Page 83 of In at the Deep End

Owen’s mouth fell open, but no words came. He watched in silence as the images drifted across the screen: Ben, Callum, Cyn, friends…. Matt hadn’t even thought about which image would appear first. Somehow, the frame had chosen perfectly.

Owen reached out almost hesitantly, as though afraid touching the frame might somehow stop it. His fingertips rested against the edge while another image dissolved into view.

He let out a slow breath. “I haven’t seen some of these in years.”

“You’ve seen all of them,” Matt reminded him.

Owen smiled without taking his eyes off the screen. “No. I’ve looked at them.” A photograph of Ben laughing appeared. “I don’t think I’ve really seen them.”

Silence fell for several long seconds. When Owen finally glanced up, his eyes were bright. “I don’t know what to say.”

“You don’t have to say anything.”

Owen swallowed. “I think I do.” He looked back at the frame as another photograph faded into the next. “This…” His voice caught. “This might be the nicest present anyone’s ever given me.” He stood. “Give me a minute.” Then he crossed the room to the unit holding his CD collections. Owen ran his fingers along the spines, clearly seeking something specific.

“Aha!” He removed a case, opened it, and slipped it into the player. Soft piano music filled the room.

Matt smiled. “Ben’s?”

Owen nodded. “He always said this album made every room feel calmer.” He indicated the couch. “Bring the frame. I’ll bring the beers.”

Matt carried it over to the coffee table and set it down. Owen joined him, placing the glasses next to it before settling onto the couch.

“Ben loved this album. Sunday mornings, coffee, newspapers…” He smiled. “If this was playing, the world could wait an hour.”

For a while they watched the photographs and drank.

“Thank you.” Owen’s voice rang with sincerity. “This was so thoughtful of you.”

“I’ll add more when I’ve finished scanning them all.” He pointed to the frame. “Am I likely to meet any of these people at the reunion?” Then he grinned. “I love that picture of Mum.”

Owen chuckled. “Second year. She’d just discovered hair spray.”

Matt laughed. “I’ll never tell her you said that.”

“Oh, please do.” Another photograph appeared, this time of Dad. “And this was the first time your dad grew a moustache.” Another chuckle. “Your mum hated it. They argued about it constantly.”

Matt blinked. “My parents argued?”

Owen snorted. “Dear Lord, they bickered about everything.”

He frowned. “I thought they got together because they agreed on everything. At least, that’s the way they tell it.”

Owen grinned. “They got together because they enjoyed arguing with each other more than anyone else.”

He laughed. “You know, now that you say it, that actually sounds like them.”

Another image appeared. “You’ll probably meet her. That’s Diane. She remembered everybody’s birthdays.” Owen stroked his beard. “I wonder if she still does. And what she looks like now.”

“You still look like you. Dad too. I mean, you recognised each other, didn’t you?”

“True.” A photo appeared of a tall, lean guy with black hair. “That’s Mike Whittle.” Owen shook his head fondly. “Within thirty seconds of meeting you, he’ll know where you were born, what you studied, your favourite drink, and what you had for breakfast.”

Matt laughed.

“He was always asking questions. I sometimes thought if anyone was going to work out what was going on between Professor Stevens and me, it’d be Mike.”

Matt gave the photo a quizzical glance. “So they never knew.”