She pauses, fiddles with the chain. ‘Yes. I think maybe he did. He called me… when he was on his way to Whitby. It wouldn’t have been long before the accident. Asked me if I wanted to go out for dinner. But…’ She sniffs, putting on a smile. ‘I don’t know. Wishful thinking on my part, probably. He was all Alice then. Alice this, Alice that…’
I reach out and take her hand, squeezing it.
She squeezes my hand back, then reaches for a tissue and blows her nose. ‘So you think this will all help, with your job?’
‘I’m hoping so. This, Michael, it’s all helped me see how much I love research, telling life stories, breathing life back into the past.’
‘And Spence…?’ She meets my eyes, understanding there.
‘Spence is… moving. To Scotland, with his daughter. And her mum.’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘No need.’ I put on a brave smile, reaching for one of the tapes, trying to read Mike’s playlist from 1984.
‘Forgive me, love, and you can tell me to shut my big gob if you want, I won’t take offence. But I watched how you were together, the way he looks at you, the way you finish each other’s sentences, instinctively know what the other is thinking. It reminded me, well, of Mike… and me.’
I keep my eyes down, slotting the tape back in the shoebox.
‘Love.’ She leans forward. ‘I left it too late. Don’t make the same mistake, eh? You never know when you’re going to lose those you love.’
I swallow. ‘Thanks, but… He has a new life ahead of him. And I…’ I look at the clock on the wall with a shaky smile. ‘Need to get going.’
She stands, helps me with my bags, the portfolio clutched in my hand. ‘And you’re sure you don’t mind me borrowing all this?’
‘No, love. It’s right you should have them for a bit. His letters got to you for a reason, and I’ll be proud as punch to see his work, the person he was, there for all to see. He deserved it. He always did say Van Gogh wasn’t famous ’til after he died. Reckon Mike’d get a kick out of it all, to be honest.’
We hesitate at the door. Kate pushes her lips together then slowly reaches behind her neck. She pulls out the chain and holds it up, letting the ring land in her palm, clutching it briefly before opening her hand.
‘Bout time this got back to the right person. Tell her, when you find her, that meeting her changed his life, made him see himself differently. He found something of himself that night, and… well. Just tell her thank you.’
Tears burn at the back of my eyes as I take the ring. It’s still warm from her skin. This ring is so much more than a piece of jewellery. It’s history, life, everything that was said and not said. Love, loss and all the messy things in between. I close my fingers around it, feeling the weight of the past. The future.
‘And don’t be a stranger, eh? You’re welcome here anytime, love.’
My throat closes as I grip the ring tightly. ‘Thank you.’
She opens the door and I step through.
‘Alice?’ she adds, a little urgency in her voice. ‘Don’t forget what I said, eh? Life’s too short to not tell someone you love them.’
As I walk away, it feels like I’m taking another step towards my future. So why does it feel like I’m being pulled back into the past?
45
SPENCE
‘OK, OK…’ I hold my hands up like I’m about to be shot by the class of fifteen-year-olds. ‘You’ve got me.’ I turn back to the whiteboard and add another tally to the screen. ‘That’s twenty for Kendrick Lamar and—’ I throw a dramatic hand to my chest ‘—a disappointing thirteen for Shakespeare.’
I turn back to the room, while laughter and fist pumps are thrown and the other half of the class speaks up in the bard’s defence. I lean back against the wooden counter running at the edge of the room, giving them a moment to get the victory off their chests. I don’t look to the far corner where Mr Jenson is assessing my teaching skills. After a beat, I push off. ‘So…’ I raise my voice slightly, not overly assertive, but loud enough to get their attention. ‘Time to put your money where your mouth is.’ I tap the whiteboard and bring up the main activity for the lesson. ‘You’re going to write a rap aboutAMidsummer Night’s Dream.’
The rest of the lesson goes well. Closing it by saying Shakespeare was the original rapper, how he created sayings that are still used today, in the same way as rappers hone their own phrases. How he flipped meanings, used metaphors for theworld he lived in. ‘The only thing that is different—’ I turn back to the class ‘—is he dropped a quill instead of a mic.’
The lesson is good. I know it is. Though I might be getting off easy. This is a class of kids who are coming in over summervoluntarily.English Boot Camp.
The kids file out, a few of them saying, ‘Bye, sir,’ which is like getting an Oscar in teacher terms.
Walter Jenson is smiling as he walks towards me. Good sign. This is the perfect job… and it’s landed in my hands after the woman who had been appointed pulled out last-minute. Like it was fate. Scratch that. I sound like Alice.
