There's No Place Like Here (24 page)

The floor was almost covered in items of clothing and accessories and I was about to stand up and demand he start talking sense when I finally recognized a T-shirt. And then I recognized a sock, a pencil case…and then handwriting on a piece of paper.

Bobby stood by the empty box, excitement flashing in his eyes. “You get it now?”

I couldn’t speak.

“They’re all labeled. The name ‘Sandy Shortt’ is written on every single thing you see before you.”

I held my breath, looking furiously from one item to another.

“That’s just
one
box. They’re all yours, too,” he said excitedly, pointing to the corner of the room where five more boxes were stacked up. “Every time I saw your name I collected the item and stored it. The more things of yours I found, the more I became convinced that it was only a matter of time before you would come to collect them yourself. And here you are.”

“Here, I am,” I repeated looking at everything on the floor. I got down on my knees and ran my hand across the orange sock. Although I couldn’t remember it, I could imagine my frantic searches that night while my poor parents watched on. That was the beginning of it all. I took my T-shirt in my hands and saw my name written on the label in my mother’s handwriting. I felt the ink with my fingertips, hoping that in some way I was connecting with her. I moved on to the piece of paper with my messy teenage handwriting. Answers to questions on
Romeo and Juliet
from school. I remember doing that homework and being unable to find it in class the next day. The teacher hadn’t believed me when I couldn’t find it in my schoolbag; he’d stood over me in a silent classroom and watched me root in my schoolbag, my frustration clearly growing, and yet his failure to recognize that genuine frustration had meant punishment homework. I felt like grabbing the page and running back to Leitrim, bursting in on that teacher’s class and saying, “Here, look, I told you I had done it!”

I touched every item on the floor, the memory of wearing them, losing them, and searching for them coming to mind. After I’d seen every item from the first box, I raced over to the next on the top of the stacked pile in the corner. With shaking hands, I opened the box. Staring up at me with his one eye was my dear friend, Mr. Pobbs.

I took him out of the box and held him close to me, inhaling him, trying to get the familiar scent of home. He had long ago lost that and was musty like the rest of the belongings here, but I clung to him and squeezed him to my chest. My name and phone number were still visible on his tag, the blue felt pen of my mother’s writing blurred now.

“I told you I’d find you, Mr. Pobbs,” I whispered, and I heard the door behind me gently close as Bobby stepped out of the room, leaving me alone with a head and a room full of memories.

33

I
don’t know how long I’d been in the storeroom. I had lost track of all time. I looked out the window for the first time in hours, feeling cross-eyed and tired from concentrating on my possessions for so long. My
possessions
. I actually had belongings in this place. They brought me that bit closer to home, momentarily linking the two worlds, blurring the boundaries so that I didn’t feel so lost as I touched and held things I once held in my place, near the people I loved. Especially Mr. Pobbs. So much had happened since I’d seen him. Johnny Nugent and a thousand other Johnny Nugents had happened. It seemed that the night Mr. Pobbs disappeared from my bed, an entire team of Mr. Wrongs had taken his place.

Joseph walked by the window and I sat back and watched as he strode confidently in his white linen shirt with sleeves rolled to just below his elbows and trousers rolled above the ankles of his sandaled feet. He always stood out from the crowd. He looked like somebody important who oozed dominance and power. He spoke little, yet when he did he chose his words carefully. When he spoke, people listened. His words moved from whispers to songs, never anything in between. Despite the strength of his physical demeanor, he spoke softly, which made him all the more superior.

The bell on the shop’s front door rang again. The door squeaked and closed.

“Hello, Joseph,” Bobby said cheerfully. “Did my Wanda not want to see me today?”

Joseph laughed lightly and I
knew
Bobby was funny to have made him laugh. “Oh that girl is so in love with you. Do you think she wouldn’t be here if she knew I was here?”

Bobby laughed. “How can I help you?”

Joseph’s voice lowered as though he knew I was here and I immediately pressed my ear against the door.

“A watch?” I heard Bobby repeat loudly. “I have lots of watches here.”

Joseph’s voice was lowered to inaudible again and I
knew
it was terribly important for his voice to be so hushed. He was talking about
my
watch.

