Shelved

Shelved Part 2

'You spend too much time obsessing over that damn room. It's not healthy, it's unwholesome,' says Maureen at the breakfast table.

'You're mother's right, Thomas. You need to get out more. They've got a job posting in the village store, you should apply for it. You're old enough to think about getting out there and living your life. At the very least you'll be helping me out in the garden this afternoon,' says Keith.

'It's not good to stay inside all the time by yourself. You need to get out there and meet people, do things, live your life. It's not good to be alone,' says Maureen.

After breakfast it's time to correlate my findings by piecing them into their respective era. Because of the biscuit tin we could reasonably say it was winter 1954-55 I saw that morning. Each prior occupant of the house has their own era and each era has a large A2 folder that I use to map the shelves' contents. I turn the sheets in Arthur's file until I come to a place where I could roughly place the day's recordings.

The walls of my room are covered in photos and notes to build a timeline for each of the house's occupants. It runs from Geoffrey to Arthur then Dorothy to The Art Enthusiast and the mysterious Book Collector sits somewhere among these, probably before Dorothy.

The photos come from browsing charity shops and antique stores where I found things similar or identical to what I saw on the shelves. I stick the pictures I took on the walls, along with any information I can find of where they came from, where they were manufactured and so forth. I wonder if they were even the self-same items I saw on the shelves.

In my most treasured collection are even a few curios such as the same editions of a book I saw from the shelves. These were mostly 'mislaid' from nearby libraries. There are even some similar items from the selves which got re-appropriated from antique stores. I'm not proud of it, but I feel I have to. There's not much I could afford on my pocket money. Typically I have to beg and wheedle Maureen into buying anything for me.

People could keep their dusty Normans and decrepit Romans from the history books. They've all been done to death. Here I have a slice of the living past, unique to the world. I would open my own museum right here in this house with rooms that had recreations of the shelves. To get some kind of financial backing I had to prove what was here first.

As I work I think about Arthur. I picture him as being a cheery, broad character who liked treats such as his shortbreads which could thicken the waistline. Now I see him as having a wide, expressive mouth, prone to laughter and big smiles, judging from the bite in the apple. He would be a scatter-brained, expansive man judging from the disorderly trove of possessions he kept on the shelves, and how the brushes in his jar were dropped in any which way with the paint spattered about. There was a tinge of sadness to his character, though. He knew the loss of someone close, as seen by the urn.

'Morning, Arthur,' I say as I sort through his folder. 'It was nice to drop in on you today. A bit careless of you to take one bite from an apple and leave it there. Also, your shortbreads will go soft if you leave the lid off.'

'Good morning, Thomas,' he would reply and stroke his beard. 'I'm glad you found my old things interesting. If I knew you would drop by maybe I would have tidied up a bit!' Being an academic man I think of him as being well-spoken, but with a hint of the local Berkshire accent. Maybe he went to nearby Marling School, like me.

'No, no, Arthur, my old friend. That would defeat the purpose. I want to record a slice of life from your time, just as it was. That's the whole point. I want to build a real, living picture of what it was like back then for the curiosity of those to come, and to preserve your memory.'

'Well, that's a grand hobby you've got there and a noble aim. It's good to keep yourself busy. It can be awfully quiet in this house, I know. Especially without any siblings of your own.'

'Yes, that's true. I don't know what I would do with myself if I didn't have this. I wish I did have a brother, or sister. Nothing ever happens round here. It's too quiet. I never got on with my classmates, and they never liked anything interesting, being as stupid as they were cruel. I'm sure if I had a brother or sister they would understand what I'm trying to do. Not like Keith and Maureen. They don't understand and I'm all alone.'

I stop what I'm doing, take my glasses off and rub my face. My conversations keep taking turns like that and leave me feeling bad. Very bad. Doctors have names for it. Names and labels and pills that I don't take or give a fig about. I shake my head clear and carry on but I'm not smiling any more.

The past. I don't remember much from mine, in the early years. It seems like I've been here for a lifetime, doing the same thing over and over, digging around in the past and recording away with no end in sight. When I try to think back to when I was a child there's nothing.

'I wish we'd kept that bloody room locked or got rid of those shelves,' Maureen says at dinner.

'No! Don't you dare!' I shout. 'That room is special. I have to record what I find if no one else will. If you put another lock on it I'll pick it like the last one or break the bloody door down.'

'Don't you raise your voice at us!' Keith puts down his fork to point at me. 'And you'll do nothing of the sort! You keep waking us up with all that stomping up and down the stairs at the crack of dawn every day. We can hear every bleeding step you take, thumping up and down like that. I've half a mind to use those damn shelves for firewood.'

'If you did that I would burn this bloody house down!' I roar. 'It's not my fault it's an old house with creaky stairs and it's not my fault I'm heavy.'

'When was the last time you got out and met people, or spent time with friends?' says Keith.

'You need friends, Thomas. Everyone does. It's not healthy to be inside all the time. I don't even know what you'll hope to find on those old... things,' says Maureen. 'Why can't you leave them alone? Let the past stay in the past.'

'That job position's gone now. I'm very disappointed in you, Thomas. Tim Carswell from up the road got it,' says Keith. 'Look, if it's cause the house is too remote, we're willing to pay for driving lessons, as long as it means you'll get out of here and do something. Live your life. There's plenty more jobs if you can drive or travel. Get yourself a career, and leave those bloody shelves alone!'

I spend the rest of the day in my room. I yell into a pillow and punch the mattress until I skim my knuckles raw.