Frankie felt a shiver go down his back. He had seen this box before. It was kept at the back of his parents’ wardrobe, behind the shoes. He had to push through his mother’s dresses to get to it, and they called it the ‘Deed Box.’ It was smaller than Frankie remembered. The two handles, one at either side, squeaked when Ed lifted the box. It looked old, and some of the black had rubbed away, around the lock.

The deed box was always kept locked. Frankie had never seen inside the box, never known for sure what was kept in it, but always imagined it held grown-up secrets and the promise of excitement and revelation. It could hold the proof that he was descended from Henry VIII perhaps, or the fact that his father was a multi-millionaire. It was a box of possibilities, despite its plain tin appearance. Uncle Ed fitted a small key into the lock and lifted the lid. Frankie held his breath and looked inside.

There were no gold coins or diamonds which, although he knew it was silly to think there might be, was still a disappointment. There were bundles of papers and letters and photographs, some held together by rubber bands or paper clips, some rolled and secured with red ribbon, others in large fawn envelopes. A smell of damp paper and old clothes rose from the box, making Frankie inhale to catch it. It was the smell of his mother’s wardrobe.

“Some of these are important family documents,” explained Uncle Ed as he started to sort them into piles. “There are birth certificates, and the marriage certificate, and a copy of the will. They must be kept safely, for legal purposes. Then there are your father’s degree certificates and his other professional diplomas. The other things are personal items – letters and photos.”  He paused and looked at his nephew. “There is information here, Frankie, that, if things had been different, you might not have got to know about, not for a long time, anyway. But things are different, and Rowena and I feel it is ight for you to know about them now. So you might like to take these and spend some time looking through them. But remember, the letters, the feelings – all these things happened a long time ago. You need to take that into account.”

Frankie looked at the bundles of old envelopes and photo folders. In there, it that little pile, was a secret bit of his family history that he didn’t know about, that he might not have known about for years to come if his parents hadn’t been killed.  He sat back on his haunches – he’d been kneeling up at the low table, on which Uncle Ed had placed the box. For a moment he couldn’t quite take it in. The Deed Box, the black, metal box that he had seen many times, the contents of which he’d fantasised about so often, did in fact hold a real secret. As he took the papers he saw his hands were shaking. He had difficulty catching his breath, and his eyes were blurring up.