‘Martha.’ Jake remembered Arnold’s words:that’s the first thing people notice about her.
Jake turned up the driveway and stopped outside Cedar Grove.
‘When do you suppose these were taken?’ said Marcus, passing the photographs to Jake once he’d turned off the car engine.
‘Hard to say, precisely,’ Jake said, peering at a photo of the group. They were all linking arms, their right feet swinging in the air as if they were in the middle of some sort of synchronised line-dancing routine. And they all looked as though they were finding it incredibly funny. Jake put the photo down without comment.
‘Don’t you think it’s odd that Grace isn’t in any of these?’ Marcus commented.
Jake could see Marcus’s point. William had to be well into his thirties in these photos, and he would have been married to Marcus’s mother Grace for a good ten years before they were taken. Jake shrugged. ‘There are only a handful of photos here,’ Jake pointed out. ‘She’s probably in some of the others on that roll of film. Perhaps she was the one taking the photos.’
Or maybe it was simply the case that his parents, and Martha, were William and Aubrey’s friends and not hers. Jake didn’t say out loud what he was thinking, especially as his next thought was that Grace could be a bit of a snob, whereas Jake remembered his parents were like William – just down-to-earth, hardworking people.
Marcus looked at him doubtfully as he handed Jake the next photo. In it were Jake’s father and William, both standing in a relaxed pose, William with a hand on Jake’s father’s shoulder,who was laughing as though somebody had just told an extraordinarily good joke.
The next photo could have been a carbon copy, except that Aubrey had joined them and was standing beside Jake’s father, sharing the joke.
The next photo was different to the others. The two women had been photographed unawares; at least, that was how it appeared to Jake. He recognised the hallway in his house where Martha, her back to the camera but her silky locks giving her away, was pointing in the direction of the stairs for the benefit of the second woman, whose profile Jake recognised – it was his mother. He traced the line of Martha’s outstretched hand to the stairs. About two-thirds of the way up, deep in shadows, a small, round face was looking down on them through two wooden spindles.
‘Do you see that?’ Jake passed the picture to Marcus, pointing at his find. ‘I think I can date these photos. That’s definitely me, probably spying on my parents’ friends. I must have been around four. It would have been shortly before they died.’
They both fell silent.
Marcus turned the picture over and showed Jake the back, on which was scribbled a name and a date. The date was about right, but the name was wrong.
‘Ralph,’ Jake said. ‘I could have sworn that was me in the photo.’ He pointed at the face peering through the banister.
‘Martha’s son?’ Marcus asked.
‘Must be.’
‘So, where wereyou?’
Jake shrugged. ‘Probably hiding from all the visitors again.’
Marcus turned in his seat. ‘What do you mean –again?’
‘I was kind of a shy, introspective kid.’
‘Yeah – right.’
‘No, it’s true. Obviously all that changed when I came to livewith you, Eleanor, and your parents. But when I lived with my parents at The Lake House, and with my father away on tours with the army, there would just be me and my mother. She’d have lots of friends to stay. She was always throwing open the doors to The Lake House. I’d often retreat to my room with all the adults about.’
‘Well, it sounds as though that one time, Martha must have brought her son with her. You would have had someone to play with.’
‘I don’t remember that.’
Marcus said, ‘Why are you surprised? It was a long time ago, and you were only very young.’
Jake nodded. ‘I suppose you’re right.’ He looked at the photos, convinced he now knew what all this was about. Arnold had handed him the envelopes in the hope that he could discern what Martha so desperately wanted, because whatever purpose Martha had for these photos was now lost to the condition she was suffering from. And Jake had it figured. ‘That’s it!’ he said. Martha was looking for a son she had lost touch with. That was what the photos were all about – people who knew her and her son, and might be able to locate him for her.
He told Marcus his thoughts. ‘I’m now guessing,’ he added, ‘that Martha was a friend of my parents and just happened to be there that day when William and Aubrey paid a visit.’
‘Hmmm,’ said Marcus, not sounding convinced.
‘What do you mean – hmmm?’ Jake though it was obvious.
Marcus held up the photo with them all linking arms. ‘Don’t you think they look altogether a bit too chummy for people who have just met?’
