Page 63 of In at the Deep End

Owen coughed. “Not exactly.” He crooked his finger. “Follow me. That’s if you don’t mind walking on the patio in bare feet.” He led Matt through the open window, then turned left. “This is the garden room.” It was a large square room, furnished with a long wide couch and several comfortable armchairs, furniture whose eventual location Owen hadn’t decided on.

“I haven’t seen inside this one.” Matt peered through the window, then froze. “Scrap what I said. There are more boxes in there.” He turned to stare at Owen. “You’re going to need more bookcases. There must be at least thirty.”

Owen opened the patio door and stepped inside. “These don’t contain DVDs or books. These are all photos.”

So many photos, so many memories.

The boxes weren’t big, thank God, about the size of a modern day shoe box, and they were stacked against the wall behind the couch.

Owen pulled the couch out to give them easier access, and Matt went over to the nearest box. He pulled the flaps open and laughed. “Boots? The chemist?”

“Boots was the place to get camera film processed, I’ll have you know.” Owen reached into the box and removed a paper wallet. “I bet Jeff has loads of these all over the house.”

“Correction—he did. Then I used my flatbed scanner and digitised all of them.”

Owen stared. “Seriously? How long did that take?”

“Not as long as you might think, once I got into a rhythm.” Matt widened his eyes. “I could do the same thing for you.”

Owen’s mouth fell open. “You have no idea what you’re offering. There are hundreds, if not thousands.”

Matt gave a shrug. “Look, I have the equipment. It might take me a week if I do them in the evenings. I’d set up my laptop and scanner on the dining table, and you could feed me.” It sounded like a perfectly sensible arrangement.

The fact that he immediately liked the idea rather more than he probably should have was something he chose not to examine.

Owen glanced at him for a moment. “Do you know how few people volunteer to spend a week sorting through someone else’s memories?”

Matt smiled. “Probably because most people don’t have your memories.”

Owen laughed. “I’ll think about it.”

He took a closer look at the boxes. “You numbered them?”

Owen nodded. “They’re in chronological order. I started taking photos in 1990. One box equals one year.”

“Very impressive organisation.”

He snorted. “That’s not what Callum called it. Something about me being anal?”

Matt laughed. “I’m saying nothing.” He glanced at the boxes. “So which one has my parents?”

“Start with number three.”

Matt located it, pulled it aside, and reached into it. He removed a wallet and searched through it. Sure enough, there were photos of his parents.

A lot of photos, most of them showing Mum and Dad smiling or laughing. Mum’s hair seemed even more blonde, and she wore it in a ponytail.

“Oh my God. Dad with more hair.”

Owen snorted. “Mock not. It’ll come to you one day.”

Matt recognised Cyn too, her auburn hair much longer in those days. Then he frowned.

“Why can’t I find any photos of you?”

“I was usually behind the camera.”

Matt scanned the boxes. “I’d like to see photos of Ben. If that’s okay.” He was curious to put a face to the name.