A Parcel for Anna Browne

by Miranda Dickinson

  It was only when she had disappeared from view that Seamus realised his long-held belief in his ability never to be surprised had crumbled like the plasterwork on the lobby walls.

  ‘Another parcel? Your secret admirer’s keen, isn’t he?’ Sheniece had rushed to Anna’s side like a wasp to a jam jar as soon as the courier left reception, earlier that day. Exactly a week since the owl brooch was delivered, a third parcel now lay before Anna – and she could hardly believe it.

  ‘It could be anything,’ Anna had replied, but her heart was pounding. Even after two parcels had arrived for her, she hadn’t expected a third. Who was her mysterious benefactor? Would their identity be revealed within the brown-paper packaging of the new parcel?

  Of course, the new delivery could be anything. But the coincidence of three courier-delivered parcels arriving, each with no sender details and all addressed to her, was too delicious to ignore. Was it possible that her extraordinary adventure wasn’t over yet?

  ‘So open it.’ Sheniece had grinned at her, the too-white enamel on her teeth glinting in the reception-desk spotlights.

  ‘I’ll do it when I get home.’

  ‘Do it now!’

  ‘I can’t. Sorry.’

  ‘Oh, come on, Anna. It’s a Friday. The only exciting thing that happens here on a Friday is when my shift’s over. We need excitement – you owe it to all of us.’

  This never happens to me, Anna had said to herself. But in her hands was the newly arrived evidence that she was wrong.

  Sheniece had groaned and click-clacked off to find Friday-morning entertainment elsewhere. Relieved to be released from the scrutiny, Anna had carefully stashed the parcel in the locked drawer beneath the reception desk for which only she had a key. It could stay there safely until she went home.

  Within ten minutes the eager eyes of the Daily Messenger’s chief of security were boring into her back as she signed three visitors in for a high-level meeting taking place with directors, editors and shareholders on the top floor.

  ‘Ms Browne,’ he intoned.

  ‘I’m busy, Ted.’

  ‘Not too busy to be receiving a third mystery delivery, I hear.’

  Anna handed passes to the visitors and turned to face Ted. ‘I might’ve known Sheniece would go running to you.’

  Ted frowned. ‘I haven’t seen Sheniece. Murray Something-Double-Barrelled from the news-desk told me.’

  ‘Murray Henderson-Vitt? How does he know?’

  ‘He’s on the news-desk, Anna. It’s kind of his job . . .’

  ‘Very funny. But the parcel only arrived ten minutes ago.’

  Ted tapped his nose. ‘I have my spies, girl. So, are you gonna open it?’

  ‘Yes,’ Anna replied, seeing triumph register on Ted’s face, ‘when I get home.’

  ‘Charming, that.’ Ted kicked at an invisible stone at his feet. ‘You can go off people, you know.’

  When Anna opened her apartment door she noticed a folded piece of blue notepaper lying on the doormat. Placing the precious parcel on the kitchen counter, she bent to retrieve the note:

  Hey, stranger

  I’ve emerged from post-Spain hibernation and have a bit of good news I want to share with you.

  Bottle of wine this evening? About 7 p.m.?

  Jonah x

  She looked at the parcel and considered hiding in her apartment, pretending she hadn’t received the note. But Jonah would know. And she liked Jonah. Besides, with three parcels now arrived, it was high time she told him. During their trip out to the Hampshire countryside a fortnight ago she had only spoken to him about her work-shadowing, thinking then that her scarf from the parcel-sender was a singular surprise. Since then, the owl had arrived, and now this parcel – and Anna wanted to talk about it. Jonah would have a good take on the situation, where Tish and her work colleagues still maintained their suspicion over the sender’s motives. She looked at the kitchen clock: half-past six already, barely time to shower and change from her work clothes before heading across to her friend’s apartment, let alone open her parcel. It would have to wait. But then half the fun of the previous delivery had been the anticipation – this delay would only add to her excitement.

  Twenty-five minutes later, Anna took one last, longing look at the brown-paper-wrapped box, now in the middle of her dining table, before she deliberately turned her back on it and left the apartment.