“A silver watch with a mother-of-pearl face,” I heard Bobby say and I was thankful for his habit of repeating people. Their footsteps on the walnut floor got louder and I prepared to move away from the door in case it was opened.

“What about this one?” Bobby asked.

“No, it would have been one you had found yesterday or this morning,” Joseph said.

“How do you know?”

“Because it went missing yesterday.”

“Well, I don’t know how you could know that.” Bobby laughed awkwardly. “Unless you’ve been talking to someone from the other world, which I’m highly doubtful of.”

There was silence.

“Joseph, this watch is exactly what you’ve described.” I could hear the confusion in Bobby’s voice.

“It’s not the one I want,” Joseph said.

“Did you see it somewhere? On somebody? Perhaps you could tell them to visit me so I get an idea of what you’re looking for. If I come across it, I’ll save it for you.”

“It is the very watch I saw somebody wearing, that I’m looking for.”

“Someone from Kenya? Years ago?”

“No, from Here.”

“Here,” Bobby repeated.

“Yes, Here.”

“Did somebody from Here give it to me?”

“No, it went missing.”

Silence.

“It can’t have. They must have misplaced it.”

“I know, but I saw it with my own eyes.”

“You saw it
disappear
?”

“I saw it on her wrist and she didn’t move an inch from her place and then I saw that it was gone from her wrist.”

“It must have fallen off her.”

“Yes, it did do that.”

“So it’s on the ground.”

“That’s the funny thing,” Joseph said drily and I
knew
it wasn’t funny at all.

“But it can’t ha—”

“It did.”

“And you thought it would show up here?”

“I thought you may have found it.”

“I didn’t.”

“I can see that. Thank you, Bobby. Speak of this to no one,” he warned, giving me a chill. Footsteps began to move away.

“Hold on, hold on, Joseph. Don’t go yet! Tell me, who lost it?”

“You don’t know her.”

“Where did she lose it?”

“Halfway between here and the next village.”

“No,” Bobby whispered.

“Yes.”

“I’ll find it,” Bobby said determinedly. “It has to be there.”

“It’s not.” Joseph raised his voice to a normal tone but for him it was loud. From the way that he said it, I
knew
that it was not.

“OK, OK.” Bobby backed down, still not sounding like he believed it. “Does the person who lost it know that it’s gone? Maybe she knows where it is.”

“She’s new here.” That said it all. That meant
she doesn’t understand a thing
, and he was right, I didn’t, but I was learning fast.

“She’s new?” The tone in Bobby’s voice had changed. I recognized that and was sure Joseph would too. “Maybe I can talk to her and get the exact description.”

“I have given you the exact description.” Yes, he noticed it. Footsteps moved toward the door again, the door squeaked, and the bell rang.

“Was there a name on the watch?” Bobby called out at the last minute, and the squeak of the front door stopped. It closed again, and footsteps got louder as they neared me again.

“Why do you ask?” Joseph’s voice was firm.

“Because sometimes people engrave names, dates, or messages on the backs of watches.” Bobby sounded nervous.

“You asked me if there was a name. Why did you specifically ask about a name?”

“Some watches have names engraved on them.” His voice went up an octave in defense. “I should know.” He tapped on glass and I guessed it was the jewelry cabinet.

There was a funny atmosphere outside, I didn’t like it.

“Let me know if you find the watch. Be quiet about it, you know how people would react if they found out that things from Here were going missing.”

“Of course, I understand it might give them hope.”

“Bobby…” Joseph warned, and a chill ran through me.

“Yes, sir,” Bobby said smartly.

The door squeaked, the bell rang, and it was closed again. I waited a while to make sure Joseph didn’t come back in. Bobby was silent outside. I was about to stand up when Joseph walked by the window again, closer this time, staring at the building suspiciously. I quickly ducked and lay flat on the floor, wondering why on earth I was suddenly hiding from Joseph.

Bobby opened the door and looked down at me. “What on earth are you doing?”

“Bobby Stanley,” I said as I sat up, brushing the dust off me, “you have a
lot
of explaining to do.”

