Miracle at the Museum of Broken Hearts

Chapter Five

CHAPTER FIVE

The next two weeks passed in a blur as the museum opening loomed closer. Slowly but surely, I was making my way through the boxes, organising like a demon now that I had my system down pat. Ten days remained until the grand opening, and I still had five large boxes to get through – not to mention setting up the rooms. But as I’d opened the boxes, I’d managed to map out everything in my head. I was going to lay out each room as if someone still lived there: with the salt shaker on the kitchen table; the pants in the bedroom; the broken mirror in the living area. A mounted frame with a scan of the item’s original letter would accompany every artefact. This would be a living, breathing house of heartache, and even the thought made me cringe.

Luckily, for every tale I’d read, I’d managed to construct an alternate reality. That broken mirror? Smashed by a flailing limb during a particularly energetic bout of sex. The glossy violin? Its owner had decided he preferred the clarinet. I knew I shouldn’t be sullying the items’ historical accuracy, even in my head. But if I didn’t, I’d have probably dropped dead of depression by now. How did people deal with such sad stories?

Once I’d created my own little way of coping, I was actually enjoying the job. The hours flew by and before I knew it, it would be six and time to head back to Beano. I loved the feeling of ownership and responsibility, and I’d give anything to make a success of my position and be up for promotion. Things had been so crazy I’d barely seen Heath, except to run my ideas by him which, thankfully, he’d loved.

After setting aside the last item in a box – an old, worn bunny that put me in mind of the Velveteen Rabbit – I scrambled to my feet and stretched. Every muscle in my body throbbed, and my eyes itched from the dust. Yawning, I pushed my hair behind my ears and trudged up the cellar steps.

‘Oh, hello.’ Heath emerged from the kitchen as I reached the top. ‘On your way home?’

‘Yes. Just a few boxes left until we can start setting up, if you can believe that.’ I was proud of how much I’d done so quickly. If I kept it up, surely he’d have to give me the curator post, right? It would be terrible if he brought in someone new after I’d worked so hard.  

‘I can’t believe it, actually. That’s brilliant, Rose.’ I basked in Heath’s impressed expression. ‘Look, I’ve hardly seen you since you started here. Why don’t you let me take you out for a bite? You’ve been locked in that cellar for weeks now. It’s the least I can do.’

A flash of nerves hit as I pictured us sitting across from each other in a cozy restaurant, candles flickering in Heath’s dark eyes. Despite my hesitation, though, I knew this would be a great opportunity to elaborate on my skills. Museum skills, of course.  ‘Um, okay.’

‘Great. Just let me grab my coat and I’ll be with you in a second.’

I nodded as he dashed up to his office. This would give me a chance to get to know Heath on a personal level, too. After all, he was hardly going to appoint me curator if we barely had a relationship.

He came back downstairs sporting a smart-looking black wool coat and a camel-coloured scarf draped around his neck in a casually cool way. Instantly I tugged at my own ragged scarf I’d picked up at a car boot sale, all too aware the cream had turned the unattractive colour of Beano-pee. It was definitely time to get rid of this thing.

‘Let’s go.’ Heath put a hand on the small of my back and guided me through the door. Outside, the soft glow of streetlamps lit the night, and the air was cool and crisp. The hum of the city – voices, footfalls, and the whoosh of buses in the distance – surrounded us.

‘Where are we headed?’ I asked, after we’d walked for a minute or two in silence. As much as I wanted to fill up the empty space with chatter, every time I opened my mouth, the words seemed to dry up. What was it about this man that made me so nervous?