Story beginning for assessment

Mary dragged the last box out of the garage and turned to face Brian. "Let's face it," she said, "you just have too much stuff."

Brian looked around him. The driveway was covered with boxes and cartons and crates, but it wasn't just 'stuff'. Within these colourful cuboids were the fragments of his life. He might have been about to start a new chapter of it with Mary, but he wasn't sure he was ready to let go of the old him just yet. He opened the box nearest to him. "Look," he said,"my old school reports. I can't get rid of them. I might need them one day. You know, the next time I go for an interview or something!"

"You left school in 1982!" Mary said. "Even if you get an interview no one will care how well behaved you were in junior school, will they?"

"Hmmm. Ok, maybe you're right. Perhaps they could go. But what about ....." Brian tore open another box. "What about my Star Wars figures? They're worth money, they are! You don't expect me to throw them away, do you?"

"Course I don't," Mary said gently. "But when did they last see the light of day, Brian? They're no use in a box. You'd be better off selling them on eBay. Let someone else enjoy them for a while. And we could do with the money."

"I suppose so," Brian mumbled. "I guess there will be things we need now. A dining table, perhaps. A bigger sofa. Maybe even a new bed. A double would be nice, wouldn't it?" Mary smiled. "But ... But there's still so many things I want to keep. Like -" Brian picked up a Jiffy bag and shook its contents onto the floor. "Like this shell. Swanage Bay 1974, I seem to remember. First holiday Mum and I ever had! We had great fun, we did, running around on the beach, and beachcombing, and eating ice cream, and-"

"Brian!" Mary said. "Okay, you can keep the shell! But all this other stuff," she spread her arms wide to take in the clutter, "we just won't have room for it. Remember it's my flat we're moving to. No attic, no garage, no outside cupboard like your mum's got here. So how about you just keep a couple of boxes, hey? Sort through it all and choose the most important things. The things that really mean something to you. Sell the Star Wars stuff, and the Top Trumps cards, and that hideous tea set. What the heck have you kept that for anyway?" Brian opened his mouth to protest but Mary gave him a sharp look and carried on. "Sell it, give it away, take it to the tip for all I care. But you're not bringing it all with you. Two boxes, Brian, that's all. Two boxes."

Brian looked at the mountain of stuff in despair. It would take him forever to sort through it all. And what if he missed something important! But Mary was right. Since Mum had died he'd felt a little lost here, lost and scared. The new tenants would be moving in soon, and Mary's flat was nice enough, if a little poky. And he'd feel much safer living there than here on his own.

He tore open the tape on another box and started digging around inside. Frowning, he pulled out a wad of paper. Twenty or so envelopes, held together with a shrivelled elastic band. Each one had his name written clearly on the front, though he didn't recognise the writing. Carefully he slid out the top envelope, ran his nail under the flap and pulled out a crisp white sheet of paper. As he scanned the neat blocks of text, his frown deepened.

Mary came over to see what he was doing. "What's that?" she said. Then, giggling, "Oh blimey, I hope that's not your mum's old love letters!"

"No," Brian said slowly, "it's nothing like that. Well, not really. It's addressed to me. It says .... It's from my father."

Mary's eyes widened. "But I thought you never knew him. I thought you said he died before you were born."

"Yep. He did. At least that's what Mum told me." Brian tipped the box upside down and a waterfall of letters cascaded to the ground. He picked up a couple of envelopes at random and examined the postmarks. "Some of these are recent," he exclaimed in surprise. "Now tell me if I've got this wrong, but doesn't that say 2013 to you?" Brian took a deep breath. "I always knew there was something Mum wasn't telling me. I just couldn't put my finger on it. But why would she have hidden this from me all these years? All my life?" He swallowed hard, trying to hold back the sob that threatened to escape from his chest. "I hated having no dad, and she knew that. Yet he was here all the time. Trying to get in touch. I don't understand why..." His face crumpled and two fat tears tumbled down his chubby cheeks.

"I don't know, love," Mary said. "But I'll tell you something. We'll find him. Don't you worry, we'll find him."