Had it ever been so hushed before?

There was nothing to do but wait. He sat for a while, looking around absently. The dresser attracted his attention. He might find a drink for himself in there. He pulled open the two lower doors and looked inside. There was a selection of lace and linen tablecloths, some crockery (Royal Albert he thought), a few drinking glasses, a bottle of sherry and a half bottle of whisky, neither of which were full. Mary always had alternatives available for guests who liked something stronger than tea.

There was also a variety of boxes in different shapes and sizes. Some had string tied round them because they were too full for the lids to close properly. Stacked neatly in the back corner were two wooden boxes, one on top of the other. The top one was handsomely crafted. Cal manoeuvred it out, placed it on top of the dresser, and pushed back the delicate clasps. Inside, set in white satin, was a canteen of cutlery, stainless steel with mother-of-pearl handles. The style was old and heavy. A wedding present to his grandparents perhaps? Or had they possibly bought it themselves, in preparation for Mary’s big day? The set had never been used. Cal felt the tears press on his eyes again as he thought of Mary and the special occasion that had never come.

He closed the lid again and stooped to pull out the second box. It was heavily varnished, enhanced with beautiful carvings that appeared Eastern in origin. There was a small mortise key fitted into a lock at the front. Whatever was in this box had obviously been of value to Mary. He carried it to the settee and pulled over a small occasional table, placing the box on top. He twisted the key gently and it turned smoothly with a small click. The lid opened easily.

Cal was mildly disappointed although he didn’t know quite what he had expected to find. It contained an untidy assortment of typed and handwritten letters, newspaper cuttings, telegrams that were still in their envelopes and some old jewellery.

Remembering the whisky, he went to find a tumbler. He knew the kitchen fridge had a small ice box, but it had a thick beard of frost and he would have been surprised to find ice cubes anyway. He settled for water from the tap.

The whisky tingled on his tongue. He lifted a bundle of the letters, smelling the age from them, and leafed through them haphazardly. They were mostly addressed to Mary or her parents. His eye caught a child’s handwriting and with a start recognised it as his own. He pulled the notepaper carefully from the envelope and read ‘a big thank you to Auntie Mary for a wonderful holiday’.

There were birthday cards too, and letters in his mother’s handwriting. Beneath one letter he found a blue airmail envelope and wondered idly who it might have been from. He’d already flicked past it when his subconscious registered something unusual.