The Keeper of Lost Things

by Ruth Hogan

When she had first arrived, the house and its contents were gently neglected. Not dirty or shabby, just vaguely overlooked. Many of the rooms were unused. Anthony spent most of his time in the garden room or his study, and never had any guests to stay in the extra bedrooms. Softly, gently, room by room, Laura had loved the house back into life. Except the study. She had never been in the study. Anthony had told her at the start that nobody went into the study except him, and when he wasn’t in there it was kept locked.

“Laura, you have to let go of the past. You deserve to be happy, but you have to make it happen yourself. It’s down to you.

“He’s called Carrot.” “Is that so?” said Freddy. “And that’s because . . . ?” “Because he was hit by the car in the dark night because he didn’t see it.” “And?” continued Freddy with an interrogative tip of his head. “Carrots help you see in the darkness.”

She had been mourning extravagantly all over the press and the media, but Eunice couldn’t

fueled by genuine grief or the associated publicity