‘I take it Mum’s in bed,’ I said.
‘Yes. She’s not felt too good today but she was determined not to miss the party.’
Dad went into the kitchen with Georgia and returned with mugs of tea and his slice of cake on a plate.
‘Is it just today that Mum’s been feeling poorly?’ I asked once we were all settled with our drinks.
‘It’s hard to say. She’s in pain most days and she often tries to hide that from me as she says she doesn’t want to bring me down. I can usually spot the days when she’s suffering the most but it’s hard to separate those from anything else going on. As I say, she was determined to get to the party but she could probably have done with resting more today.’
‘It’s so typical that we weren’t around to have Astrid,’ Georgia said. ‘Sounds like the last thing she needed today.’
‘Don’t fret about it. It’s one of those things and we could have said no but you know what your mum’s like – any chance to spend some time with her great-grandchildren and she’s in her element. Anyway, how was the wedding?’
I’d already heard about Mark and Georgia’s weekend away while we were at The White Willow so, while they were recounting it to Dad, I zoned out and gazed around the room, smiling at the figurines we used to relocate. On one side of the room was a beautiful oak sideboard on top of which were twenty or so silver photo frames of assorted sizes and designs so I wandered over to look at them. Some photos had remained constant over the years including several wedding day photos – Mum and Dad’s, Georgia and Mark’s, Keira and Johnnie’s – and graduation photos of Georgia and me, but others were regularly updated. There was a lovely one of Mum cutting the cake at her eightieth birthday party and another of Mum and Dad together that same day. I smiled as I picked up a frame containing a photo of Mum cuddling Astrid and Arlo. Aware that Georgia and Mark had finished telling Dad about the wedding, I turned round holding the frame.
‘This must be hot off the press.’
‘Taken about a week ago,’ Dad said. ‘I printed it off this morning and put it in the frame before your mum went to bed.’
‘It’s a great photo of them all. Mum’s so photogenic.’
‘That’s because she’s a beautiful woman.’
The passion and love with which he delivered that statement had me tearing up and I was grateful for the distraction of returning the frame to its home.
‘Do you like the one of you?’ Dad asked.
I frowned, confused, as the only photo I’d noticed of me was the graduation one and it was really old now. There used to be a wedding day one but that had long gone.
‘Opposite end of the sideboard,’ Dad said. ‘Also hot off the press.’
I hadn’t reached that side yet but soon spotted the hinged photo frame. On one side was a photo of Mum, Dad, Georgia and me alongside Maud and Jolene. I remembered Emma taking it on Mum’s phone, telling us she was an expert in getting the best angle for the alpacas so that they looked like they were smiling. Sure enough, Maud and Jolene looked like they were grinning alongside us. On the other side was a candid photo of me with Charmaine. The wind had whipped up my hair and the white tuft on Charmaine’s head. Emma – assuming she’d also taken this photo – had captured me laughing. Rosy-cheeked and sparkly-eyed, I barely recognised myself.
‘Your mum loves both those photos,’ Dad said, joining me. ‘But she especially loves that one of you. She says it’s the first time since we lost Noah that she’s seen you laughing without guilt.’
‘Without guilt?’ I repeated.
‘Yes. Allowing yourself a moment to live in the here and now instead of telling yourself you have no right to laugh after such a tragedy.’
I ran my fingers over the glass. No wonder I barely recognised myself. This photo looked more like the me before Noah died and seven years was a long time for that woman to have hidden herself away from the world. It was reassuring to know she was still in there somewhere and capable of reappearing.
‘Would you mind sending me these two photos?’ I asked.
‘Will do, but I can nip up to my office and print you off copies now if you like.’
‘That would be great, thanks.’ I’d buy a frame for the one of the four of us and put it on my bookshelves, but it would be good to have the one of me on my desk as a reminder that I was allowed to laugh, to breathe, to live again. I glanced down at my blouse and smiled at the conversation I’d had with Mum earlier.You deserve to have colour back in your life.
After Georgia had seen the photos, she asked Dad to print copies for her too. Derwent Rise was a three-bedroom bungalow but, when Georgia and I were still at home, Dad had converted the sizeable attic into half office half storage, accessed via wooden steps. He disappeared upstairs to print the photos while I checked out the rest of the frames.
Mum had double photo frames for each of her grandchildren and great-grandchildren with a photo of them as a baby on one side and a recently taken one on the other. She used to jokingly refer to them as her ‘first and last’ photos but dropped that phrase after Noah died and his most recent photo literally was the last photo ever taken of him.
I picked up Noah’s frame for a closer look. That last photo had been taken on Christmas Day when Flynn and I had invited the whole family over to The Bothy. It had been chaotic, loud and laughter-filled – exactly what a big family Christmas should be. I remembered Mum asking Noah if he’d wanted to remove the bright yellow paper party hat he’d got from his cracker before she took the photo. He’d laughed and said,But how would you know it was taken on Christmas Day if I’m not wearing it?before making his hat crooked and giving her his most dazzling smile. He’d been so happy and full of fun that day, I’d never have guessed that his personal life was out of control, and none of us could ever have imagined that, a week later, he’d be gone.
I put the frame back and was about to return to the sofa when a small frame caught my eye. Was that…? I lifted it up and my heart started racing.
‘Mum’s got a photo of Flynn,’ I exclaimed.
‘Must be an old one,’ Georgia said.
