Page 14 of In at the Deep End

“So you were the sensible one?” Matt sipped his tea.

He stroked his beard. “I preferred to think of myself as the risk assessor.”

Matt laughed again. “Which Dad ignored.”

“Completely.” Owen drank from his cup before speaking. “Did he ever tell you about the time he convinced American tourists that Nelson’s Column was originally built upside down and had to be reconstructed after ‘The Great Pigeon Incident’?” Owen shook his head. “I stood there listening to him invent British history for twenty minutes.”

Matt’s mouth fell open. “You’re telling me Dad was a professional bullshitter even then?”

“One of the best. He created posters advertising The Society For The Appreciation of Concrete.” Owen drew his hand through the air. “‘Weekly meetings. Bring your favourite paving slab.’” He snorted. “Twenty students turned up, and Jeff couldn’t stop laughing long enough to tell them it was a joke. Then there was the time someone kept stealing plants from around campus. So your dad and I ‘rescued’ every remaining pot overnight and hid them in our house. The next day, the campus appeared plantless, and the Dean sent out a memo.” He grinned. “Jeff spent three days watering sixty-seven plants in the kitchen.”

“I haven’t heard any of this!”

“A group of us used to go on hikes sometimes at the weekend, but we soon learned never to let your dad be in charge of directions.” He snickered. “He could get lost in a phone box.”

Matt laughed, a bright, joyful sound. “That sounds about right. Whenever we went on holiday, Mum was always the navigator.”

“One afternoon we were trying to find Covent Garden.”

He frowned. “And?”

Owen rolled his eyes. “We started at Covent Garden.”

By now, Matt was wiping tears from his eyes.

Owen gave a fond smile. “Strangers never stayed strangers for long with Jeff around. Within five minutes of meeting someone, he’d know where they were from, what football team they supported, whether they had kids and whether they’d lend him a tenner.” Another shake of his head. “Jeff collected people.”

Matt leaned back in his chair. “You do know I’ll never be able to look at him the same way after this?”

Owen inclined his head towards the house. “Somewhere in there are boxes and boxes of photographs. I’ve always been a keen photographer.” He smiled. “My only hobby. And most of the photos are of people. Your dad’s in plenty of them, your mum too. When I get around to sorting through them, I’ll show you.”

Matt’s eyes sparkled. “Actual photographs? As in little paper rectangles tucked into albums and shoeboxes?”

Owen pointed a finger at him. “Mock all you like. Your entire life is sitting on your phone—or floating around in some mythical cloud. One forgotten password and half your memories could disappear. Mine are still there if the internet disappears in a cyber-attack.”

Matt laughed. “I used to love looking through Mum and Dad’s old photo albums.” Then he winced. “That came out wrong.”

Owen raised an eyebrow.

“I mean… not because they’re old.”

“Mm-hmm.”

“They’re… experienced?”

Owen laughed. “Keep digging.”

Matt buried his face in his hands. “I’m making this worse, aren’t I?”

“Spectacularly.”

He groaned. “Can we pretend I stopped talking after ‘photo albums’?”

“I’ll consider it.”

Matt flushed. He glanced at the garden. “So where do you keep your lawnmower? Your garden tools?”

He blinked.