I take a photo of everything in the box. I’ll hold on to the letters Mum wrote, but there is nothing else here I want to keep. At the very bottom of the box, I find a padded envelope hidden between two crime novels. Inside the envelope are two cassettes. They are mixtapes, identical, and written on the spine of each tape case, in Dad’s handwriting, is “The Soundtrack to Your Life.” There are some great song choices, and even two Phil Collins tracks. I smile—maybe Dad really did love Phil Collins after all.
Underneath the tapes is a card.
Dear Laura,
Welcome to the Soundtrack to Your Life! I’m going to record a mixtape for every one of your birthdays from now on. I’ll send one to your mum for you to listen to and keep a copy, so you’ll have a complete collection when you’re eighteen. When you’re old enough to appreciate it, you can sit back and listen to your life as I heard it. I might not see you as much as I’d like, little one, but I’ll be damned if you grow up having shit taste in music. This is the first tape—twenty of the best songs from around the time you were born. Songs that make me think of you, songs me and your mum listened to the summer we met. Can’t wait to see you when I’m back from Morocco, precious girl.
All my love, Dad
He never sent it. He made the tapes, wrote the letter, but he hadn’t addressed the envelope. I know I shouldn’t need this proof. I know now that love can’t be measured in objects or shared tastes, but, reading his words addressed to me, seeing the songs he chose—“Another Day in Paradise,” “That’s Just the Way It Is”—it’s like he knew exactly what I needed to hear: the epilogue to my parents’ story. I hug the tapes to my chest.
* * *
*
Sandy is hosting a goodbye lunch for me in her garden before Ted takes me to the airport. I’ve been in Jersey a whole week now, yet it feels as though I’ve been here for months. Perhaps Jersey is like Narnia in The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe and I’ve been here for years, but in London time, only a few minutes have passed.
Ted has brought Gerry to join us for lunch, and he’s full of stories about some of the other residents in his assisted living community.
“There are a group of women who call themselves the Miss Marple Club,” he says, shaking his head. “They watch murder mysteries together every Tuesday, stopping them before the end, and then placing bets on who they think the murderer is. They’ve all seen the episodes a hundred times, but they forget who did it, so the game never gets old.” Gerry lets out a cackle.
“So, you’re making friends then?” says Ted, hugging a cup of tea between his hands. He’s let his stubble grow back over the last few days, and truth be told, I sometimes miss the beard.
“It’s like the first day at school again, except no one can remember anyone’s name, least of all their own,” Gerry says.
“Oh, Gerry, stop—he’s exaggerating,” says Sandy, rolling her eyes.
“You wouldn’t rather have a carer at home then, now that money’s not so tight?” Ted asks.
“No,” Gerry says, picking up a mug and moving it, shakily, toward his lips. “I’m happy enough where I am; the food is great and I like having people around me again. Plus, it’s nice to see this house full of you young people.” Gerry looks across at me. “I hope you’ll be back, Laura, that we haven’t scared you off with our island ways.”
“Oh, she’ll be back,” says Ted, reaching across to put a hand on my arm.
In the last few days, we haven’t really talked about the future, and I haven’t wanted to ask. Ted took the house off the market; I spent time in the workshop making jewelry. We swam in the sea, and I explored more of the island. I even made a bean crock for Ted, Ilídio, and Sandy following Maude’s recipe.
Ted is taking the ferry back to England next week. He has a meeting with the hospital about resuming work. He also got a call about an offer on the house in London; he’s closing books, opening new ones. I don’t know where our story goes from here, but I know that even if we only had this one week, I would not do anything differently.
“What about you, Laura?” Sandy asks. “What are you going to do when you get back to London? Are you tempted to make peace with your boss?”
I shake my head. I’ve already spoken to Suki. She was remarkably open-minded about discussing my role going forward. Something about her feels different, but I couldn’t put my finger on what.