‘I’ll start making enquiries about storage units for when we’ll need one. He certainly won’t fit all of this into his flat. I have a feeling we’re going to need more newspaper to wrap things.’
Looking around, I’m not entirely sure how he’s fit it all into this house. This number of knick-knacks shouldn’t squeeze into the space and yet he’s managed it.
‘We will,’ I agree.
‘Let’s see how far we get today. I’m going to make a start on his bedroom upstairs. I figure he might want any remaining clothes and he might prefer that I sort that.’
‘Thanks,’ I say to George as he goes on his quest.
I make a start on the ornaments on the mantelpiece first. As I gather them, I wonder if any of them hold memories. If the owl made out of pebbles was something he made himself out of rocks he discovered on a favourite beach, perhaps. Somewhere Clive might have travelled down to on the summer bus.
Or has the thin silver vase ever held special flowers? Some carnations for his mother? Or something he’s grown at his allotment? Every piece I put away tells a story, but it’s hard to tell if those stories belong to Clive or the people that once owned them. Is the snow globe with ‘Oxford’ written across the front an indication that he’d visited there? Had he perhaps studied there? Or was it merely a bargain he’s added to his collection from the charity shop?
After the first few, I start to pack them more systematically. If I ponder on each object I’ll be here forever more. The good thing is I’m not making decisions over whether they should stay or go. And because none of the items belong to me, nor do I have to reminisce about any memories I rake up by holding each piece once more.
Instead, for each sheet of newspaper, I grab an object, wipe off any dust with an old rag cloth I found and wrap it up, placing it neatly into the waiting box. It’s as if I’m stacking up a puzzle of memories without knowing what the overall picture should end up looking like.
As I dwell on these thoughts, there are creaks coming from above that remind me George is upstairs doing the same. Clive’s wardrobe will also be a collection of clothes sourced from charity shops. Did Clive choose them because they reflected the things he likes, or was it to provide a medley of colour from other people’s lives? Maybe that’s what you do if you aren’t certain of who you are. Some people hide behind lab coats. Others take parts of other lives and make them their own.
The mantelpiece alone takes a long time. Next I decide to go through the display cabinet. It’s full of similar items and a large collection of spoons, some of them in need of a clean, others sparkling and more recent additions to the collection. They all have little shields or pictures, with many of them naming the places they are from. An old-fashioned equivalent of a Facebook check-in.
I try not to slow myself down by dwelling, but with some items I can’t help it. I wish Clive was here to ask, but I’m also glad he’s not or he’d see the fingerprint dust covering so many surfaces.
‘How are you getting on?’ George asks after we’ve both been at it for a couple of hours.
‘There’s just so much. This cabinet is so tightly packed.’ I’m less than halfway through the display cabinet, which hides far more than meets the eye. ‘What about the clothes?’
‘I can safely say that Clive has a hat for every occasion and enough belts to last a month. I’ve filled a suitcase so he has some more clothes with him, but I’ve had to start using the boxes as well.’
‘I’m guessing there’s a lot more up there besides the clothes.’
‘Oh, yes. If you thought this bookcase was impressive then you didn’t account for upstairs.’
‘Are there really that many?’
‘Yep. And I haven’t dared to look in the back bedroom yet.’
‘I guess when you’ve lived somewhere for a long time you don’t realise how much stuff is stacking up.’
‘How long has Clive lived here?’
I shrug. ‘I never asked exactly how long. For quite a while, I’m assuming.’
‘It’s such a shame he can’t return.’
‘Do you know if they ever found those missing medical notes?’
‘They haven’t yet, as far as I know. If they have, it’s unlikely that they’d tell me.