  Fifteen

  Jonah Rawdon had lived across the hall from Anna for five years and liked to think he knew her well. He too was an outsider – a native Yorkshireman uprooted and transplanted down south to follow his chosen career. The first time he met Anna he was trying to work the antiquated intercom system in his flat. After an hour of fiddling, he stepped out into the hallway in sheer exasperation and bumped into Anna, who was passing his door. Her residency in the building for eight months instantly qualified her to solve his problem, and as a thank-you he invited her in for a pot of tea and some Betty’s Fat Rascals, sent as a care-package by his mother in Ilkley. Whether it was the tea, the conversation or the delectable cake that endeared him to Anna, Jonah wasn’t sure, but their friendship began that day and quickly grew.

  What Jonah liked most about his neighbour – apart from her enormous blue eyes and smile, which made you feel better about everything just by seeing it – was her ability to appear fascinated about aspects of his life, even if he suspected she wasn’t really that interested. Being a TV cameraman often drew excited questions at dinner parties, but once it was established that he met very few celebrities the initial interest waned. Not so with Anna. He could talk to her about the technical requirements of his job for hours and her eyes would never drift away. She was always willing to head out on location-scouting trips with him, regardless of how muddy or remote they were. Jonah liked that. Recently he’d noted that Anna seemed almost happier discussing his life than her own. He hadn’t encountered many people like this, especially not in the city, where what you did, who you were and what you thought were the currency by which you moved ahead.

  Of course Jonah asked Anna about her life – it would have been rude not to – but her job as a receptionist at the national newspaper didn’t appear to change much from week to week, thus diminishing the conversational possibilities considerably. She talked little of her former life in Cornwall, preferring instead to discuss the stunning landscape of her home county, which Jonah, a keen weekend surfer, was only too happy to indulge her in.

  He had wondered on several occasions whether to ask Anna out on a proper date, but had, until recently, always felt an immediate reticence when the moment presented itself. Why this was he couldn’t say: they were both attractive young singles who had already established a great deal in common with one another. In the beginning he put it down to his need for a good friend being greater than his need of a relationship. But in recent months his feelings had started to change. She’d hugged him tightly before he left for his assignment in Spain and he’d been drawn to the scent of her hair as he’d held her. Filming a colony of blue rock thrushes in the sultry heat of the Tabernas Desert, he’d missed her – really missed her – as if a part of him had been left behind. And then their trip out to a remote lake that he’d been scouting for a wildlife documentary had made up his mind. He’d been struck by how beautiful Anna was, as she’d gazed out across the stillness of the lake, an air of complete contentment surrounding her. It was as if every quality she possessed was magnified in that moment, and Jonah was transfixed. Anna was beautiful, generous and fun to spend time with – why wouldn’t he want to be with her?

  He had to do something . . .

  ‘I’m telling you, Anna, five hours in that soggy field had me longing for a desk job . . .’

  Anna smiled as Jonah recounted his latest work assignment – a piece for Countryfile on a new biodiversity project in deepest Kent. Instead of the forecast spring sunshine, the production crew had been hit with torrential rain, transforming what should have been lush pasturela
nd into a near-impassable quagmire. ‘You’d go mad working at a desk.’

  ‘I pretty much went mad in that field. I think the director was scared of me.’

  ‘I can picture that. All part of the showbiz magic of your job.’

  ‘Oh aye. The glamour is unbearable.’ He grinned as he passed her a glass of wine in his kitchen, Bennett making happy doggy circles around his feet. ‘Actually, that was my bit of good news I wanted to tell you. I’ve been taken on as regular crew.’

  ‘Oh, Jonah, that’s great! Are you happy about it?’

  ‘I am. Means I’ll have to invest in new wellies, if the last assignment was anything to go by, but it makes money a little more certain for the next four months at least. And, chances are, if the director likes what he sees, I might be called up for other stuff. So, I bought us cake to celebrate –’ He hesitated, as he often did when concerned he might be appearing presumptuous. Anna liked his slightly bumbling nature and deeply rooted politeness. ‘– that is, if you don’t object to celebrating with me?’

  ‘Not at all. And I could never object to cake, you know that.’

  Jonah beamed brightly. ‘That’s what I hoped. It’s proper fancy and owt.’ He opened a large white cake-box and started to cut slices of opulent-looking Sachertorte. ‘So, how was your day?’

  A well of happiness rose within Anna. ‘Good. Amazing, actually.’

