That should keep my mind off Mum.
When I get back from Pietrasanta, I peel the bubble wrap off the frames and the photos look wonderful. Each frame has two lines of ten strips, one above the other, starting with the original black-and-white photos that have been pieced back together. Viewed side by side, they form a document of Wilf and Arnaldo’s relationship. From year to year, cuddle to cuddle, kiss to kiss.
Theo and I prop them up against the sofa and sit on the fireplace to admire them.
I feel a lump in my throat. “Oh, Theo, isn’t it sad?”
“Is it?” he says. “I think it’s quite joyful. The two of us are sitting in what used to be their home, basking in their love for each other.”
I let out a breath. “I didn’t think of it like that. But maybe Angelika was right: maybe that was the point.”
Theo rises to his feet. “Come on, let’s get them up on the wall.”
He goes downstairs to fetch tools and a tape measure and, when he comes back, we set about hanging them. I’m glad Theo’s good at DIY as I’ve always been clueless—much to my dad’s disappointment. As an adult, whenever I’ve put up pictures, I’ve made so many mistakes and miscalculations that when I’ve taken them down, I’ve exposed walls that look like someone’s blasted them with a machine gun. I wonder if Wilf or Arnaldo was good at DIY, if they both were, or if they worked best by combining their skills. I suddenly feel privileged to have been given this window into their lives.
Tears are building in my eyes. “Oh Theo, it’s all a bit overwhelming. To have this link to the past—and everything they went through to be together.”
“I know,” says Theo, “I know.” He puts his arms around me and gives me a hug. He smells of smoke from the bonfire but I don’t mind. As I hug him tighter, my tears fall onto his shoulders. Soon, I’m sobbing.
“Are you OK?” comes a voice from behind us.
We turn around to see Mabel, flanked by her brothers, standing in the doorway.
“What’s the matter?” asks Callum.
“Nothing,” I say, stepping back from Theo and wiping away my tears. “We’re just looking at these photos of Wilf and Arnaldo. What do you think?”
The kids step forward to take a closer look.
“They’re alright,” says Callum. But I suspect he likes them more than he’s letting on.
“They’re the only photos they had of them as a couple,” I comment.
“Why?” asks Archie.
“Well, in those days you couldn’t take photos on phones,” Theo explains. “You had to have a camera and a roll of film that you’d take into a special shop to get developed. And if anyone saw photos of two men kissing, they could report you to the police and get you into trouble.”
The kids look surprised.
“That’s why Wilf and Arnaldo didn’t really stand near each other in the photos you’ve seen around the house,” I add. “But we found these, which they took in photo booths, where nobody could see them.”
Callum nods, taking it in. “In that case, they’re not just alright—I’d say they’re pretty sick.”
Theo cuffs him on the shoulder and I feel the lump in my throat melting.
“Isn’t this lovely?” Theo says. “To have them here with us, like this?”
Mabel agrees. “Yeah, it is.”
And the five of us stand in silence, admiring the photos.
Later that evening—after Theo’s cooked us yet another barbecue—we play a game of cards, and this time the kids manage not to fall out. In between rounds, Mabel picks up her phone. “You know, we’ve not taken many photos on this holiday,” she points out.
“You’re right,” I say, not wanting to remind her that it’s only because she and Callum moaned every time I suggested it.
“Why don’t I take one of you and Dad?” she offers.
Theo puts down the cards he was shuffling and stands up. “That’s a superb idea.”
