Yesterday’s Sun

Holly peered out of the kitchen window, searching for Tom. She couldn’t see him through the tangle of shrubs and trees, but she knew where he was from the sounds of snapping branches and occasional expletives. Ignoring the urge to go and investigate, she started chopping up vegetables – locally grown produce, of course – and set to work making a large pan of soup to try out on Tom and the builders.

‘And what do you think you’re up to?’

Holly jumped, narrowly avoiding chopping a finger rather than a carrot. A pair of arms closed around her waist. Tom had spied her from the garden and crept into the house.

‘Don’t you know better than to frighten a woman when she’s armed and dangerous?’ warned Holly, brandishing her kitchen knife.

‘You’re always dangerous. You can cut me to the wick, knife or not.’ He leaned down and kissed the back of her neck.

‘Don’t go getting sidetracked. I want that garden looking spick and span before you disappear off into the sunset.’

‘Look, woman!’ gasped Tom in amazement, pointing towards the garden. ‘Can’t you see the transformation already?’

Holly peered towards the garden, putting a hand up to shade her eyes for effect. ‘No, not at all,’ she laughed.

‘I’ve practically made a small mountain from all the bracken and deadwood I’ve cleared. I’ve even trimmed your bush.’

‘A man renowned for his literary prowess and he still lowers the tone with childish innuendo,’ remarked Holly. ‘And the garden looks like a heap to me.’

‘Well, it’ll look better when all the garden waste’s been cleared,’ Tom replied sulkily. ‘I just need someone to use their womanly charms on the builders to see if they’ll help me get rid of it.’

‘Well, I’m busy, in case you hadn’t noticed. Go use your own womanly charms on them, I’m sure they’ll be impressed.’

Holly let Tom beg a little longer before giving in. She was secretly happy to have an excuse to check on the building work. The outbuilding was set back and to the side of the house and looked like it had been used as a workshop at some point in the past. It was a one-storey brick building about the size of a double garage. Thanks to Billy the foreman, they had made a good start in the last week and had already filled two skips gutting the place. Thankfully the roof hadn’t needed to be completely replaced, but Velux roof windows were being installed to add more light. Interior walls had been knocked through and new windows knocked out of the outer walls. Each time Holly checked on their progress, the studio seemed to be getting lighter and lighter.

The studio was a hive of activity and Holly found Billy piling rubble into a wheelbarrow. The foreman was probably nearing retirement but showed no signs of acting his age as he picked up huge blocks of cement with ease. He had round features that did their best to hide the wrinkles on his weathered face and he still had a good head of hair which was quite possibly grey, although Holly could only guess at this because he always seemed to wear a permanent layer of dust that made his hair almost white.

‘How’s it going, Billy?’ Holly shouted over the din of power tools.

‘The electrician is coming over tomorrow, so I’d say we’ll be plastering the walls by early next week and putting the final touches to the job.’

‘You’re a miracle worker, you really are.’

Billy beamed a smile at her. ‘Glad to be of service. You can always count on me,’ he told her. ‘Not like that husband of yours. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, he shouldn’t be leaving you on your own to fend for yourself.’

‘Yes, Billy, you have said it before, many times. And like I keep telling you, I can manage perfectly well on my own,’ admonished Holly. She was now used to Billy’s old-fashioned views and, rather than take offence, she quite liked being treated as the fairer sex, especially when it meant she could wrap him around her finger.

‘If there’s anything you need, you only have to ask,’ he assured her with a kindly twinkle in his eye.

‘Well, there is something,’ she began. ‘But it’s that husband of mine who needs the help.’

‘We’ve been watching him hack away at that jungle of yours,’ Billy said. ‘Kept us amused all morning, it has.’

‘Any chance a couple of your lads could help clear away the debris? There’s a pan of soup on the go and a ton of crusty bread for your trouble,’ pleaded Holly, fluttering her eyelashes for effect.

‘Your wish is my command,’ agreed Billy. ‘But while you’re here, you might want to take a look at this. We found it during the clear-out.’

Billy picked up a wooden box from among a heap of building materials stacked up in a corner.

The box was the size of a small shoebox and, although it was difficult to tell underneath the layers of dust, it seemed to be made of oak with brass hinges and a simple clasp. There were engravings around its sides, but again the dust was obscuring the detail.