He took me by surprise and folded his arms across his chest. “And so have you,” he said coolly. “Want to know why I wasn’t at your auditions? Because nobody told me about them. Want to know why? Because around here everybody knows me as Bobby
Duke
. Ever since the day I arrived here, I haven’t told
anybody
that my name is Bobby Stanley. So how did you know?”

34

M
r. Le Bon, I assume,” Dr. Burton addressed Jack, leaning back in his chair and folding his arms.

Jack reddened but he was determined not to back down or be dismissed from Dr. Burton’s company as a raving lunatic. He leaned forward. “Dr. Burton, there are
many
of us who are trying to find Sandy—”

“I don’t need to hear any more.” He pushed his chair back, grabbed Jack’s file from the coffee table, and got to his feet. “Our time is up, Mr. Ruttle. You can settle the fee outside with Carol.” He spoke with his back turned as he made his way to his desk.

“Doctor—”

“Good-bye, Mr. Ruttle.” His voice rose.

Jack took the silver watch in his hands and stood. He spoke quietly but quickly while he had the chance. “Can I just say that a garda by the name of Graham Turner may contact—”

“Enough!” Dr. Burton shouted, slamming the file down on the desk. His face reddened and his nostrils flared. Jack froze and was immediately silenced.

“You obviously haven’t known Sandy very long
or
intimately. Taking that into consideration, it’s glaringly obvious that it’s absolutely no business of yours to go snooping around in her life.”

Jack opened his mouth to protest but he was beaten to it again.

“But,” Dr. Burton continued, “I believe that you and your group are genuine and so I will tell you this before you take things any further with the police.” He battled visibly with his anger. “I’ll tell you what the Gardaí will tell you if they start calling around. I’ll tell you what Sandy’s own family will tell you.” His anger rose again and he ground his back teeth. “And what every single person who knows her will tell you, and that is this: that
this
,” he said, and threw his arms up helplessly in the air, “is what Sandy does.”

Jack tried to speak again.

“
All
of the time,” he shouted. “She floats in and floats out, leaves things behind, sometimes she collects them, sometimes she doesn’t.” He placed his hands on his hips, his chest heaving with anger. “But the point is, she’ll come back again. She always comes back.”

Jack nodded and looked down at the ground. He started to cross the room to leave.

“You can leave her things here,” Dr. Burton added. “I’ll make sure she gets them and thanks you on her return.”

Jack slowly lowered the rucksack of her belongings to the ground by the door and quietly stepped out, feeling like a scolded schoolboy, but at the same time feeling sympathy for the schoolmaster who had chastised him. It wasn’t Jack he was angry at. It was the breeze that came and went, blowing sporadic gusts of hot and cold air from puckered lips, kisses that tickled and air that smelled sweet, but who at the snap of her fingers inhaled it all back in an instant. It was Sandy he was mad at. And himself, for his eternal wait.

Jack left Dr. Burton, hands on hips, staring out the Georgian window, grinding his jaw. Jack closed the door softly behind him, locking the atmosphere inside. It was far too precious to allow to creep into the reception for the awaiting people to sense. It would remain locked in the office, hovering around Dr. Burton while he took the time to process it, deal with it, allow it to cool, and then eventually dissipate.

The receptionist, Carol, looked at Jack with worry, not sure whether to be frightened of him or sorry for him at the screaming she had heard inside. Jack placed his credit card on the counter and reached down to her desk to pass her a piece of paper.

“Could you please tell Dr. Burton that if he changes his mind, here’s my phone number and the address of the meeting point later today?”

She read the note quickly and nodded, still defensive of her boss.

He entered his PIN into the machine and retrieved his credit card. “Oh, and please give him this, too.” He placed the silver watch on the counter. Her eyes narrowed as he walked away.

“Mr. Ruttle?” he heard her say as he reached the door. A man reading a car magazine looked up at the mention of the peculiar name.

Jack froze and turned to her slowly. “Yes?”

“I’m sure Dr. Burton will be in contact soon.”

Jack laughed lightly, “Oh, I’m not too sure about that.” He moved to leave again and she cleared her throat, trying to get his attention. He walked back to her desk.