Jim Taylor sat in his office that he had accompanied over the last few years of his life. It was quintessentially Jim's kind of office; a motif and theme of organised chaos ran through the room at the top of the house with a window stocking out of the roof. Papers were ranging from tables to the floor, from stands to shelves, from heaps the reached the ceiling or small piles to organised folders. They all contained memories in one form or another; if they weren't writing they were pictures and albums.
Some of the pictures were originals taken by Fred Garland with the help of his sister Rosa for the sets that they'd do. Then there were ones from Harriet's childhood and Sally and Dan's wedding and the younger son they had- somewhere in those ones there was one with Harriet looking distinctly unpleased at her younger brother smiling as he pulled at her pigtails.
Then there was one of him and Adelaide and him on their wedding day a year after they returned to England. Adelaide's dark hair was curled in this one with it falling almost to her waist where the lace detail began on her dress.
That picture was framed and on the desk. It was the only thing to get a proper clean in that office daily. If he looked closely he could see Sally's hand on his shoulder in that photo and a wisp of Dan Goldman's hair. He smiled remembering that day when he married his wife of the last… it was sixty three years now, give or take a few months. He also remembered when he asked her to marry him in the train. They were on the run from the Razkavian people although he couldn't remember the exact details of the reasons they were running he remembered that part as though it was yesterday.
The later pictures were of their children; their children in front of their house; their children learning to ride bikes; their eldest son leaving for war in the 1910's and one of him returning with everything intact; their eldest son's wedding; their second son's wedding; their only girl's wedding; their first grandchild.
There were the penny dreadfulls on his shelves. He read them to his children before they went to sleep, they were the books he read to his grandchildren when they came round to his house and sat on his lap before they fell asleep there. Adelaide would sing them to sleep when he didn't read, they would sometimes alternate each night but they'd both be there to tuck their kids in.
After they had left and he had retired from his detecting job he would spend the free time making up a promise he had made to his wife years ago in a hospital near the Razkavian border. He wrote about what really happen in the country that his wife reigned over for a brief period in 1882. He mentioned this in passing to Sally when she would some around for tea some days.
He finished it a few years ago and occasionally picked it up to read small extracts to see if it was any good. Still he could only write the facts and truth so he'd agree with himself every time that it was marvellous. He eventually got it published by a small European company and it sold a few but not many.
Jim looked out of the window from upstairs in his comfy seat and smiled whilst thinking about how meeting Miss Sally had changed his life so much. He wouldn't change a thing. He'd accomplished what he'd set out to and everything else he'd ever wanted to. Yes Jim Taylor would do it all again and maybe he would write about the mysteries he, Fred, Sally, Rosa and Adelaide had faced one day. There was no finer tale he could tell than of the adventures of his own life, he thought then immediately went to his bed to fall asleep again so that he could begin writing the next day. He just hoped that Adelaide wouldn't mind the time it took up… again.