Free Once Upon A Winter by Valerie-Anne Baglietto Page B

vividly into her waking moments. The rest of the time she was as sharp as a pin from Mum’s sewing box.
    Maybe they weren’t even talking about the same man anyway. Perhaps she was confusing Joshua’s dad with someone else. It had to be something like that really, because otherwise it wasn’t very logical.
    Yet something in Joshua compelled him to come up here every day since they’d moved to Bryn Heulog, to try to catch his great-grandmother half-asleep, to hear her rambling about his father - whether it was true or not, made sense or not - because Mum rarely spoke about him willingly. No one in the family did except for Nana Gwen, although never when Mum was around.
    Joshua was aware that he looked like his father, while his sister had the benefit of mirroring their mother. And looking like someone who had upset Mum as deeply as his dad had, was a burden Joshua bore daily. Mum never made him feel guilty about it, no one close to Joshua ever did, but it still felt unfair that he had to be such a strong reminder of something sad that had happened in his mother’s life.
    ‘Lad, can you do something for me . . . ?’ The old lady pointed a finger, as gnarled as an old tree root, towards the chest of drawers. ‘The bottom drawer . . . open it . . . Please . . .’
    Joshua slid off the chair and crouched down. He opened the bottom drawer, as instructed.
    ‘The box,’ said Nana Gwen, ‘is it still there?’
    ‘This wooden thing that looks like a pirate’s chest, only smaller?’
    ‘That’s right . . . It isn’t as heavy as it looks, could you bring it to me? That’s right, put it on the bed . . . Good boy.’
    It was scratched, and obviously very old, with black metal hinges and strap-things that went all the way round. Joshua placed it gently on to the patchwork bedspread beside his great-grandmother.
    Great-Nana laid a hand on it, with what seemed to be reverence and awe. With her free hand, she gripped Joshua’s fingers again. ‘Now, listen to me, lad . . . One day, we may get to open this box . . . One day, we may be given the key.’
    ‘It’s locked?’ said Joshua, prodding the black metal keyhole. ‘What’s inside?’
    The old lady’s thin shoulders managed a shrug. ‘I don’t know. This was only given to me for safe-keeping. It’s not mine.’
    Joshua met her gaze again. ‘Whose is it then?’ But he knew the answer, before she even said it.
    ‘This chest belongs to your father. And your mother knows nothing about it. Must never know . . . At least, not yet.’
    ‘This is . . . my dad’s?’ Joshua stared with wide eyes at the wooden chest. Whoa . Was his dad a pirate? Is that why he’d had to go away all those years ago? Maybe to keep his family safe, Joshua speculated. Perhaps there were enemy pirates chasing him, and he’d left home out of necessity, not choice. ‘Do you think there’s treasure inside, Nana Gwen? It’s not as heavy as it looks, so I don’t think it’s gold.’
    ‘Possibly there’s treasure,’ she said wistfully, ‘of a sort. I hope I live long enough to see inside.’
    ‘Well, why would my dad give it to you to look after if he didn’t think you’d live long enough to keep it safe?’
    His great-grandmother regarded him keenly, a spark in her eyes. ‘You’re right, lad. So it might happen soon . . .’
    ‘What will?’ Joshua felt his breath snatched away with a rush of anticipation. ‘How will we get the key? Will my dad - ’
    But he was interrupted, and brought unceremoniously back down to earth by an irritated voice wafting up the stairs.
    ‘Josh! Mum wants to know - would Nana like tea with her crumpet?’
    The headiness of the moment was lost. Joshua grimaced at his great-grandmother, who tried to smile reassuringly.
    ‘Quick,’ she said, ‘put the box away, lad . . . That’s it . . . Hurry . . . We’ll talk again another day. Go tell your sister I would like a cup of Earl Grey today.’
    ‘Earl Grey,’ Joshua repeated. ‘OK.’ On impulse,