The Key (Short story)

 The Key

‘Hello! …… hello, yes – I’d like to arrange for a house clearance,  ……. Tuesday morning? …………I think I will need the large van, there’s a lot of stuff and I haven’t checked the attic yet…….ok, that’s fine, nine o’clock….oh yes, its Willow bank cottage…. Thanks very much.’

Well that’s that done! Can I be bothered to phone Francesca? – Nah, I’ll phone later…

Bill replaced the telephone handset into the olive green cradle. The same old phone; hard to believe after all those years, probably collectable now - if not antique.

I can’t believe they don’t have a network out here…so much for my smart phone!

I’ve probably got a massive backlog of office email … How can people live like this?

He sighed and looked around the room; strange to be here after so many years. Mum used to say that the house was haunted; he had never believed it – but he began to wonder … there was certainly an atmosphere to the quietness of the house…spooky…being on his lonesome…

I suppose I should get on with it…the sooner I start the sooner I can wrap this up and get back to London…get out of this godforsaken place…

Where to start? The keys? They were an unlabeled assortment; he would have to figure them out as he went; trial and error. Maybe one of the keys would lead to an unexpected treasure?

Fat chance! In this dump…But you never know.

Bill had been reluctant to do the house clearance; Francesca had talked him into it; it was a job for family after all - despite their differences of opinion; which were past history now; dead and quite literally buried!

Francesca really just wanted to get this sorted for the money… then I can get the hell out of here! Get back to London… so we can buy a little box room flat…Maybe I should phone Francesca…

Bill had found a bottle of Dad’s best malt whiskey in the drinks cabinet. He poured a generous measure into a tumbler. He removed the dust sheet from Dad’s well upholstered leather chair, settled into the chair with a sense of guilty pleasure; Dad’s chair had been strictly off limits - on point of death. The drinks cabinet more so!

Ha! If the old bastard could see me now!

Bill crashed that night from exhaustion and alcohol; travelling from London had taken its toll and the alcohol put him into a deep sleep. The next day started badly: a splitting headache and –

Who the hell was that banging on the door? - At this hour! The milkman, for Christ’s sake!

A poor Joke! But it was useless to argue that no milk had been ordered; the milkman merely smiled and said he was just following orders. He performed a comic salute to his skewed cap – and then to top that of the postman came whistling up the garden path. He did not have any post to deliver but he had a note from Maggie.

Maggie? Maggie McDonald? Surely not!

‘Aye, indeed - she runs the village store now’ said the Posty, as if that explained everything. Bill took the folded paper and watched from the door step as the Posty – Mr Cowan? – walked back to his bicycle.

God! What a lousy start to the day!

He groaned as he rubbed his temples and looked at his watch.

Seven twenty! Bloody hell!

He unfolded the note; it did explain a lot; Maggie had sent the milk with compliments from the store and she was going to deliver some basic groceries in person – this afternoon!

Maggie coming here - Bloody hell! I’d better get the finger out.

So far he had only removed a couple of dust sheets. Now he moved from room to room removing dust sheets as he went. He opened several doors and left the keys in locks so that he could label them later. Now that the dust sheets had been removed the house seemed somehow less sinister - more normal. The exposed furniture looked familiar; various high backed chairs, the bookcase which was still filled with books from years gone by, the little nest of tables that Mum had liked to use –

No time for sentiment…now let’s see…

There were only a few keys remaining; most of these were eventually matched to locks; cupboards, drawers, a cabinet and Dad’s little writing desk. He left the writing desk for later; no need to delve into it just yet…in fact maybe it was better if he didn’t.

Despite his misgivings he felt the house gradually coming to life; rooms were opened up for airing, curtains drawn, windows opened, light and fresh air streamed in. Paintings and photographs were unveiled, bring the past to life.

Maggie! After all those years…Hard to believe that she was still in the village…

As he moved through the house Bill felt that he was opening up memories; his past gradually coming to life; as he made-up the coal fire he remembered that that had been Dad’s job; the meticulous construction: paper, kindling, coal or at Christmas logs. Christmas memories flooded his mind; the blazing fire, unwrapping presents, Dad in his chair with a mulled wine, Mum’s home made Christmas pudding – watch for the silver sixpences! – Board   games and laughter, hilarious eye watering laughter at Pictionary and charades.

Crazy… it’s the good memories that are coming back…I thought I’d forgotten this stuff…

Finally there was one mystery key remaining. No matter where he looked he could not find a matching lock; he even searched the attic – but there was so much stuff up there that he realised it would be futile to check everything properly.

The attic search stirred up early memories; long forgotten toys that he had thought discarded or long since dispatched to charity shops; found preserved and in some cases carefully repackaged; treasures for collectors perhaps. Books of every description were everywhere, dating back to earliest childhood. The books he won at school caught his attention: a complete collection of Lady Bird books; the high point of his early school days; he had been so proud to bring them home…

Bill was overwhelmed; he had not expected the emotional reaction. His usual business-like approach had deserted him; it took an act of will to focus his mind on the task in hand.

This is ridiculous…The key must fit somewhere…

Bill continued to search but the secret of the key eluded him, hidden in plain sight, tantalising. He was retracing his steps when he had his eureka moment; of course he should have realised; the key was not for a lock at all! It was a mechanical key; for a clock! The Grandfather clock! No wonder the house had seemed so quiet; he had unconsciously missed the chimes! They had been such a big part of his childhood – how could he have forgotten? They chimed at the start of each day and the end of the day and all the hours in-between…he would lie awake at night and listen and count the magical chimes…was that thirteen chimes at midnight? Would he time travel to a magical garden if he went down stairs?…like in Tom’s Midnight Garden; it all came back and as he inserted the key to wind up the Grandfather clock he remembered Mum doing the same thing, keeping the clock running. His reverie was interrupted by a familiar sharp wrap at the door.

Maggie! (?) So soon…

He had lost track of time, of everything. He rushed to the door still in a daze and as he opened the door the grandfather clock struck the hour; Maggie punctual as usual. It was then that he had his moment; not so much a ‘eureka’ moment; something more ineffable, magical…he was transported back in time and there was Maggie: sixteen again…

‘Come on William; don’t just stand there - give me a hand with the box’

The moment passed; Maggie was here mature self once more but Bill was never the same again; the magic lingered, spread like a ripple through time.

That night Bill had two phone calls to make:

‘Hello! …… hello, yes – I’d like to cancel the house clearance I have booked for tomorrow,  Yes that’s right, Willow bank cottage ….no it’s not that… there was more to sort out than I realised. Yes, you could say I’ve had a change of heart’

The second call was to Francesca: he decided to leave it till later. He would have to call into the office too, at some point.

Maybe he could sell his Smart phone on the store notice board. It would not be much use to local villagers but it could be a bargain for some one passing through, an outsider. Of course he would need to wipe the memory chip.

Bill wondered again about treasures and Ghosts; Mum was right; there were ghosts, they were elusive, tantalising – they attached to the material world but they were treasures if you could see them.

That night Bill and Maggie counted the chimes of the Grandfather clock.