‘Why should it still be in my shed? Anyway we threw all the rubbish out. I don’t like


being reminded of people who used to live in my house.’ I turned away, ending the conversation. ‘Wait.’ The word was imploring, and of course, being me, I softened. I walked him through


the jigger to go in the back way – wasn’t going to let a total stranger, even if he was a past resident, walk through my hall, through my kitchen and out into the garden. ‘Hasn’t changed a bit,’ he sounded relieved and headed straight for the shed. ‘Well we haven’t had much time to update the garden just yet, but come back in


another six months and you won’t know the place.’ ‘Lucky I came when I did then.’ He rubbed his hands together in a most unpleasant


way and opened the shed door. ‘Hang on; you don’t go in there without me. We’ve got tools in there, worth a few


bob.’ ‘Oh good, have you got a chisel or a crowbar?’ ‘Whaa…?’ ‘Need to prise up the floorboards, here,’ he pointed to the far end of the shed, ‘it’s


okay, I’ll make good after me. I only want what’s mine.’ He flicked the light switch. The naked bulb glared overhead, casting murky shadows


into the shed’s cramped recesses. I stepped in after him. I was curious I must admit. I passed him a crowbar and without getting too close waited for the stolen loot - jewels, gold bars, counterfeit notes to be unearthed. The cold wind that travels up the avenue took a detour and slammed the shed door


shut. The acrid smell of cleaning fluid in the confined space was overpowering. I put my hand up to my mouth and tried not to breathe. With a tearing sound two floorboards gaped open over a dark space. ‘Can you see? I’ve a torch somewhere.’ I wanted to know what had been left under


my shed floor. Wanted to see for myself. He was on his knees feeling around in the space. Arhh. A sigh of satisfaction and


relief and he pulled out something wrapped in a piece of cloth like an old curtain, one of those heavy brocade types. The fabric glowed dull gold in the harsh light. He held the parcel of cloth to him for a moment, cradling it. ‘That’s not …’ I whispered through stiff jaws. He stood up, still cradling the bundle. His nothing face, his empty eyes had darkened


and taken shape. I was aware of being a speck in a lonely shed with a maniac. ‘It’s mine.’ He pushed past me and was gone.


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