The Things We Find – Chapter 2: A Photograph on a Phone

By nine the next morning, Camille had learned that fear could make a house unfamiliar.

Every cupboard seemed to contain a space she had overlooked. Every shadow beneath a bed resembled a curled body until she knelt to examine it. She had searched the lower level, the garage, the workshop, the strip of ground around the house. Her knees were dirty. She had slept for perhaps twenty minutes, sitting upright.

She left water indoors and outside, checked the doors, and drove to the convenience store she had passed the previous day.

South Point Provisions occupied a modest building with a shaded entrance and a handwritten notice about eggs taped beside the door.

Inside, a fan shifted warm air over shelves of tins, cleaning supplies, biscuits, and things she hadn’t known she might need until she saw them.

A man behind the counter looked up from a cardboard box.

“Morning.”

His accent was English. She noticed, then forgot about it.

“My cat is missing.”

She held out her phone before he could answer.

He set down the packet in his hand.

“Where from?”

“Three Barks. Last night. Yesterday evening, actually. I think around six, but I didn’t notice straightaway.”

“What’s his name?”

“Mistral.”

The man studied the photograph.

Mistral occupied most of the screen, sprawled on Camille’s duvet with one foreleg stretched toward the camera.

“Does he usually go outside?”

“No. Sometimes with me. In a harness. But he’s been in other houses. He’s not—” She stopped. “He’s frightened of things he doesn’t know.”

“What does he do when he’s frightened?”

“I’m sorry?”

“Hide? Run? Come when you call?”

Camille’s throat tightened.

“I don’t know what he does here. That’s the problem.”

The man looked at her properly then.

“No. Of course.”

A woman emerged from a doorway behind him carrying a mug.

“What happened?”

He explained briefly.

The woman introduced herself as Marcia and asked to see the photograph. Her expression softened without becoming pitying, which Camille appreciated.

“We can put a notice up.”

“I can make one. If there’s somewhere to print—”

“Send it to the store address. We’ll manage.”

Camille looked down at her phone, but her hands had begun to tremble.

The man slid a bottle of water across the counter.

“I’m Owen.”

“Camille.”

“Drink that before you drive.”

“I’m fine.”

“I didn’t ask for a medical opinion.”

She looked up.

His expression was mild enough that she couldn’t tell whether he was teasing her.

Marcia took a sip from her mug.

“He speaks like that to everyone,” she said. “You don’t have to encourage it.”

Camille drank.

Owen asked which parts of the property she had searched. As she described the property, he found a scrap of cardboard and drew a rough plan.

She disliked how useful it was.

“I can come after work,” he said. “Have another look with you.”

“You don’t have to.”

“I know.”

“What time?”

“Half past five.”

At five twenty-eight, Camille stood on the deck watching the road.

At five thirty-four, she was angry with herself for watching.

At five thirty-seven, Owen arrived with a torch and an apology about a delivery.

He didn’t attempt to reassure her that Mistral would certainly return. Instead, he asked her to walk him through the evening.

They searched the lower level first. Owen waited while she inspected spaces he couldn’t reach. He held the light where she asked. In the workshop, he moved a loose board only after checking that it wasn’t supporting anything.

At one point, Camille heard herself say, “It’s stupid to be this upset.”

Owen straightened.

“Is it?”

“He’s a cat.”

“Yes.”

She looked away.

He waited.

“He sleeps against my legs,” she said finally. “If I get up, he follows me. Even when he’s annoyed about it.”

“That sounds like someone you’d notice missing.”

She pressed her lips together.

They searched until the light thinned and the shadows became less trustworthy than the open ground.

At his car, Owen asked her to send him the notice when it was ready.

“I’ve already done it.”

“Of course you have.”

This time, she recognized the humour.

After he left, she put fresh water beside the house and stood listening.

She was still frightened.

But the hours ahead no longer seemed entirely empty.

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