  ‘Oh? How so?’

  She thought of her latest delivery, the new package wrapped in its carefully folded brown paper and waiting for her in her apartment. It was a delicious torture, knowing of its existence as she sat just across the hall and yet unable to touch it.

  Jonah was staring at her, almost as if seeing something new in his neighbour. ‘What aren’t you telling me?’ he asked, sharp as a button.

  Patting Bennett’s head, Anna smiled. ‘Can you keep a secret?’

  He frowned. ‘Why?’

  ‘I mean it, Jonah. If I tell you, I need to know you won’t pass it on.’

  ‘Are you in trouble?’

  ‘No – of course not. Promise you won’t tell anyone.’

  Jonah raised his eyes heavenwards. ‘Fine. Scout’s honour.’

  ‘I’ve been getting parcels at work. For me. I don’t know who they are from or why I’m receiving them, but they’re wonderful.’

  ‘How many have you had?’

  ‘Three. The latest one arrived this morning.’

  ‘There’s no note with them?’

  ‘Not with the first one. With the second there was an unsigned riddle. But no sender’s name or address.’

  Jonah’s eyebrows lifted. ‘And you’re not worried about that? It seems odd, someone going to so much trouble and not wanting to be known.’

  Not Jonah as well! Anna had hoped his response would be more down-to-earth. Was it a mistake telling him? ‘Should I be worried?’

  ‘I don’t know. If it was me, I’d want to find out who was sending me parcels and why.’

  The truth was, Anna wanted to know too. Each gift had increased her curiosity. But she was annoyed by Jonah’s readiness to jump to the same conclusion as everyone else. ‘Isn’t it enough that someone is taking the trouble to send me gorgeous things?’

  ‘I suppose it’s a nice thought.’ He shook his head. ‘How come, Anna Browne, you’ve lived in the city for five-and-a-half years and not become inherently cynical?’

  ‘I can be as cynical as the rest of them, when I want to be,’ she returned, annoyed by his inference that she was some sweet, naive West Country bumpkin. ‘But I happen to think it’s a beautiful thing for someone to do.’

  ‘That’s as may be. But it’s still odd. It could be anyone.’

  ‘Yes, it could.’

  ‘I mean anyone, Anna! Don’t you want to know?’

  She considered the question. Yes, she was curious. It didn’t make sense for someone to invest so much time and thought (not to mention expense) without wanting to be known for it. She liked surprising her friends with gifts, but even she enjoyed taking credit for them. It was one of the best aspects of gift-giving. Another thought occurred: would she like what she discovered, if she pursued it? ‘Maybe. Okay, yes, I do. I suppose I’ll discover who they are when they decide to tell me. But part of me likes the not knowing, if that makes sense at all?’

  Jonah’s smile was reassuring. ‘Perfect sense. If it comes from a good place, it’s a lovely gesture. Just promise me you’ll be careful, eh? One thing I’ve learned, living in this city, is folk rarely do something just for the heck of it.’

  ‘Thanks for the warning. I’ll let you know if the parcels turn nasty.’

  Later that evening Anna turned the new package over in her hands as she sat at the table. Why was everyone’s first inclination to suspect the worst? She wasn’t naive enough to think the sender didn’t have an agenda of some kind; but she didn’t need to know now. That consideration could wait a while.

  Tonight, all she wanted to do was indulge herself in the luxury of a third mystery gift. Feeling the same thrill as before, Anna carefully opened the brown-paper wrapping to reveal a long, thin red box tied with wide satin ribbon, the colour of clotted-cream ice cream. As the loops of the bow slid away in her hands, she could swear she caught a waft of vanilla. Living by the sea as a child had meant she was surrounded by the scent of ice cream, fudge and freshly baked scones from the cafés, shops and bakeries that supplied the tourist hordes during the summer months. Her favourite thing back then was to buy a sugar wafer-cone with a double scoop of home-made ice cream from Mrs Godolphin’s tiny shop by the harbour with her pocket money, scrambling up the steps at the side of the Blue Peter Inn to eat it on the cliffs overlooking the perfect Cornish ocean. Once Mrs Godolphin learned whose daughter little Anna Browne was, she often refused payment and gave her young customer free cones. At the time, it was the most wonderfully kind gesture Anna had ever witnessed; many years later she understood that Mrs Godolphin, like many of her fellow villagers, was attempting to redress the imbalance of kindness in Anna’s life. Bags of ‘broken biscuits’ from the grocer’s, which on inspection appeared remarkably intact; bottles of tart lemonade left beside the milk bottles on their doorstep, yet never charged for; lengths of ‘leftover’ fabric miraculously found by Laura Duckett, the resident dressmaker, when Anna was invited to her first senior school disco – all of these gifts had been her neighbours’ way of ensuring that Senara Browne’s eldest didn’t go without.

