Ella watched the way his eyes lit up, the way he was so passionate about his work. Some days her work set her on fire and ignited something within her that reminded her why she was so good at her job, why she loved what she did so much. But other days she wondered if she’d always feel that way, if she was simply channelling her love of creating art into other artists’ work. And whether she could feasibly keep that up long term. Or not.
‘I only have ten minutes before I have to get back in there, so if you’d like to show me the—’
‘Yes! Of course.’ She gave him her coffee to hold and then took the box from her bag and removed the sheet of music. They swapped items and she watched him as he looked over the sheet, taking his time to study it.
‘How old do you think it is?’
‘Honestly, I have no idea. I was hoping you might be able to help me with that.’
‘Hmm,’ Gabriel said, his eyebrows pulling down into a frown.
‘What is it?’
‘I don’t immediately have any thoughts, but it’s a complex piece of music. Whoever was playing this was a serious musician, someone extremely capable.’
‘Well, that’s more than I knew before I showed it to you, so thank you.’
Gabriel took another sip of his coffee, still studying the paper. ‘Could I borrow this? To show some of the others inside? You never know whether someone might recognise the piece specifically, or even recognise the note or the sign off.’
She hesitated, feeling oddly connected to the clue she’d been carrying around for the past few days. He must have noticed, because he immediately took a step closer to her and gave her an earnest kind of look. He even reached out and touched her wrist with his thumb.
‘I promise I’ll guard it with my life. I know how important it is to you. And I’ll make a copy so I can give you back the original.’
‘Of course, it’s silly when it means nothing to me at this point anyway.’ She glanced at his hand, at the way he’d so casually touched her.
‘It doesn’t mean nothing to you, Ella, it was left to your grandmother at her birth. That means something, even if you haven’t worked out the connection yet, so I promise I’ll look after it.’
She nodded. ‘Yes, you’re right. It does mean something. It means more than I probably want to admit. It’s just frustrating not understanding how it’s linked to her.’
‘How about I take you out to dinner tomorrow night, so I can return it to you?’
‘Dinner?’ She tried not to smile too hard.
‘Dinner,’ he confirmed, as he started to walk backwards. ‘I have to get back, but it was great seeing you. Thanks for the coffee.’ He stopped again and grinned. ‘It’s been really good seeing you again, Ella.’
She couldn’t help but grin back at him. ‘It’s been good seeing you again too.’
Ella stood and watched him go; the gorgeous man who’d surprised her in the most pleasant of ways, and whom she’d just agreed to go out for dinner with. She groaned as she walked back the way she’d come, still clutching her coffee, knowing that now she was going to wonder for the rest of the weekend whether he’d actually asked her out on a date, or whether it was just a convenient way to give her back the sheet of music. Or perhaps it was simply because they were old friends who hadn’t seen each other in years…
Thirty minutes later, Ella found herself standing in an art supplies shop. They were about to close, and she couldn’t decide whether she was being ridiculous or whether she should just buy all the things she needed. The girl behind the counter was looking less than impressed, and kept making a show of looking at her watch, which wasn’t helping. Ella went to the paints, her hand hovering as she studied them.
What harm is there in buying supplies? I don’t even have to use them if I don’t want to.
She looked at her own watch and saw that it was almost five o’clock now.Just do it.
Ella marched over to the front of the store and collected a basket, instinctively filling it with the paint and brushes she needed. She paid for it all and left the store lugging two large paper bags, not sure whether she’d gone mad. She hadn’t so much as picked up a paintbrush in years; the feel of the brush against her fingers was foreign to her now, whereas once it had been as familiar to her as eating or breathing. But she was convinced it would all come back to her, a muscle that simply needing flexing.
When she was back at her flat she left her purchases on the table and went into her bedroom, opening her wardrobe and standing on tiptoe to take down the box she’d placed on a shelf in there when she’d moved in a few years earlier. It was nondescript, and no one else would have bothered to look inside, but when she’d filled it, it had been with the possessions that meant more to her than anything in the world.
She sat cross-legged with the box on the ground, slowly opening the lid and staring down at it. On top was a photo, and tears filled her eyes as she lifted it out. It was her and Harrison, her big brother, with his arm around her as they sat on the beach. She remembered the holiday: it was only about a year before he died, and she could almost hear his deep belly laugh, feel the weight of his arm as he slung it around her shoulders, as they’d tried to keep from laughing long enough for the photo to be taken.
Ella dabbed at her eyes with her knuckles and took out the tubes of paint and some of her old favourite brushes from the shoebox. They were so dry they resembled the little stiff branches of a tree, but when she held them in her hands, she knew that if she were to clean her brushes and dip them in paint, if she were to start painting then and there, a blank canvas in front of her, it would all come back to her as if she’d never stopped.
At the bottom she took out a postcard and slowly lifted it, placing her other hand over her mouth. The picture on the front was of Italy, and when she turned the card over, she could have recited the words without looking, even though it had been years since she’d last read them.
It’s amazing, Ellie, you’d love it here. Promise me you’ll take a gap year and travel with me! Don’t listen to Mum and Dad, they have no idea what they’re talking about. H.
Ella slowly put everything away, the memories too painful to remember for very long, but it did make her wonder what someone else would think if they were given this box, if what was inside would paint a picture of who she was. Of where she’d come from and what had happened to her. Would a stranger be able to find her from a collection of art supplies, a photo and a postcard?