‘Have you opened it?’ Holly asked with growing excitement. The box didn’t exactly look like it was going to contain a hoard of jewels, but it was ornate enough to suggest it held something of value.

Billy turned the clasp and lifted the lid. Holly’s excitement dissipated in a puff of ancient dust as she peered at the assortment of mechanical-looking objects within. Split into two sections, the box held some kind of glass ball on one side and a selection of brass cogs and brackets on the other. ‘What is it?’ she asked.

‘Haven’t got a clue,’ Billy answered. ‘Consider it a gift, from me to you.’ Again, he winked at her.

‘Thanks, Billy, you really know how to spoil a girl.’

Holly took the box with her back into the house and put it to one side so she could concentrate on getting lunch prepared.

The soup was a success, judging by the speed in which it was devoured by the workers, and with their lunch break over the builders set to work helping Tom clear the garden. Holly wasn’t in a hurry to return to her sketches so she decided to occupy herself with the mysteri­ous wooden box. Having laid some old newspaper on the kitchen table, she set about gently cleaning the box and its contents with soapy water and an old toothbrush. Technically speaking, the toothbrush hadn’t been old that morning when Tom had been using it, but it was now.

The box itself gave nothing away as to its purpose, other than some pretty carvings of the sun, moon, stars and what looked like clock faces. The glass ball was the easiest item to clean. It was about two inches in diameter and as Holly wiped away the dust, she could see that it was made of something other than clear glass. The orb had a perfectly smooth surface but, at its core, there was a small, silvery prism that reflected light out from its centre. It glinted softly in the warm sunlight. Setting the orb to one side, Holly concentrated her efforts on the cogs. Beneath the dust and grime the brass shone and that was when she noticed an inscription running around the edge of one of the larger cogs. The inscription was well worn and unreadable in places, but she could just about make out a few words. Reflection, was one, Key, another and she guessed another said Time.

‘Found something else to do to avoid the dreaded Mrs Bronson?’ Tom asked her. He was covered in scratches from his hard labours, but as Holly peeked out of the window at the garden she had to admit it was starting to take shape.

‘Billy found it in the outbuilding. I’ve cleaned it up, but I’ve still not got a clue what it is.’ Holly showed him the inscription on the cog.

‘“In time, reflection is the key to travelling”,’ Tom read.

Holly’s jaw dropped open. ‘How on earth did you read that? Some of the words have completely worn away.’

Tom beamed with superiority. ‘I keep telling you, I have hidden depths.’

‘Is it a well-known saying? I’ve not heard it before, what does it mean?’ she demanded.

‘Haven’t the foggiest.’ Tom shrugged.

‘Tom?’ Holly asked, eyeing him with suspicion now.

‘You know that stone plinth stuck in the middle of the garden with no apparent use? Well, I found a matching top hidden in the overgrowth. It has the same inscription written on it.’

‘Show me,’ Holly insisted, leaving the array of freshly polished brass cogs to sparkle on the kitchen table.

The stone slab was face-down in the dirt, half buried by years of leaf-fall. It was a deep grey colour with sparkles of quartz glistening through it. Despite working with a wide range of materials in her sculptures, Holly didn’t recognize the type of stone at all. The slab was perfectly round and, as Tom had described, it had an inscription, currently upside down, around its outer edge. There was also a large hole in the centre which looked like it would match the top of the plinth perfectly.

‘Considering it’s been buried beneath all of this mulch, I can’t believe how clean it is,’ Tom told her, shaking his head in disbelief.

Holly traced her fingers across its cold, smooth surface. Her fingers tingled as if a faint charge of electricity had flowed up from the stone and she pulled her hand away.

‘Does it feel weird to you?’ Holly asked, unsure if she had imagined it.

Tom gave her a puzzled look and then stroked the surface of the slab. ‘Feels like stone to me,’ he assured her. ‘What were you expecting it to feel like?’

Holly tentatively touched the stone again and this time there was no tingling sensation. She shook her head, dismissing the thought. ‘Nothing, it’s just me. Can we move it?’

‘And do what? You seriously think we can lift it onto the plinth?’