She had pushed four cardboard boxes together as if to form a barricade on each side. But she’d let me in. I loved that she was talking to me again, so freely, so excitedly. I didn’t care how cold it was. It was just us two, sharing stories once more, like in the book nook. ‘You know him anyways so stop being silly. It’s the man in the brown suit. He said he saw you at the hospital.’
I sat back on my heels. If I had imagined the familiar stranger – his whiskers against my cheek – then how was he inside Rose’s head too?
‘He might not come if you ’re here,’ Rose said, and the moment was over. She looked away, crossed her arms, difficult again.
I looked back at the shed door swinging back and forth on rusty hinges and realised something. ‘How did you reach the bolt?’
‘I didn’t,’ she said. ‘He said he’d undo it for me.’
I shivered. Beyond the open door soft light fell hard; November’s morning haze gave the grass a contrasting sharpness, its overgrown blades uneven, angry. I’d meant to cut it one last time in October; but winter had crept up on me like old age.
‘Rose.’ I grabbed her small hands. ‘Your fingers are blue and you haven’t eaten since yesterday. I’m sure the man in the brown suit would want you to come inside.’
‘You think I’m stupid.’
I shook my head. ‘Not at all.’ I realised she had something hidden inside her onesie. It was book-shaped. I smiled. Was she going to start reading again?
‘What’s that?’ I asked.
She crossed her arms over it, ignored me.
‘Did you take that book I said you couldn’t read?’ I asked.
‘You get all the best books,’ she snapped.
‘Give it to me.’
‘No.’
‘Now,’ I demanded.
‘He said you’d want it.’
‘Who?’
I heard my phone ringing on the table and called to April to get it for me.
‘Give me the book,’ I said, sweeping away cobwebs that dangled by her hair, ‘and I’ll make you anything you want for breakfast.’
‘Anything at all?’
‘The book,’ I said. My knees were damp from the rotten floor.
She pulled it out and handed it over with a scowl.
April shouted from the back doorstep. ‘It’s Jake on the phone!’
‘Dad!’ cried Rose, leaping to her feet.
This man was more important to her than the nameless one who appeared in the dark; she pushed me aside and raced back to the house. I called up the garden for April to let Rose tell her father she was okay.
Then I looked at the book.
It wasn’t the one full of bad words.
Bound in leather as dark as rosewood, cracked like it’d been sitting too long in the sun, it was smooth but in my hands it felt as heavy as if it had contained every story written. Where had she found it?
One of the boxes was open. Dust and damp patches and stains covered the cardboard, like the land and seas on a map. I looked inside. On top were birthday cards bound with a rubber band. I opened one; my handwriting filled a page, each different-coloured letter bigger than the one before. I remembered how I’d felt I must fill in every bit of space when I was little. I rummaged further; found familiar photos of Christmas and school days, and strange items like an envelope of old stamps, a weatherworn wallet, and a lock of hair tied with parcel string.
I realised it was the box I’d been given when my grandma died seven years earlier. Too sad to look inside, I’d asked Jake to hide it somewhere, anywhere, I hadn’t cared where.
I looked again at the book.
Two thick ribbons tied in multiple knots meant the pages were impossible to open. I fiddled a little, then gave up and turned it over carefully, like I’d just found a prize. The only thing differentiating the back from the front was in the bottom right corner – two inky initials: C.A.
Colin Armitage.
I smiled.
Find the book .
I knew I had.
5
LOST-AT-SEA DAUGHTER
One more week. Nothing seen .
K.C.
After Rose handed over the book I put it in my bedside table drawer, next to a
I sat back on my heels. If I had imagined the familiar stranger – his whiskers against my cheek – then how was he inside Rose’s head too?
‘He might not come if you ’re here,’ Rose said, and the moment was over. She looked away, crossed her arms, difficult again.
I looked back at the shed door swinging back and forth on rusty hinges and realised something. ‘How did you reach the bolt?’
‘I didn’t,’ she said. ‘He said he’d undo it for me.’
I shivered. Beyond the open door soft light fell hard; November’s morning haze gave the grass a contrasting sharpness, its overgrown blades uneven, angry. I’d meant to cut it one last time in October; but winter had crept up on me like old age.
‘Rose.’ I grabbed her small hands. ‘Your fingers are blue and you haven’t eaten since yesterday. I’m sure the man in the brown suit would want you to come inside.’
‘You think I’m stupid.’
I shook my head. ‘Not at all.’ I realised she had something hidden inside her onesie. It was book-shaped. I smiled. Was she going to start reading again?
‘What’s that?’ I asked.
She crossed her arms over it, ignored me.
‘Did you take that book I said you couldn’t read?’ I asked.
‘You get all the best books,’ she snapped.
‘Give it to me.’
‘No.’
‘Now,’ I demanded.
‘He said you’d want it.’
‘Who?’
I heard my phone ringing on the table and called to April to get it for me.
‘Give me the book,’ I said, sweeping away cobwebs that dangled by her hair, ‘and I’ll make you anything you want for breakfast.’
‘Anything at all?’
‘The book,’ I said. My knees were damp from the rotten floor.
She pulled it out and handed it over with a scowl.
April shouted from the back doorstep. ‘It’s Jake on the phone!’
‘Dad!’ cried Rose, leaping to her feet.
This man was more important to her than the nameless one who appeared in the dark; she pushed me aside and raced back to the house. I called up the garden for April to let Rose tell her father she was okay.
Then I looked at the book.
It wasn’t the one full of bad words.
Bound in leather as dark as rosewood, cracked like it’d been sitting too long in the sun, it was smooth but in my hands it felt as heavy as if it had contained every story written. Where had she found it?
One of the boxes was open. Dust and damp patches and stains covered the cardboard, like the land and seas on a map. I looked inside. On top were birthday cards bound with a rubber band. I opened one; my handwriting filled a page, each different-coloured letter bigger than the one before. I remembered how I’d felt I must fill in every bit of space when I was little. I rummaged further; found familiar photos of Christmas and school days, and strange items like an envelope of old stamps, a weatherworn wallet, and a lock of hair tied with parcel string.
I realised it was the box I’d been given when my grandma died seven years earlier. Too sad to look inside, I’d asked Jake to hide it somewhere, anywhere, I hadn’t cared where.
I looked again at the book.
Two thick ribbons tied in multiple knots meant the pages were impossible to open. I fiddled a little, then gave up and turned it over carefully, like I’d just found a prize. The only thing differentiating the back from the front was in the bottom right corner – two inky initials: C.A.
Colin Armitage.
I smiled.
Find the book .
I knew I had.
5
LOST-AT-SEA DAUGHTER
One more week. Nothing seen .
K.C.
After Rose handed over the book I put it in my bedside table drawer, next to a
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