The Lost Property Office, Part 3: Letters in the Lining

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Part 3 of 5. Security cameras show who really left the suitcase, and a secret is hidden in its lining: eleven letters that were never sent.

The next morning I asked to see the security footage. Requests like mine are usually refused, but the head of security owed me a favour.

The suitcase was left on Platform 9 at 1:40 a.m. by a man in a grey delivery uniform. He was not seen again. Later that week, a receipt was found by the cleaners in a bin near the exit. It said: 'Delivered on behalf of the estate of T. Marsh. Instructions: Northgate Station, Platform 9, under the clock.'

So the suitcase was sent by my grandfather himself. It was arranged before he died, and it was delivered to the one place where I would find it.

That night I looked at the suitcase again, more carefully. The lining at the bottom felt thicker than it should. Behind it, eleven envelopes were hidden, all addressed to 'Iris' at a street near the river. None of them were opened. None of them had stamps.

Every letter was dated in the spring of 1979. Every letter began the same way: 'I am sorry.'

I didn't read past that line. It didn't feel like mine to read.

But I wrote down the address.