Janina Matthewson - Of Things Gone Astray

ONCE UPON A TIME, GEORGE Fortescue had status. Until one day, he lost it.

He had always been the kind to turn heads. Not because he was particularly good looking, he wasn’t. Not because he was tall, he was average. There was simply something about him. At school he’d been listened to by his peers. When he gave answers in class, the other students were silent. No one ever made fun of him, not because they were afraid of him, or liked him particularly, but because somehow the idea of making fun of George was too remote to consider. When he started work he was quickly promoted, although his work was not noticeably better than anyone else’s. He was marked out for leadership from the start; without talent, or charisma, he had status.

And then he didn’t. He himself didn’t realise that he’d lost it. But all of a sudden people were slower to make way for him in the street. His success rate at hailing cabs went down by 40 per cent overnight. The board of directors took no note of his opinions. His staff started whispering behind his back, nothing he wanted done got done.

A few months later he would retire and move to Cornwall. He would get a cat on the misplaced assumption that it, at least, would show him some respect.

WILL GOWAN AND JEFF BROWN lost a fight. Both boys knew where it was when they left their respective houses. They walked confidently towards it, flanked by their gangs. They met a block away from the fight’s last known location, but pretended not to notice each other. Their gangs didn’t pretend not to notice each other, they scowled and glowered for all they were worth.

Two crowds of boys headed down opposite sides of the street until they reached the same corner, the corner around which the fight was.

It wasn’t there.

For the first time, the leaders looked at each other.

‘Where is it?’ said Will.

‘Have we lost it?’ said Jeff.

‘We can’t both have lost it,’ said Will.

But they had.

WINIFRED GRAHAM LOST HER LOOKS. She hunted for them carefully and methodically, but they were all gone. It seemed remarkable for them to have all disappeared at once, but although she tried, she could not find a single one.

Her looks had been so many. So many looks, and they were glorious: a look to show a secret, a look to freeze blood, one to curdle milk, a look of longing, a look of rejection, a look of despair. A look of love.

It would be several weeks before she managed to leave her house. To confront a world in which she would now have to rely on words.

AND BARNABY JONES LOST HIS heart. He was fifty-seven years old and had kept a good handle on it until that day. He’d never had to question its whereabouts at school or university, even when his friends were finding theirs so hard to keep track of. He’d checked for its presence as he left the house each morning, along with his keys and wallet. There was a brief moment in his mid-thirties when he couldn’t remember where he’d left it, but a quick search revealed not far from its usual place.

Then this day, seven weeks before his 58th birthday, it was gone. After searching his house thoroughly and to no avail, he retraced his steps, eventually coming across the finder of his heart. Unfortunately he would be unable to get it back from her, and before he would have time to think of staying near her, just so as to always be near his heart, she would not have it anymore.

From then, Barnaby’s heart would change hands with dizzying frequency. He would do his best to keep up with it, but it would show itself determined to evade him. Try as he might to get it back, in the end he would have to learn to do without it.

Jake stands on the footpath facing his house. The street is quiet, because it is not Saturday. Even though it’s Tuesday, Jake is not wearing his uniform. Not wearing his school uniform on a Tuesday that’s not in the holidays makes Jake feel like he’s breaking the rules. But he can’t get into trouble because his mum is the one who’s told him not to wear it.

Jake doesn’t want to go to the doctor. The doctor is boring and he doesn’t like someone looking at his feet that closely. He doesn’t want to go to the doctor, but he does want to go to McDonald’s.

He is not wearing a jersey, but he should be. The day is cold; the first cold day in ages and Jake isn’t prepared for it. His mum said that he should put on a jumper, but he didn’t. He looks down at the goosebumps on his arm and wishes his mum would hurry up.

She’s gone back into the house because she forgot to bring a recipe she’d promised to drop off to the smiling lady that sometimes comes over with her friend Mel. Jake knows his mum doesn’t like the smiling lady, because she never uses her name. She always just calls her Goldilocks, which is not a real name at all. Jake doesn’t know what the smiling lady’s real name is.

Jake can tell his mum is really grumpy because she’s already dropped her keys on the floor three times. Jake’s mum is always clumsy when she’s cross. When she’d turned to go back into the house, Jake had started to go with her and she’d snapped at him to stay where he was and wait for her. Jake’s mum hardly ever snaps.

Jake has been waiting for a long time.

The ground moves like it does a lot. Like it never used to. It started happening a few months ago, after that one big time when buildings came down. Jake was scared when it started, when it happened months ago, but he isn’t anymore. It doesn’t really make anything happen.

This time, though, something does. This time something awful happens.

Jake looked down at his arm. There were goosebumps on it now. Had there been that day? He didn’t think so. He couldn’t remember feeling cold, but he couldn’t remember not feeling cold either. He couldn’t be sure.

He so wanted to be sure.

He trudged slowly along the road towards his house. Without really planning to, he kept walking past it and around the corner. He wandered until he was on a street he didn’t know, walking along a row of shops. Also without planning to, Jake stopped walking. He looked around himself, up and down the quiet street.

The shop he was standing outside didn’t seem to have a name. He stood looking for several minutes but there wasn’t one anywhere. There was the street number, hand-painted in pea green, and that was all except for a small blackboard hanging on the door which read, ‘Nothing can be found that is not lost’. Jake wasn’t sure he knew what that meant.

He pushed open the door and walked in. The shop was dark inside, and dusty, and full of second-hand things. There was a shelf of old typewriters by the door, and a pile of battered books stacked precariously on top of a rusty umbrella stand.

‘Shouldn’t you be in school?’ said a voice from the ether.

‘Yes.’ Jake blinked and peered around the shop, trying to locate the speaker.

The Voice was sitting in an armchair in the corner. She had her legs slung over one arm of the chair and a book in her lap. She watched Jake for a while as he looked around.

‘Well?’ she said eventually. ‘Buying or selling?’

‘What?’

The Voice got up from her armchair and leaned over the shop counter towards Jake.

‘Are you buying or are you selling?’

‘I don’t have anything to sell.’

‘Well, wouldn’t you suppose that that means you’re buying?’

Jake fingered the money in his pocket. His dad had left it on the table and probably forgotten about it. They had run out of milk and bread. His dad had probably forgotten about that too.

‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I’m buying.’