Parenthood

THE SMALL WOODEN DOOR

I had never noticed the small wooden door before, although I had been polishing the large piece of furniture for months.

I always saved it for last, using the wax polish that smelled of lavender and came in a round tin. I used the spray for the 'Ikea' Swedish design furniture that dominated the flat, practical and easy to clean, but there was something special about the CHEST standing there under the window, out of place really amongst The 'Ikea'. I presumed they had inherited it, probably from an elderly Aunt, they being the couple who employed me.

I had only met them once when I had answered the advertisement and had been for an interview one Saturday morning. They had looked at my references, showed me how to work the burglar alarm, arranged my hours and given me the key and that was the last I'd seen of them. They left me to it really. My wages were always left in a white envelope on the side every Friday, sometimes with a note bearing a request to empty the dishwasher or an apology, about a burnt saucepan. They were a couple of busy professional people, always in a hurry. The flat showed this by the gadgets and the minimalist look, that is except for the CHEST.

I had taken the job when the twins started nursery school. Mike, my husband, protested at first. I wanted to contribute to our budget. "Call it the holiday fund," I'd said. I wanted a job with no stress. I'd had enough of that in my teaching career. I would go back to it one day but not yet. The cleaning suited me just fine. I plugged in my walkman and did my polishing. I was my own boss and I was pleasantly surprised at the rate of pay cleaners could command these days in south London.

To get back to the CHEST, it was when I had dipped my yellow duster into the lavender wax and was applying the polish to the ornate carvings on the sides, that I noticed the door. It was camouflaged by the carvings. I began to rub much harder, hoping to find a spring or something that would trigger a secret door! I had seen such things on the Antiques Road Show on Sunday night television. Nothing happened. I finished my polishing and stood back.

The wood shone, almost smiling at me. It had been in a sorry state when I had started the job, dull and lifeless but now you could see the grains in the walnut. It was a Spanish carved marriage chest. I had looked it up in my Miller's Antiques Guide one evening at home. Time was running out and I had to pick up the twins from nursery. I put away my dusters and polish, re-set the alarm, grabbed my envelope and made for the door.

The following Monday, I finished my cleaning in double time so as to have more time to polish and explore the door in the chest. I rubbed again with my yellow duster over the ornate birds and nuts that covered the sides and front. Then I noticed the little eye of one of the birds, It was almost staring at me. Instead of rubbing, I pushed and heard a distinct 'click'.

Yes! The door sprung open and a dark space appeared just a few inches square. I was just about to put my fingers into the space when a loud shrilling sound broke the silence and made me jump out of my skin. I then realised, with relief; that it was the telephone. I stumbled over to reach it, knocking over a small table in my haste. "Hello," my dry voice mumbled.

It was the Nursery School. They had the flat's number for an emergency. Someone on the other end was telling me the twins seemed under the weather, maybe with a virus. They were not themselves and could I pick them up a bit earlier, just to be safe. I agreed and replaced the telephone.

I walked back to the chest. The open door beckoned. I had to do it. I groped inside with my fingers. I felt something, an object, small and round. I pulled it out, looked down and in my palm saw a black locket. It looked like Ebony. It had a chain and looked like the sort of jewellery the Victorians wore when they were in mourning. I instinctively opened it and what I saw inside made my heart go cold.

One side contained a few locks of fair curling hair, the other a photo of two laughing children. I gave a sob. The children were identical twins. I pushed the locket back into the hole and ran blindly to the front door grabbing my coat. I forget about the alarm in my haste to get to the nursery and my identical twins!

by Gill Palmer

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