A Packet of Secrets

Among winding streets that echo with old magic, Brid picks up the photos Polly left unclaimed before she vanished. What they reveal leaves her reeling

I wandered through Lewes, a warren of a place with steep and winding streets, looking for Boots. It was nice to see the place hadn’t been overrun with the same ubiquitous shops that seemed to be taking over every other high street. Here, the shops were small and independent-looking. I stopped by the ‘Bow Fronted Book Shop’, with its ridiculously quaint ‘bow’ window, struck by how it matched my imagined version of the Old Curiosity Shop, right down to the eclectic display of knick-knacks surrounding an arcane medieval manuscript of what looked like spells. Wandering on, I passed a myriad of craft and occult shops with their crystals displayed on purple velvet cushions alongside mythical figurines cast in blackened iron. Michael was right, this place had a definite pagan vibe to it.

Boots, by comparison, was bland red-brick, its utilitarianism at odds with the town’s ye-olde-world aura. I queued at the photographic counter, impatient for what Pol’s photos would reveal. Although poking about in her life made me feel like a right snoop. First her drawer, then her diary, and now this.

Taking the yellow pocket envelope from the assistant, I turned to find a quiet corner to open it. Then my stomach hit the floor. I spotted Michael across the shop, waiting at the pharmacy counter. 'Shit, ' I muttered under my breath, shoving the envelope in my bag.

'Hi, fancy meeting you here, ' I said, placing a hand on his back.

'What the fuck!’ He spun, then blinked. ‘Oh, it’s you. Sorry. I mean, what are you doing here?' he said, his tone shifted from sharp to sheepish.

'I could ask you the same thing,' I said, a little taken aback by his reaction.

'I'm just picking up some stuff for my hay fever, ' he said as the pharmacist handed him a little white bag.

'Hay fever? You don't sneeze much.'

'That's because I take the medicine,' he said, with a playful smile 'Right, I'm starving, fancy some lunch-stroke-early-dinner?'

'OK,’ I said, trying to hide the hesitation I was feeling. ‘I just need to go to the loo.’

'You can go in the pub.'

‘Mate, I’m busting,’ I said, already making my way to the ladies. ‘I won’t be long.’

In the cubicle, I ripped open the envelope and took out the glossy black packet. Taking a deep breath, I opened it and flicked through the photos.

They were all from the same day - the clothes gave that away. A few showed Polly posing around Lewes, outside the Bow Fronted Book Shop, among other spots. Most were of a man, snapped in a pub, around town and by a river. Then there were two of them together, one taken at arm's length, classic Pol shot; her Instamatic catching them cheek to cheek, her pouting and crossing her eyes, him grinning. The other had them side by side in front of a white hut, arms around each other, her head on his shoulder.

I could hardly believe what I was seeing. The man in the photos was Doctor Daniel Davies, or Double D as I used to call him. Our English tutor. The same Double D, who threw me out of university.