. She sighed. ‘Working with Robin would be a nightmare. Nadia will snare him in an instant. They’ll enjoy rubbing my nose in their perfect marriage and perfect children.’ She blew her nose and stuffed the tissue in her pocket.

  ‘You’ll find work somewhere else, sis.’

  ‘Why should I have to? I’m just making a name for myself at Cummings. I’ll have to find another job and start again at the bottom.’ Robbed of a family, and now Robin had stolen her career… her chance of being someone.

  Lucy squeezed her hand. ‘I can’t wait to see if the Flames of Hell Mark Two have anything inside.’

  She dragged her mind from the brink of the abyss. ‘If this is one of Grandpa’s treasure hunts we’ll find a bar of chocolate at the end.’

  Lucy smiled. ‘If it’s a thirty year-old bar of chocolate we’re chasing, I should think it’ll be mouldy by now.’

  She laughed. ‘Yuck.’

  ‘It’s good to hear you laugh, sis.’

  Long rides stretched through the quiet of the New Forest: past cottages half-hidden by trees, past camp sites not yet full of summer visitors, through patchwork-quilted farmland and open moorland. The sun had set by the time they reached the outskirts of Lyndhurst and the crescent of thirties, brick semis that backed onto the forest. The car bumped onto the drive in front of Lucy’s house and drew to a halt behind the family’s minibus, narrowly avoiding two bicycles.

  Grant opened the door and took the sleeping baby. ‘I’ll put him down, Lucy. You must be knackered.’

  She dumped her case in the hall and the carrier bags on the kitchen table. Lucy filled the kettle and took mugs from the cupboard.

  Grant thudded down the stairs. ‘You and Robin didn’t make up, then, Charlotte?’

  ‘He wasn’t there.’

  ‘Ah. You got the package?’

  She rifled through the bags and put the carving on the table.

  ‘Looks very like the other one.’

  ‘They’re actually quite different.’ She placed the Flames of Hell next to its sister.

  Grant paused on his way to the fridge and picked up the second carving. ‘Looks like someone’s eaten a chunk out of a crescent. I’ll saw off the bottom, if you like… see if it’s hollow.’ He disappeared with the carving.

  Lucy shoved the bags and packaging in the cupboard under the stairs, and sank onto a chair. ‘A child-free hour or two… bliss. Oh, sis, I’m sorry. That was thoughtless.’

  ‘I have to get used to it, Luce.’

  ‘It’s not fair.�
��

  She shrugged. ‘Life isn’t. Robin didn’t ask to lose his mother and brother like that.’

  ‘No, I suppose not… like us losing Dad and Grandpa.’

  Grant placed the carving on the table. ‘It doesn’t look very exciting.’

  She pushed her mug aside, glad to have something to occupy her mind, and unfolded yet another slip of paper. ‘Is this all?’ Grandpa whispered to her: of civilization and humanity, fear bought my silence and love: qui tacet consentit. She read it again, aloud: it made no more sense the second time. ‘More Latin.’ She passed the paper to Lucy.

  Lucy read it silently. ‘What’s this scribbled on the other side?’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘Here, O1, IWM, COU, ST, HH & M.’

  She peered at the enigmatic list. ‘HH & M must be Harris, Harris and Mason.’

  Grant looked over her shoulder. ‘O1… Sound like a forerunner of the O2 arena in London, except I don’t think there was one.’ Grant scratched his head. ‘I worked in the city for a while, before I met Lucy… shared a flat near Elephant and Castle… IWM could stand for Imperial War Museum.’

  ***

  Charlotte spent two weeks walking broad heaths and following secret streams through forest glades, letting the peace and freedom heal her inner hurt. Self-confidence returned. Two weeks: time enough for Robin to know how he felt about their future. She sat on a tree root that overhung a stream and thumbed his number into the mobile Lucy had lent her.

  ‘Robin.’

  ‘Charlotte?’ He sounded different.

  ‘How are you?’

  ‘Missing you.’

  She ran her hand across a thick mat of moss, verdant in the early morning sun, her blood pulsing. ‘Robin, I can’t come home.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Charlotte… truly sorry. None of this is your fault. I need to see you. Why didn’t you answer my calls? Where are you?’

  ‘I’m at Lucy’s. My mobile’s battery’s flat… I’m using Lucy’s phone.’

  ‘I rang your mum… she wouldn’t tell me where you were… said you needed time… We should talk things through, properly. Please, come home.’

  If he was serious about talking, about being sorry, he’d agree to meet on neutral ground. ‘Robin, I can’t. When you’re like… you know… you frighten me.’