Martin couldn’t believe he’d found it. Here in his own town, squashed between a baker and a bank. He watched from across the street as the man behind the counter returned a pair of shoes with new soles to a customer.
The man looked quite ordinary. Well dressed in a colourful striped shirt with a golden waistcoat. He had a full but neatly trimmed beard, and a pair of round, wire rimmed glasses. You could imagine him being cast in a film as a modern-day Father Christmas, although perhaps he was a little too dapper, and slightly too gay. You certainly wouldn’t see him as a powerful wizard. For that you needed a much scruffier beard like Dumbledore, Gandalf or Merlin.
The women at the counter laughed at something the man said, and even patted his arm in a friendly gesture. There was something about the man that made people like him. An aura of comfort, as if he was their favourite uncle.
It looked so innocuous. Just another one of those cabins where you could get keys cut or shoes repaired. But Martin knew the truth. He’d spent almost a year studying and researching. Trawling the internet for hints. Piecing together snippets of information. Programming bots to harvest conversations and employing an artificial intelligence engine to filter millions of photographs for the few that had the sign he was looking for.
KOFT Keys
He’d chased that sign all around the country and once had even persuaded his friends to take a detour to an undistinguished suburb of Paris. But he’d always arrived too late. The kiosk had moved on.
Not this time. It was in his own back yard and he was ready. As soon as the woman left, he marched up to the counter.
‘Locke. I name you keeper of the keys and I command you to give me the key that I desire.’
The man behind the counter smiled his friendly smile and spoke in his calm, comforting voice.
‘And which one would that be? I’ve got keys for Yale locks, padlocks, bike locks, car locks, gate locks, safe locks. All sorts of locks.’
‘I want the key to someone’s heart. Jamie’s heart.’
There was a loud click like a key of iron turning the lock of an ancient prison gate. Martin watched as colours washed out of the world, except for Locke. It was like someone had turned up his brightness, his contrast and his colour saturation.
His slate-grey eyes hooked into Martin and his voice had no more comfort in it.
‘You know not what you ask. A key to a heart is not something I give, and not something you demand. Keys are power but not a single key has power over another’s heart.’
Martin bravely found voice to reply. ‘But I have named you. I command you to give it to me.’
‘Foolish boy. You know so little and understand even less. Come back when you have more wisdom. But now be gone.’
Colour flooded back into the world and the man returned to his jolly self.
‘I’m so sorry sir. But we don’t have that kind of key here.’
Martin turned and walked away unsure of what had happened or what key he was looking for.
*
Years later Martin hurried out of the supermarket with two bags stuffed full of Jamie’s favourite ingredients. He’d only got three hours before Jamie returned. He’d already got the flat spotless, all that remained was the romantic dinner. He could have booked a restaurant but he wanted to be in control of everything himself. He wanted every detail to be perfect, and as long as he got his timings right it would be.
Martin tapped his pockets to check which one held his car key and that’s when he saw it.
KOFT Keys
A memory erupted into his head. He stared at the man. The same man. The same neatly trimmed beard, the same approachable face, the same colourful shirt and the same golden waistcoat.
The man beckoned and Martin had no power to stop his feet from carrying him forward towards those same slate-grey eyes.
‘Do you still want that key?’
Martin smiled and lifted his shopping bags. ‘I think I’ve already found it.’
‘The key to someone’s heart? In Tesco?’
‘In food. They say that the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach.’
‘So that is all it takes? A well cooked meal?’
Martin felt those eyes boring into him. Demanding more than a glib answer.
‘No. Not at all. Although it helps. The key’s not one thing. It’s made up of a thousand moments. A single look. A tiny touch. A sigh. A sympathetic ear. A willingness to be wrong. Commitment. Endeavour. Time. Lots and lots of time. And so much more.’
The man smiled and there was a sound that Martin remembered. Once again the world dimmed everywhere except directly in front of him where Locke held out a key.
‘You have learnt wisdom and now I can give you this key. It is your key. Each person can only receive their own key. Take it, use it and choose wisely.’
