Miracle at the Museum of Broken Hearts

Chapter Six

CHAPTER SIX

The next morning, I made a beeline for the unpacked boxes in the corner of the cellar. It was just after seven, and Heath usually didn’t get in until eight. I’d been thinking about it all night, and if that locket really had belonged to his mother and he’d been gripping it with such intensity, he must want a resolution – whether he realised it or not. Today, I was determined to track down that piece of jewellery and find any clues to its ownership. I glanced around at the stacks of items, neatly filed and catalogued. All these objects might be the products of broken relationships, but maybe one story could end on a positive note.

I pictured the tearful reunion between mother and son, liquid spilling from their eyes as they wrapped their arms around each other.

‘I’m so sorry I let you go,’ his mother would say. ‘I don’t know how I ever thought my work was more important. Nothing is more important than family.’

They’d both turn to me, and Heath would take my hands in his. ‘Rose, we can never thank you enough for bringing us back together.’ Then, he’d draw me against his solid chest, and . . .

‘Rose!’

My head snapped up to see Heath silhouetted against the light shining down from upstairs. ‘Oh, hi.’ It figured he’d be early the one day I wanted to poke around in his past. My cheeks coloured as he thumped toward me, his tall frame seeming even bigger in the tiny basement confines.

‘What are you doing here? I thought since I didn’t get you home until late, you might come in at a reasonable hour for once.’ He shook his head. ‘And here you are, getting stuck in already. I’m really lucky to have found someone as dedicated as you.’

So you’ll give me that curator position when you leave, I asked inside my head? If I did manage to engineer a mother-son reunion, he’d be so happy, he’d probably give me a job here for life.

‘It’s my pleasure.’ I smiled up at him. ‘Thanks again for last night.’ We’d lingered over dinner as long as we could, laughing as I shared my tales of terror from the British Museum.  Heath’s cool, staid exterior had thawed, and he’d been relaxed and easy to talk to. He’d walked me back to the Tube, before heading off to . . . God, I still didn’t know where he lived. Funny, after the initial outburst about his childhood, I hadn’t learned much else about Heath’s life.

‘Right, well, I’ll be upstairs if you need me.’

I nodded as he went back up the steps, pausing until the floorboards above me stopped creaking and I was certain he’d gone to his office. Then, I selected a box and carefully combed through its contents. No locket there. Onto the next one . . . still nothing. I was about to get seriously annoyed when a flash of something metallic caught my eye. Afraid it would disappear back into the box’s depths, I reached in gingerly, relief flooding through me as my fingers closed around a thin chain. Swinging from the end was a slightly tarnished gold heart-shaped locket. Holding my breath, I clicked it open.

Inside was a photo of a woman who had Heath’s dark eyes and regal nose. Or rather, Heath had her eyes and nose. She was beautiful, smiling into the camera playfully. And in her arms, looking up with adoration and the beginnings of a grin on his chubby face, was a toddler I assumed was Heath. With such a striking resemblance, this had to be Heath’s mum – but just to be sure, I’d look her up on the ParteePizza website. As the owner, there was bound to be a photo of her there. Then, I’d . . . well, I’d figure out what to do next. Somehow.

Excitement filtered into me and I shoved the locket down deep into the pocket of my jeans for safekeeping. I couldn’t wait to get this happy ending underway.

For the first time since starting this job, I left the museum promptly at five. There was only one box left to catalogue anyway, and I could finish it tomorrow morning before Heath and I began setting up rooms in the afternoon. Heath had ordered in all the extra furniture we’d need to make everything look genuine, and I couldn’t wait to see my idea come to life. Now, though, I wanted to get home and track down Heath’s mum on the internet. My heart pounded at the thought of wiping away the hurt and resentment on Heath’s face whenever he spoke of her. This would be a new beginning for them both.

The Tube ride home passed in a blur and before I knew it, I was turning the key in the lock of my flat. Beano pressed against my legs and I absently picked him up, breathing in his kitty scent as I poured food into a dish. Then, with Beano busy crunching and munching his tuna treats, I flicked on my ancient laptop. As it rattled to life, I dug into my pocket and drew out the gold locket, popping it open again. God, Heath’s mother was gorgeous, I thought, staring at her face. Hopefully she hadn’t changed much in the past few years so I’d be able to recognise her now.

I opened the internet browser and typed in “ParteePizza”, holding my breath as the corporate website filtered onto the screen, along with a giant photo of a pizza dripping with cheesy goodness. My stomach rumbled in response.

Welcome to ParteePizza, the UK’s biggest and fastest growing pizza chain . . . and the creator of the ParteePizzaPotato!

I shuddered at the thought of pizza and potatoes, but my traitorous tummy let out an enormous groan. Right, enough about potatoes, I thought, scanning the site. Surely there must be something about the corporation . . . ah, here it was. I clicked the “About Us” tab, then followed the link to “Founder and CEO”, my heart pounding as I waited for my super-slow internet connection.

Finally, a photo appeared on the screen: a woman in her mid-fifties, dressed in a sharp suit, with dark glossy hair cut short in a bob. Although her lips curved upwards, I couldn’t actually say she was smiling. For a second, I wasn’t even sure this pulled-together woman was the laughing, carefree one in the locket. Then, I looked into her eyes – those dark eyes that were exactly like Heath’s – and I knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, it was her.

Liz Hough, Founder and CEO of ParteePizza,

the words underneath her photo said. Hmm. Hough? Heath’s surname was Rowan. Maybe she had remarried?

I scanned the accompanying biography. Businesswoman of the Year, Honorary Business Degree from Bristol University, member of the Board of Directors for children’s charity KidCollection . . . My heart leaped. If she was helping a children’s charity, that must mean something. Perhaps it was a way of placating her guilt? I had to find a way to bring the two of them together.  

Liz prides herself on her friendly and open approach to patrons of ParteePizza. Do you have something to say? Email now:

lizhough@ParteePizza.co.uk

, and she’ll respond within twenty-four hours.

Yeah, right. I tapped my fingernails against my teeth as I read the text on the screen. I wasn’t so naive to think it was actually Liz responding to those emails. If I did send a message, would it even make it through? Most likely, some corporate lackey would just delete it as coming from a crazy person. No, I couldn’t chance it on an email. I needed to see Liz myself, and tell her about Heath and the locket in person.

I clicked back over to the “About Us” tab, looking for the address of the corporate headquarters. Ah, they were out in Hounslow, in suburbia-land near Heathrow. Maybe I could pop into work tomorrow morning, unpack the remaining box, then tell Heath I had an important appointment. If everything went to plan (Liz would agree to see me, after I told her why I was there, right?), I could be back in East London by lunch-time. A warm glow filled me as I thought of the two of them patching things up after years of hard feelings, mother and son together again.

Full of hope, I couldn’t help clicking over to my inbox. Maybe Gareth had emailed? I hadn’t got a message from him since, well . . . I couldn’t actually remember. As nice as the postcard and all those x’s had been, it hadn’t said anything. Once again, though, my email was only popular with companies offering penis enlargements.

Oh, well. Gareth was off doing his thing, and that was fine – our happy ending would come sooner or later. Right now, I had two other broken hearts to fix.