Page 22 of Love Is: Two Bodies One Soul

‘Certain. I know Mathew resembles you when you were little, but he?’

‘How do you know what I looked like as a child?’

‘I’ll tell you if you promise not to be angry with me again.’ Sally looped her arm around Owen’s and coaxed him back onto the path. ‘You remember when we went down to Aldershot to clear your family home and get your things?’

‘Yes.’

‘And with a little help from George and Millie, I cleared out your mother’s belongings from her room while you were packing your stuff.’

‘I remember.’

‘I found a photograph of you as a little boy. Younger than Mathew is now, and … don’t be cross. I kept it.’

‘Why?’

‘Because it was a lovely picture. You looked so serious and forlorn. So unloved. It tugged my heart just to look at it. There was another picture of you with your sister, which I put in the box we took back, but I kept the photo of you on your own for myself. I knew it was all I could keep, but ….’ Sally looked up at Owen. ‘You’re not cross, are you?’

Owen scuffed a heel on the tarmac path. ‘No. It doesn’t matter that much. It was only an old photo. I doubt if I would ever have looked at it or shown it to anyone. Have you still got it?’

‘Yes. Do you want it back?’

‘No, you keep it.’ He stared again at the ground.

She squeezed his arm. ‘I found other photos, and we put them in the box we gave you.’

‘Did you?’ Owen tried to remember and failed. He supposed he must still have it, but not at Pimlico. Maybe it was at the Hampstead house. Undoubtedly, Margaret would have put everything in the attic if she hadn’t thrown his stuff out.

Sally went on. ‘There was one of your mum and another of a man in his mid-thirties in army uniform. We guessed he was your dad, even though he didn’t look like you.’

‘I was more like my mum.’

‘You think so?’

Catching her doubt, he said, ‘You don’t?’

‘I’ve only seen that one photograph of her.’ Sally turned and inspected Owen. ‘Honestly, if there is a resemblance, I can’t see it. Maybe you’re a throwback to some tall, dark, handsome ancestor.’

Owen gave her a half-smile.

‘I noticed it was never the three of you together, though, and none of you as a teenager. I assumed the photography stopped when your dad died.’

‘It did. Everything stopped then.’ Owen stared into the middle distance, trying not to remember before returning to the thing that was niggling him the most. ‘What about Mathew? If he’s Henry’s why does he look so much like me?’

‘Oh, lovie …’ she squeezed his arm again. ‘You can’t let go, can you? I’ve already told you he’s not yours. He won’t be thirteen until next month. He was born on 19th November 2003. Nearly twenty-four months after our one night together. Not even elephants can manage a pregnancy that long.’

‘But he looks like me,’ Owen persisted. ‘I nearly had a heart attack when I saw him. Has no one ever commented on the likeness?’

‘No, but that’s because you look like Henry.’

‘I do not!’

‘Yes, you do, Owen. Henry could almost be your father.’

‘Iesu Grist!’ Owen broke away, anger bubbling again, and paced in a circle, memories of his mother’s funeral flowing back .… Henry’s hand on his shoulder, trying to be chummy and calling him “son”. Henry worming his way into the nearest thing Owen had ever known to family life.

* * *

George steeredthe pushchair parallel to the park bench and checked on the older children, happily playing on the swings before he sat down and put an arm around Millie.

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