  Was the same motivation at work now, Anna wondered? She stared at the box, the untied ribbon curling around it like eddies of cream satin. Did someone think she needed gifts? Did they consider her lacking in attention? If so, was this parcel a pity-gift? For the poor, quiet girl on the Messenger’s reception, who had so little of a life that she needed such a mystery?

  Anna shook the thought away. She didn’t want to think like that – especially when everyone else around her was so ready to view her gift-giver with cynicism. It’s a kind thought, she reminded herself. I shouldn’t be questioning it.

  Inside the box, layers of wafer-thin black tissue paper were folded around an object. The tissue had a cinnamon-spiciness to it as it crumpled between her fingers. Anna gently unfurled it to reveal a necklace made of delicate white-gold daisies. Each charm had a tiny sparkling yellow stone at its centre; on closer inspection, she thought these might be yellow diamonds. It was beautiful – understated, yet exquisitely made. When she held it up to the light, the daisies shimmered and shone.

  The daisies were cool as they rested against her collarbone, and when Anna saw her reflection in the living-room mirror, it looked as if the necklace had been made to fit her. She had loved all of the gifts, but this was by far the most special. Drawing her fingers along the silvery charms, she noticed that her eyes sparkled like the tiny diamonds at each daisy’s heart. Tears she had held at bay for many years broke free of their restraints.

  In the heady Cornish summers of her early childhood, Anna and Ruari had whiled away hours wi
th Grandma Morwenna. She would travel by bus to Polperro and take the children for long walks along the cliffs while their mother was otherwise occupied by work, or other activities not suited to their eyes. In the lush pasturelands bordering the cliff path they would sit on a threadbare travel rug and eat pork pies, cheese sandwiches and slices of home-made lemon-cake produced from Morwenna’s ancient creaking wicker picnic basket, lying back against the warm wool as bees and dragonflies buzzed and danced over their heads. Anna could still recall the smell of sun-warmed grass, wicker and sweet lemon, the tang of salty sea air on her lips. After they had eaten, she and Morwenna would pick and weave daisies into delicate chains as Ruari chased butterflies in the long, yellow-green grass. It was as vivid a memory today as it had ever been, a rare carefree moment, its vibrancy and warmth framed by time. Young Anna had assumed these days would be never-ending. She was wrong.

  In the years following the breakdown of Senara’s relationship with her mother, Anna would often find herself picking daisies when she saw them, slowly twisting their hopeful green stems together, as her grandmother had shown her. But the summers were never as warm or bathed in sunlight as they had been when Morwenna had crowned her with daisy chains, her fingers lingering on Anna’s hazelnut-brown hair. The separation had been swift and cruel – Anna and Ruari dragged from their beds in the St Agnes cottage at midnight, Senara screaming damnations at her mother as she pushed the sobbing children into the back seat of her rusting Volvo. Anna’s last glimpse of Morwenna was the dumbstruck woman staring after them, torrential rain soaking through her dressing gown and slippers.

  Senara never told Anna the reason why Morwenna was banished from their lives, or the details of the argument that tore them apart. Anna wasn’t sure she wanted to know now: the truth might be too much to bear. When Anna reached eighteen and went in search of Morwenna, she discovered she was too late. Her grandmother had died of a stroke four years before, with neither her daughter nor her grandchildren beside her as she slipped away. Anna’s Uncle Jabez had emigrated to Australia by then and, since he was no longer on speaking terms with his sister, hadn’t thought to pass on the news. It was unclear whether Senara knew from Morwenna’s former neighbours that this had happened, but Anna never asked. The daisy chains she had made since Morwenna’s death brought her some comfort – an abiding memory of her beloved grandmother in all her vibrant glory, woven between the fresh green stems and brave flowers.