Page 64 of In at the Deep End

Owen smiled. “That’s fine.” He went over to a box labelled #26. “Try this one.”

Matt pulled out a wallet and rifled through. He stopped at a photo of a man with dark brown eyes, his hair swept up off his face, his beard streaked with silver, matching the threads of it visible on his head and at the temples. It was a kind face.

“Is this him?”

Owen joined him, gazing at the photo. “Yeah, that’s Ben. This was 2014, and he was forty-four. In fact, that was the first photograph I ever took of him.”

Matt sifted through more until he came to one that stopped him in his tracks. It was of Owen and Ben. Owen was laughing, his head thrown back, eyes closed, and Ben was gazing at him instead of the camera.

“Who took this?”

“Callum. He was just sixteen at the time. I always thought this was an excellent photo.”

Matt studied it. “Ben really loved you.”

Owen stilled. “You see that too?”

He nodded. “He’s looking at you as if you were the best thing he’d ever found.”

Owen went quiet.

Matt glanced at him. “Have I said something wrong?”

His smile was a little sad. “Not at all. It’s just that… well, nobody has ever described Ben’s love like that.” He paused. “The year after that, he proposed, and I said yes in a heartbeat.”

“This should be in a frame, in the lounge.” It belonged there. Then Matt gazed at the paper wallets in the box. “Hang on… Why do these stop being envelopes from Boots and suddenly become packets from Tesco?”

“Because almost every independent photo lab in Britain disappeared overnight.”

The penny dropped. “Digital cameras?”

Owen nodded. “Digital cameras, home printers… Then the kiosks turned up in supermarkets where you could print photos yourself.” He cleared his throat again. “I think I need more coffee. And maybe another flapjack.”

“Me too, please.” Matt went back to rifling through the boxes, trying to build up a picture of Owen’s life. In the box from 1997, he found pictures of Owen and Cyn’s wedding, the usual family gatherings, cutting the cake… From 1999, he found photos of Owen gingerly holding a baby, obviously taken by Cyn at the hospital, and Owen’s awed expression brought a lump to Matt’s throat.

There were holiday photos, business award ceremonies, holiday snaps with Ben… All images that showed Owen loving somebody. None of the photographs hinted at the man who’d calmly described parties where sex was as ordinary as the food and wine.

Then Matt noticed something. There were boxes missing, numbers twenty-three to twenty-five to be exact.

When Owen came back into the room, carrying a tray with mugs and a plate of flapjacks, Matt pointed out the discrepancy.

Owen flushed. “Ah. They’re upstairs.”

Matt frowned. “Why?”

He was quiet for a moment. “A different period, that’s all.” Matt arched his eyebrows, and Owen let out a sigh. “You might as well see those too. Give me a minute.” And with that, he walked through the door at the rear of the room.

Matt helped himself to a flapjack, doing his best to ignore his quickening pulse and the tingling at the base of his neck.

There’s a mystery here.

Owen returned, carrying the three boxes. “I don’t know why I kept these separate. I mean, they’re just photos.”

Matt did a quick calculation. “They cover 2011 to 2013?”

He nodded. “I was thirty-seven, Cyn and I were divorcing, I’d come out… I’d spent sixteen years pretending to be someone else, and I’d finally stopped pretending.” He grinned. “Then I may have overcompensated.”

Matt arched his eyebrows.