‘Leave it alone,’ I say, bending down to remove Rory’s boxer shorts from Baxter’s jaws.
Lifting my head up I see Felix is holding a framed photo. ‘Aunty Emily – check this out.’
I gasp as my eyes settle on the two faces smiling from the photo. It’s a photo of me and Felix in an elegant gold frame. My heart goes crazy at the thought of Rory going to sleep every night with a photo of us two by his bed. ‘Where did you find that?’
Felix points to Rory’s bedside cabinet. ‘It was on top of here. Rory does still care about us, Aunty Emily.’
‘That’s such a nice thing to have by his bed,’ I say, frowning at the messy sheets. I will have to change them. ‘Where would he keep his clean bedsheets?’
Felix points to Rory’s chest of drawers. An uncomfortable feeling crawls over me. Rory is my ex-boyfriend; I have no idea where he is and here am I going through his drawers in search of clean bedding.
‘Do we have to change the sheets?’ Felix whines.
‘Yes, we do,’ I say, yanking open the bottom drawer. There’s no bedding. Instead, the drawer is filled with lots of photographs and albums which are scattered across the bottom. Felix comes to peer over my shoulder. ‘Boring photos.’
I run my hand over the photos. There are lots of family photos showing a couple and their two young boys. I study a few of them. One of the boys is Rory. There’s no mistaking his mop of black curly hair, his skinny frame, and his giant grasshopper legs. I don’t recognise the smaller boy with his sandy blonde hair and cheeky smile. Rory told me he didn’t have any siblings so the boy could be a childhood friend. Putting it down I spot a pile of postcards. They’re all from his mum, Tina, who I’ve never met as she’s been busy spending her retirement sailing around the Caribbean with her new husband. I pick up one postcard. She’s telling Rory how happy she is with his stepdad, Phil and how wonderful it is to be fulfilling a life dream. At the end she finishes with,I raised a toast to him last week. I am still waiting for you to pick up the phone and talk, Rory. Maybe one day – eh? Take care, love Mum xx
I flick my eyes to the postcard’s date stamp. It’s from last year when we were still dating. I wonder who she’s referring to?
Baxter has gone underneath Rory’s bed. I do hope he’s not going to the toilet under there. Felix is on his hands and knees trying to encourage him to come out. ‘Aunty Emily, he’s got something in his mouth.’
‘Get him out of there.’
Felix grabs the little dog and brings him out. In his jaws is a cream-coloured jewellery box. Baxter drops it into my hands. I stare at the logo on the front. It’s from the little jewellers in Brighton. The one Rory and I used to walk past when we were together. I became obsessed with a little gold locket on one of the velvet trays. Rory kept promising me he’d buy me it.
Carefully, I open the box to see it’s empty. Everything goes blurry. Rory must have given Beth a Christmas present while she was here earlier.
What a git! Buying Beth the locket I have had my eye on for months. Maybe I am better off without Rory?
‘Pizzas are here,’ shouts Tom. I place the box on his bed and guide Felix and Baxter out of Rory’s room.
Once we’ve finished and cleared away the boxes Tom goes into the kitchen to make a cup of tea for me. I follow him as Felix is busy playing on Tom’s Xbox.
‘I’ve no idea where he is,’ Tom says, frantically stuffing pizza boxes into a recycling bag. His arms are trembling and sweat beads are forming on his brow.
‘I understand.’ As he’s struggling to fit the box into the bag, I hold one end for him.
Tom wipes his brow. ‘Look, when I last saw Rory, he was with…’
‘Beth, I know, Tom.’
He casts me an awkward look. ‘Really?’
‘I saw Facebook.’ I take a deep breath. ‘You’re not going to believe this, but I was tricked into coming all this way by my nephew in there.’
Tom’s eyebrows rise his pink forehead. ‘That little lad in there tricked you?’
I nod. ‘He used my credit card without telling me and he ran off to board a train to Leeds at Kings Cross.’
Tom’s eyebrows shoot up his forehead. ‘Jeez. How old is he?’
‘Nine.’
His mouth falls ajar in shock. ‘Are kids that sneaky at nine?’
‘Yes.’
Judging by Tom’s bewildered face I can tell I am not promoting having children.
