“Did you buy them on the internet?” Another of Sophie’s inquisitions, please no!
“So that’s what you were doing during the last few months,” my father booms. “We were worried because we had the feeling that you were shutting yourself away!” He of the tactful approach. Have mercy, it is Christmas after all!
“Not now, Paul,” my ever-diplomatic stepmother admonishes him, but he’s already succeeded in ruining the day. Can’t he leave me alone for once? I’m not a child anymore! “Open your presents, Livia, I hope you’ll like them,” my stepmother tries to distract me. I start to rip open the beautiful glittery paper. Evidently the three of them have been talking about me behind my back, even now that I’m grown up and out of this house. They were constantly at it when I was young and always thought I wouldn’t realise it. Then, and even now. Unhappily I tug at a red ribbon that is stuck. A DVD player, state of the art.
“For long winter evenings,” my father explains which gains him a warning look from his wife. But his present is even better than hers: a season ticket for the Royal Albert Hall, a present clearly chosen to help me socialise again. I smile at her because I appreciate her attempt but I’m certain that I’ll never use it. Going to concerts alone is just so sad. Sophie gives me a book, a historical novel, which will probably be exceedingly boring, and a rose-coloured Mulberry cashmere jumper which is really expensive but makes me look like Miss Piggy.
Later my father cuts the turkey and Sophie mentions the New Year’s Eve party she’s going to attend with her boyfriend. “We intend to stay home this year with some friends,” my stepmother begins. “Do you want to join us, Livia?” Would I like to jump out of the window? I just hate her concerned expression but I swallow my reply. It would only confirm her opinion of me that I’m an unsociable loner. So I arrange my face into a careful smile and give the answer I’ve already prepared, knowing that New Year’s Eve would inevitably come up.
“Sorry, can’t, I’m going to a friend’s party.” I don’t even blush. My parents nod, satisfied, but Sophie arches her brow in her typical lawyer look. At least she doesn’t question me anymore about the place, the people, the friend and everything else. I’ll have to hide in my flat that evening, with the lights out, and not answer the phone.
I shift uncomfortably in my bed, I can’t sleep. It’s already gone midnight and everyone is asleep. I’m in my old room. On the desk there is still a photo of Flip, my Jack Russell terrier. He was my best Christmas present ever. I had pestered my parents for ages before they gave in, and we went to the animal shelter and came back with Flip. He was not so young anymore but he was the sweetest thing, and over the next six years he was my best friend.
Finally I get out of bed. My jacket is hanging over the chair, with my keys in it, plus Rebecca’s key. Somehow I’m convinced that the secret is hidden in this house where she lived. Maybe I should search her other books for clues? I’m already on my way to the living room when a thought strikes me: there’s another door I haven’t tried yet, the one to the attic. How stupid I am! Maybe there’s still a box of Rebecca’s belongings up there, in the darkest corner, hidden by my father for some reason or other. He always claimed that the only things of hers he kept were the books and the jewellery. But what if he wasn’t telling the truth? Hastily I creep up the narrow stairs and come to a halt as the old wood creaks. I listen, my heart pounding. Get a grip, Livia! I’m behaving as if I’m doing something forbidden! Why am I so afraid of someone waking up? This is my childhood home after all! Everything remains quiet, all the better. My heartbeat slows down again. Now my fingers touch the attic door and feel around for the keyhole. Fumbling, I insert the key. “Crap!” I mutter when it gets stuck. Wrong door again.
Disappointed, I’m just turning away when I hear a noise behind the door. What was that? Instinctively I push down the handle and the door swings opens. Silly me, it was open all along. But why should it be locked anyway? As a child I came up here countless times in search of carnival costumes, ski equipment or luggage. My imagination again, why would my father hide something here of all places? But what was that noise? Now I can’t hear anything, but I enter anyway and switch on the bulb dangling from the ceiling. It looks the same as it always did in here. There are boxes with old clothes, tennis rackets, sleeping bags and rolled-up tents. It even smells the same, of dust and mould. But the noise? Well, probably mice. I turn to leave the room but a movement in the corner catches my eye. Not a rat, please! Automatically I jump back. Mice are cute but rats are filthy. I take a closer look, no, that’s too big even for a rat, thank goodness! The next second I hear a soft meowing. Of course, the neighbour’s cat. It must have come in through one of the windows below and is stuck here now. I make my way through the boxes, murmuring soothingly to coax the animal out. “Kitty, kitty, come here!” I’d rather go back to bed now. But the stupid puss hides behind some old pieces of luggage and won’t come out. Disgusted I try to shift the trunks which are covered in dust and spiders’ webs. Still no cat. I sneeze and blink – what was that? Puzzled I look at a small, narrow door in the wall which I’ve never seen before. But wait, the house hasn’t got any bays, so where could this door lead?
I push down the door handle but the door is locked. It can only be a blind door anyway. That’s why it’s hidden behind all that old stuff. Or could it…? Suddenly I gasp. I bite my lip as I take out my keys again. With a metallic scraping sound the key slides into the lock. My heart rate increases when I turn it. The lock clicks open. Very slowly I push down the handle and open the small door expecting to see the garden below.
Instead a small rectangular room opens up before me. The one window lets in the bluish light of the moon and the stars. The room is completely empty apart from a chest underneath the window. I catch my breath, this has to be something belonging to my mum, hidden twenty years ago and protected by the locked door nobody realised was there. Please, please let me find the things she obviously left me in there! I don't know how I’ll cope if the chest is empty. My breathing is loud and irregular. With two steps I cross the room and kneel down in front of the chest. It’s made of dark wood, without any adornment, smooth and kind of warm. Not a trace of dust on the polished surface. My hands shake as I try to open the lid but it’s locked. I take a look at the lock and smile: I’m certain that my mum's key will unlock this as well. I hold my breath as I open the lid and the lump in my throat nearly chokes me. What a letdown, the chest is empty!
Disappointed I look around. Have I missed something else in the room? Or what if my father took out whatever my mum had left in here? I jump up, I have to ask him immediately. I don’t care if it’s the middle of the night or if he gets angry at me, I just have to know. Mum left me the key so whatever was in here was supposed to be mine. As I reach for the lid to close it, the moonlight seems to intensify and falls on something glittery in the left-hand corner of the chest. Blindly I grope around wishing for more light. There, there it is, something small and hard, it could be a ring. My clumsy fingers drop it again but when I find it again I’m quite sure: it has to be the ring mum mentioned in her letter. Hastily I run into the attic, scattering boxes of clothes, and hold it under the light bulb. This is one strange ring, I’ve never seen anything like it before. I turn it around in wonder. It appears old and not like I expected. Where did it come from? Was it a present? From whom?