and wallet. There was a brief moment in his mid-thirties when he couldn’t remember where he’d left it, but a quick search revealed not far from its usual place.
Then this day, seven weeks before his 58th birthday, it was gone. After searching his house thoroughly and to no avail, he retraced his steps, eventually coming across the finder of his heart. Unfortunately he would be unable to get it back from her, and before he would have time to think of staying near her, just so as to always be near his heart, she would not have it anymore.
From then, Barnaby’s heart would change hands with dizzying frequency. He would do his best to keep up with it, but it would show itself determined to evade him. Try as he might to get it back, in the end he would have to learn to do without it.
Jake stands on the footpath facing his house. The street is quiet, because it is not Saturday. Even though it’s Tuesday, Jake is not wearing his uniform. Not wearing his school uniform on a Tuesday that’s not in the holidays makes Jake feel like he’s breaking the rules. But he can’t get into trouble because his mum is the one who’s told him not to wear it.
Jake doesn’t want to go to the doctor. The doctor is boring and he doesn’t like someone looking at his feet that closely. He doesn’t want to go to the doctor, but he does want to go to McDonald’s.
He is not wearing a jersey, but he should be. The day is cold; the first cold day in ages and Jake isn’t prepared for it. His mum said that he should put on a jumper, but he didn’t. He looks down at the goosebumps on his arm and wishes his mum would hurry up.
She’s gone back into the house because she forgot to bring a recipe she’d promised to drop off to the smiling lady that sometimes comes over with her friend Mel. Jake knows his mum doesn’t like the smiling lady, because she never uses her name. She always just calls her Goldilocks, which is not a real name at all. Jake doesn’t know what the smiling lady’s real name is.
Jake can tell his mum is really grumpy because she’s already dropped her keys on the floor three times. Jake’s mum is always clumsy when she’s cross. When she’d turned to go back into the house, Jake had started to go with her and she’d snapped at him to stay where he was and wait for her. Jake’s mum hardly ever snaps.
Jake has been waiting for a long time.
The ground moves like it does a lot. Like it never used to. It started happening a few months ago, after that one big time when buildings came down. Jake was scared when it started, when it happened months ago, but he isn’t anymore. It doesn’t really make anything happen.
This time, though, something does. This time something awful happens.
Jake looked down at his arm. There were goosebumps on it now. Had there been that day? He didn’t think so. He couldn’t remember feeling cold, but he couldn’t remember not feeling cold either. He couldn’t be sure.
He so wanted to be sure.
He trudged slowly along the road towards his house. Without really planning to, he kept walking past it and around the corner. He wandered until he was on a street he didn’t know, walking along a row of shops. Also without planning to, Jake stopped walking. He looked around himself, up and down the quiet street.
The shop he was standing outside didn’t seem to have a name. He stood looking for several minutes but there wasn’t one anywhere. There was the street number, hand-painted in pea green, and that was all except for a small blackboard hanging on the door which read, ‘Nothing can be found that is not lost’. Jake wasn’t sure he knew what that meant.
He pushed open the door and walked in. The shop was dark inside, and dusty, and full of second-hand things. There was a shelf of old typewriters by the door, and a pile of battered books stacked precariously on top of a rusty umbrella stand.
‘Shouldn’t you be in school?’ said a voice from the ether.
‘Yes.’ Jake blinked and peered around the shop, trying to locate the speaker.
The Voice was sitting in an armchair in the corner. She had her legs slung over one arm of the chair and a book in her lap. She watched Jake for a while as he looked around.
‘Well?’ she said eventually. ‘Buying or selling?’
‘What?’
The Voice got up from her armchair and leaned over the shop counter towards Jake.
‘Are you buying or are you selling?’
‘I don’t have anything to sell.’
‘Well, wouldn’t you suppose that that means you’re buying?’
Jake fingered the money in his pocket. His dad had left it on the table and probably forgotten about it. They had run out of milk and bread. His dad had probably forgotten about that too.
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I’m buying.’
‘What are you looking for?’
‘Something interesting.’
‘Everything’s interesting.’
Jake’s wandering gaze fell on a small, silvery, old mirror.
‘Who’s was that?’
The Voice followed Jake’s eyes, shook her head and leaned further forward, with a conspiratorial air. ‘That,’ she began dramatically, ‘belonged to a war heroine. She came from a small village near Cambridge, and when things started to turn to custard over the way, she ran off to Paris and joined the French Resistance. She carried that mirror with her always, to make sure her hair was in place while she fought the Nazis. Then, when she died, her granddaughter, who is the kind of person who is Not Interested, inherited it. She brought it here to sell because she thought it was tacky.’
Jake picked up a pair of cufflinks from a shelf.
‘Those,’ said The Voice, ‘were sold to me by the new husband of their owner’s wife. She had asked him to return them to her ex-husband, but he was so jealous he couldn’t stand to see him. So he brought them to me instead.’
Jake put the cufflinks back and turned to a pile of books. The one on the top was small and red and faded. He opened the cover and read the inscription: ‘You are the reason I’m glad there are words.’
‘Who’s was this?’ he asked The Voice.
‘Oh, I don’t actually know about that. Some woman found it when she moved into a new house. It had fallen behind a radiator or something.’
‘I’ll buy this, I think,’ said Jake. ‘What was the woman like?’ he asked as The Voice counted out his change. ‘Tall. A bit chub. Had a baby. Very, very long hair. Blonde.’
‘When did she sell you the book?’
‘Holy hell, I don’t know. A month ago maybe. Maybe two.’
‘Great,’ said Jake. ‘Thanks. I’ll see you.’
Jake