Martin stretched out his hand, grasped the key and colour returned.
‘Now sir if you’d just unlock that door you can come through.’
The door was so ordinary that Martin hadn’t noticed it. A plain white door on the side of the kiosk, marked Personal. Surely that was the wrong word? Shouldn’t it be personnel. Or staff? That would make more sense. Or simply private?
He placed the key in the lock, turned it and pushed through the door.
Inside was a large round room with a high domed ceiling. Along the wall was a bookcase that stretched from the floor to the height of his up-stretched hand, and wound around the entire circumference of the room. Every few paces a candle provided a soft glow that highlighted the colours of the book spines. Those nearest him were red, then orange and yellow and so the rainbow continued around the room.
A pride of books thought Martin. What could be more personal for him than that?
He stepped up to the nearest shelves and tipped his head on the side to read the titles of the books. But there were none. Each book was blank. He tried to take one of the books, but he couldn’t. The books were a solid façade, not real books at all. He walked along the curve inspecting as he went but it wasn’t until he reached the middle of the red section that he noticed the keys.
They were hanging on hooks attached to the book shelves and above each key was a book with a title. The one at his eye level read Key to Happiness, the one below was Key to Power, the one above was Key to Love, and lower still was Key to Influence.
He hesitated to touch any key and instead reached for one of the titled books, hoping it would explain what he was seeing. But the book was not a book. Like the empty spines it was just a painted wooden board.
Slowly he reached out and gripped the Key of Happiness. It slid off its hook and where a traditional key has a small hole in its head this one had a hole in the shape of a smile. Martin slipped the key into his pocket and reached for the Key to Love. That one had a hole in the shape of a heart. He slipped it into his pocket and started to reach out for the Key of Life.
Suddenly a voice filled the room. Locke’s voice.
‘You can choose just one key. Choose wisely and when you have chosen use the key to unlock the door and leave the room.’
Martin walked back to the door and pulled. It was locked. He took the two keys out of his pocket. They looked identical except for the shape of the hole. Either one would open the door.
He turned and gazed around the room. There were more keys to explore before he made his choice.
He gradually came to understand that the keys became more personal at far end of the rainbow. The first ones were universal keys. Keys that everyone had heard of. But they weren’t what he was looking for.
What would taking the Key to Happiness actually mean? Would he find wealth? Fame? Status? Whatever it was he didn’t trust it. He wasn’t sure it would last, and then what? Would he have to come back and take the key again? He returned the key to its hook.
And what about love? He didn’t want that. Well he did. He most certainly did. But not in that way. He wanted Jamie’s love but he wanted it on merit. Because he deserved it. Not just because he turned a key in a lock. The Key of Love went back on its hook.
For a long time he dwelt on the Key to Understanding. He almost took it, but wasn’t really sure he wanted to understand everything happening in the world. Perhaps there were times when it was better not to know.
Having circled the room ten times it was easy to walk quickly past those first colours. Even the green and blue middle sections no longer attracted his attention. But the end of the rainbow still slowed his steps.
There were keys that spoke to who he was. Keys that if he took them could explain his emotions. That could help him be the person he aspired to be.
And then in the last section things became even more personal and even more specific. He could pick a key and use it to unlock his past. To understand why his dad left, why his sister chose such a destructive life, why Jamie struggled to commit.
It was too hard to choose. His hands slipped into his pockets, his shoulders slouched and his whole body slumped with despair. How could he choose just one key?
He felt something. A key? He pulled it out. It was the key that Locke had given him. The key that had opened the door to let him in. Quickly he ran to the door and placed it in the lock. It turned and he stepped out.
He was standing in front of one of those key kiosks and the man behind the counter had passed him a key.
‘There you go young man.’
Martin looked at it with a puzzled frown.
‘It’s the key to your flat. You’ll be needing a spare.’
‘I will?’
‘For Jamie. For when he moves in.’
Martin slipped the key into his pocket, picked up his shopping bags and headed for his car.
Locke smiled. He was happy when someone chose so wisely.
