‘No, you’re right,’ Rob said. ‘Let’s do it. It’s time.’
He carried the box downstairs to the kitchen, where he placed in on the table. I went to the kitchen drawer for scissors, which I solemnly handed over.
Rob took them from me and studied the box. He was chewing his bottom lip and looked pale and somehow waxy. The tension in the room was unbearable and just looking at his twisted features made me feel nauseous. ‘If this is too much for you,’ I said, ‘then I respect that. You mustn’t do this for me.’
‘No,’ Rob said. ‘No, it’s got to be done. I don’t know why but it has. And it’s got to be done right now.’
He opened the scissors to use them like a knife and dragged them across the top of the box in a single determined swipe and then repeated the gesture across the left and right corners. The brittle layers of ancient masking tape gave way easily.
Rob looked skywards and took a conscious noisy breath, and then with tears in his eyes he started to lift the flaps.
I moved to his side and tried to put an arm round his waist, but unexpectedly he shrugged me off. ‘Sorry,’ he said, ‘but I can’t do this and…that… at the same time.’
I wasn’t quite sure whatthatwas really, but respecting his need for space I moved to the opposite side of the kitchen table.
Once he was able to see inside the box, Rob’s first reaction was a sigh and a sad smile. The only thing visible was a folded red cable-knit jumper.
‘Favourite jumper,’ he said, taking it from the box, laying it on the table, and then sliding it in my direction.
I lifted it up by the shoulder seams and said, ‘Very long, skinny favourite jumper.’
Rob sniffed. ‘Yeah. It’s from when I was fifteen, sixteen,’ he said. ‘I was tall but skinny as hell.’
I looked at the jumper again and imagined sixteen-year-old Rob wearing it and wished I had known him back then.
Next up was a photo album. He swallowed with visible difficulty and barely opened the cover before closing it and handing it to me. ‘Later,’ he said. ‘I can’t do that one yet.’
I took the book from his grasp. It had a blue padded plastic cover printed with a map of Cornwall and thick gilt-edged pages. ‘Can I?’ I asked.
Rob nodded. ‘But don’t ask me to… you know.’
I nodded and, positioning myself so that I could do so discreetly, I opened the cover.
The rigid pages had cellophane covers that were supposed to keep the photos in place but, as they had long since lost their stickiness, the first two photos fell to the table.
One was a classic family-type photo of Rob and his parents standing in front of a caravan. They had what appeared to be genuine smiles and I felt relieved that he’d at least had moments like that during his childhood. I’d feared his entire upbringing had been a horror story.
The second photo was of Rob, aged about ten, standing next to a similarly aged little girl, and I saw Rob catch a glimpse and wince as I picked it up. Who was the girl, I wondered? His sister? That must be it, I decided. He’d had a sister who had died. But I didn’t dare ask. Instead, I slipped the photos back beneath the cellophane and closed the album. Without Rob’s commentary the photos were meaningless anyway.
When I looked up to see what was next from the box I saw that Rob had slumped onto a chair.
‘What is it, sweetheart?’ I asked, and he nodded in the direction of the box.
So I rounded the table to his side again and peered in. Laid on a folded pair of bleached jeans were two dolls, an Action Man dressed in military garb and a girl’s doll with reddish hair.
‘Can I?’ I asked.
Rob nodded again, so I reached into the box for the Action Man, which I briefly studied and handed to Rob before reaching for the doll.
‘Who’s was this, Rob?’ I asked. I thought of the little girl in the photo and felt certain he was going to say,my sister’s.
‘Chrissy,’ Rob said, quietly.
‘And Chrissy is…?’ I asked.
‘The doll,’ Rob said. ‘The doll’s called Chrissy.’
‘Oh,’ I said. ‘And who did Chrissy belong to? Do you have…didyou have a sister or…?’
