I nodded. I knew that very same feeling.

“The sock made me feel better because it was the brightest thing I’d ever seen.” He laughed. “It was even labeled for Christ’s sake, and I just knew that it was bad luck and only bad luck on both our parts for ending up here! There was nothing I could have done to avoid ending up here, no more than the sock could have done. I felt sorry for the person who’d labeled it, put their address on it, who’d basically done everything to prevent it from going missing. So I kept it to remind myself of that feeling, of that day I stopped blaming myself and everybody else. A sock made me feel better.” He smiled. “Follow me.” He went back into the adjoining room.

The next room was much the same as the shop, with walls lined with shelving units, though it was much smaller and was piled high with cardboard boxes, by the looks of it, used for storage.

“Here’s the sock.” He gave it to me and I held it in my hands. It was small, that of a child, and was of towel material. If Bobby thought the sock was going to have the same effect on me as it did on him, he was wrong. I still wanted out of here and blamed myself and everybody else for putting me here.

“After a few weeks of being here, I found myself helping newcomers to find clothes and anything else they needed when they arrived. So I eventually opened this place up. Mine is the only store in this village where you can get everything all under one roof,” he said proudly. My lack of enthusiasm caused his smile to disappear and he continued his story. “Anyway, as part of owning and running this place, I have to go out every day and collect as many useful things as possible. I pride myself on being the only place that sells actual pairs of shoes and socks, matching outfits, and such like. Other people just gather what they find and display them. I search for the other half-kind of like a matchmaker,” he added with a grin.

“Go on,” I urged, sitting on an old torn chair that reminded me of my first sessions with Mr. Burton.

“Anyway, the orange sock wasn’t much of a big deal at all until I found this.” He leaned over and took a T-shirt from a box beside him. Again, it appeared to be that of a child. “And that wasn’t even a big deal until I found this.” He placed another odd sock on the floor before me and studied my face.

“I don’t get it.” I shrugged, throwing the orange sock down to the floor.

He continued to take out the contents of the cardboard box in silence and laid them out on the floor before me while my mind worked overtime trying to decipher the code.

“I thought there was more in this one, but anyway, that’s the lot,” Bobby said finally.

The floor was almost covered in items of clothing and accessories and I was about to stand up and demand he start talking sense when I finally recognized a T-shirt. And then I recognized a sock, a pencil case…and then handwriting on a piece of paper.

Bobby stood by the empty box, excitement flashing in his eyes. “You get it now?”

I couldn’t speak.

“They’re all labeled. The name ‘Sandy Shortt’ is written on every single thing you see before you.”

I held my breath, looking furiously from one item to another.

“That’s just one box. They’re all yours, too,” he said excitedly, pointing to the corner of the room where five more boxes were stacked up. “Every time I saw your name I collected the item and stored it. The more things of yours I found, the more I became convinced that it was only a matter of time before you would come to collect them yourself. And here you are.”

“Here, I am,” I repeated looking at everything on the floor. I got down on my knees and ran my hand across the orange sock. Although I couldn’t remember it, I could imagine my frantic searches that night while my poor parents watched on. That was the beginning of it all. I took my T-shirt in my hands and saw my name written on the label in my mother’s handwriting. I felt the ink with my fingertips, hoping that in some way I was connecting with her. I moved on to the piece of paper with my messy teenage handwriting. Answers to questions on Romeo and Juliet from school. I remember doing that homework and being unable to find it in class the next day. The teacher hadn’t believed me when I couldn’t find it in my schoolbag; he’d stood over me in a silent classroom and watched me root in my schoolbag, my frustration clearly growing, and yet his failure to recognize that genuine frustration had meant punishment homework. I felt like grabbing the page and running back to Leitrim, bursting in on that teacher’s class and saying, “Here, look, I told you I had done it!”

I touched every item on the floor, the memory of wearing them, losing them, and searching for them coming to mind. After I’d seen every item from the first box, I raced over to the next on the top of the stacked pile in the corner. With shaking hands, I opened the box. Staring up at me with his one eye was my dear friend, Mr. Pobbs.

I took him out of the box and held him close to me, inhaling him, trying to get the familiar scent of home. He had long ago lost that and was musty like the rest of the belongings here, but I clung to him and squeezed him to my chest. My name and phone number were still visible on his tag, the blue felt pen of my mother’s writing blurred now.

“I told you I’d find you, Mr. Pobbs,” I whispered, and I heard the door behind me gently close as Bobby stepped out of the room, leaving me alone with a head and a room full of memories.

33

I don’t know how long I’d been in the storeroom. I had lost track of all time. I looked out the window for the first time in hours, feeling cross-eyed and tired from concentrating on my possessions for so long. My possessions. I actually had belongings in this place. They brought me that bit closer to home, momentarily linking the two worlds, blurring the boundaries so that I didn’t feel so lost as I touched and held things I once held in my place, near the people I loved. Especially Mr. Pobbs. So much had happened since I’d seen him. Johnny Nugent and a thousand other Johnny Nugents had happened. It seemed that the night Mr. Pobbs disappeared from my bed, an entire team of Mr. Wrongs had taken his place.

Joseph walked by the window and I sat back and watched as he strode confidently in his white linen shirt with sleeves rolled to just below his elbows and trousers rolled above the ankles of his sandaled feet. He always stood out from the crowd. He looked like somebody important who oozed dominance and power. He spoke little, yet when he did he chose his words carefully. When he spoke, people listened. His words moved from whispers to songs, never anything in between. Despite the strength of his physical demeanor, he spoke softly, which made him all the more superior.

The bell on the shop’s front door rang again. The door squeaked and closed.

“Hello, Joseph,” Bobby said cheerfully. “Did my Wanda not want to see me today?”

Joseph laughed lightly and I knew Bobby was funny to have made him laugh. “Oh that girl is so in love with you. Do you think she wouldn’t be here if she knew I was here?”

Bobby laughed. “How can I help you?”

Joseph’s voice lowered as though he knew I was here and I immediately pressed my ear against the door.

“A watch?” I heard Bobby repeat loudly. “I have lots of watches here.”

Joseph’s voice was lowered to inaudible again and I knew it was terribly important for his voice to be so hushed. He was talking about my watch.

“A silver watch with a mother-of-pearl face,” I heard Bobby say and I was thankful for his habit of repeating people. Their footsteps on the walnut floor got louder and I prepared to move away from the door in case it was opened.