A Postcard from Italy. Alex Brown

in America,’ she chuckled, looping a length of the wool around her fingers as she worked the hook.

      ‘I think she’s going to treasure it,’ Grace smiled, remembering fondly when Betty and Larry’s granddaughter and her husband had visited from America to introduce their first great-grandchild, beautiful baby Hannah.

      ‘I hope so. It’s important to keep our family members happy. And how is your mother, dear?’

      ‘The same as always, Betty. Still refusing any outside help … but thank you for asking.’ Grace felt her cheeks flush on criticising Cora. Not being accustomed to doing so to anyone outside the family, it felt disloyal, and she had been brought up never to air her dirty laundry in public. Her mother had been fastidious about it, forever wagging a finger and shushing them as children in case the neighbours overheard their business as they walked to church on Sunday for Mass in their best coats and shoes. Appearances were everything, and nobody needed to know that the electric meter had run out again or the TV had been returned to the rental shop because Dad had lost his job at the printing factory and so hadn’t been paid in weeks.

      ‘Oh dear. Well, if there’s anything I can do to help … I’d be happy to call in some time with a pile of magazines or one of those Sudoku books. If only to give you a bit of a break. You do look a little peaky, my love, if you don’t mind me saying so,’ Betty smiled kindly, ‘although still beautiful with your gorgeous red curls and English rose complexion.’

      Betty’s words hung in the air as Grace stirred her tea, knowing that she would never take Betty up on her kindness. She had been making the offer for nearly a year now, but Grace knew that her mother would never forgive her if she brought a stranger into the house, even if it was only to keep her company over a cup of tea. It was a shame, though, as it couldn’t be much fun lying in bed all day long watching the same daytime TV shows over and over, with only a word-search puzzle book to break the monotony. No wonder her mother was foul-tempered and ungrateful. Grace had tried getting Cora interested in reading, even borrowing a selection of books that she thought she’d like from the library, only to see them thrown aside with complaints that they were boring. The same had happened with Netflix. Cora had hated that too, berating Grace for ‘interfering with my telly’ and ‘wasting money on silly subscription services for rubbish box sets set in foreign places like Sweden or America’.

      ‘Thanks, Betty. I’d love to take you up on your offer, but …’ Grace let her voice fade away.

      ‘I know, my love.’ A short silence followed, broken only by the sound of Betty’s crochet hook as she looped the yarn around it and got to work on Hannah’s dolly blanket. ‘Now, Larry has something special for you to do this afternoon.’

      ‘Ooh, sounds intriguing.’ Grace finished the last of her tea and stood up as Larry walked through the door. A clipboard and a bunch of keys were pressed against his uniform of a black suit, including waistcoat and tie with a freshly laundered striped shirt. With his swept-back silver hair, he had been making an effort to look dapper since he was first introduced to Betty at a tea dance back in the day. They had both been nineteen and it had been a mutual love at first sight. Grace loved hearing all about it from Betty. It gave her hope, that there really was such a thing as ‘happy ever after’, where two kind souls could love and cherish and, most importantly, respect each other as they shared a life together.

      ‘That’s right, Grace. Your favourite job. Unit 28 needs opening and cataloguing for sale or disposal.’ Larry removed his bifocals and slipped them into his breast pocket before handing the clipboard to her, then started sorting out the key to the padlock on the door of number 28.

      ‘Thank you!’ Grace particularly loved this part of her job. Not that she was nosey – well, maybe a bit; her mother always said she was as a child – ‘with your constant questioning’. ‘Inquisitive’ was how Grace liked think of it, as she did get a thrill of anticipation when the door to an abandoned unit was first opened and she got to peep inside and then sort through the contents. Somebody else’s cast-off stuff was always another person’s treasure.

      Mostly, it was the usual items of furniture stored after a house move, or sometimes catering equipment, packs of party blowers and joke hats belonging to event planners whose businesses had gone bust, that kind of thing. But every now and again there would be a veritable treasure trove of intrigue. She once found a pair of stuffed parrots. Another time a collection of fossils – she’d contacted the Natural History Museum in London on that occasion and they had sent a curator to collect them when numerous attempts to make contact with the owners had proven fruitless. And then there was the World War II medal collection a little while ago. Grace, Larry and Betty had all agreed that it just wouldn’t have been right to sell the medals to recover the rental arrears when they hadn’t been able to contact the owner. It had then turned out that the owner had died six months earlier. Luckily, Larry had managed to find a relative … the son of the deceased soldier, who had stored his medals at Cohen’s for over fifty years in one of the small safety deposit boxes, and that had been a happy day. The grateful son had travelled all the way from Scotland to collect the medals in person and to shake Larry’s hand. A reporter from the local newspaper had even come along too, and then written a lovely piece featuring a black-and-white photo of the man in his soldier’s uniform during the Second World War.

      ‘I can do that for you,’ Grace offered, indicating the bunch of keys that Larry was fiddling with. ‘They can be very tricky sometimes,’ she added tactfully, knowing how Larry struggled with arthritis in his age-gnarled fingers.

      ‘Thank you, Grace. You are kind.’ He smiled gratefully, handing the clipboard and the bunch of keys over.

      Having found the right key, Grace had pushed an empty trolley along the length of the corridor on the ground floor and was now standing outside the door to unit 28. It was one of the oldest large walk-in units, occupying a corner space, and Grace wondered when it had last been opened as the key was stiff in the padlock, which had rust all around the edges. So after walking back along the corridor and locating a can of WD40 in the cleaning cupboard, she had returned and managed to spruce up the padlock and get the key to turn.

      Gingerly, she pulled the metal door, which scraped across the floor as if it hadn’t been opened in years, and felt around for the light switch. Larry had first set up the storage company in the Fifties, and the older units didn’t have automatic motion-sensor lighting installed. She felt a whoosh of anticipation in the middle of her stomach as the old-fashioned strip light flickered into action before eventually settling to bathe the contents of the unit in a bright, wondrous light.

      Grace stood in silence for a moment.

      Blinked a few times.

      Then gasped on registering the sight set out before her.

      She took a few steps forward until she was standing in the centre of the storage unit.

      It was incredible.

      And breathtaking.

      And on first glance it appeared to be the best unit she had ever had the pleasure of opening.

      Right in front of her was a beautiful Aladdin’s cave full of ornate vintage items with a sumptuously soft, deep-piled dusty pink rug beneath her shoes. But the contents weren’t stacked higgledy-piggledy on top of each other to make best use of the space as was often the case. Not at all. Someone had taken a great deal of care to present everything in the best possible way. Someone with an eye for design and sumptuous living, because the unit was organised like a glamorous 1950s boudoir. It was just like stepping onto a Hollywood film set – Elizabeth Taylor’s bedroom would have looked like this for sure, Grace thought, as she folded her hands, one over the over, and tucked them up underneath her chin in glee.

      Then, double-checking the paperwork on the clipboard, Grace saw that the unit belonged to a Mrs Constance di Donato and the last payment had been made by cheque over two years ago. The final cheque had been for a whole year’s rental payments, making Mrs di Donato now one year in arrears, which was far longer than they usually waited before opening an abandoned unit. Grace made a mental note to mention it to Larry, as she wondered if there was a special reason for letting