So Many Ways to Begin

Can I look? he asked again. She waved her hand towards them, nodding, in a gesture which might have meant be my guest if she hadn't also turned her face away and lifted her cup of tea unsteadily to her lips.

The albums were still packed where she'd put them when she moved out of the house, wedged in betwe

en recipe books and old gardening magazines. He stood in the corner of the room to look through them, knowing already which pictures he wanted, removing them quickly and laying them to one side on the worktop; his and Susan's first days at school, Albert and Dorothy moving into the house, a summer holiday with his grandparents, small square snapshots with rounded edges and faded colours. His mother carried on looking out of the window, fiddling with the sleeves of her cardigan, rolling the cuffs back and straightening them again. Each time he peeled back the plastic cover of an album page it made a sound like tearing paper and she glanced at him anxiously.

You will be careful with those, won't you? she said. He nodded, still flicking quickly through the heavy pages, squeezing each album back into the box when he was done.

Look, Mum, he said when he'd slipped the chosen pictures into a clear plastic binder, are you sure you don't mind?

When they'd had dinner together that evening, the night before Dorothy had moved into the bungalow, some awkward things had been said. She'd drunk too much wine, and had let her anxiety about what he was doing spill out, saying I'm not going to stand in your way but you shouldn't think I'm happy about all this, saying isn't it a bit late now, really? Saying oh this is all Julia's fault. But now, with only a cup of tea passing her lips, and with the sharp summer light filling the small and tidy room, she had nothing left to say.

Really, I don't mind, she said eventually. You go and get on with it. She stood up suddenly, looking around the room as if she wasn't sure where she'd put something, as if she wasn't sure what it was she was looking for, and sat down again. Say hello to Eleanor for me, won't you? she said, her voice sounding tired and faint. Tell her I said to look out for you.

He said that he would, and he carried the cups and saucers across to the sink, rinsing them under the tap and balancing them on the draining rack, glancing up at the clock.

41 Cut fragments of surgical thread, in small transparent case, dated July 1983

It wasn't until he'd been out of hospital for three or four months that Kate saw his scar for the first time. She was fascinated. She knelt beside him and peered down at it, at the two faint dotted lines either side of the ridged pinch of flesh, the scarred surface puckering away into healthy skin. He propped himself up on his elbows, watching her face, the concentration in her eyes, the pursed lips and lowered eyebrows which meant she was working hard inside her young head to process this new information. She reached out to touch it and Eleanor caught her hand with a sharp uh-uh and a shake of the head. Wash your hands first, she said, still holding on to Kate's wrist. Kate looked at her hands. They were covered in soil and grass from where she'd been digging in the far corner of the garden with the bucket and spade Dorothy had given her; looking for museum things she'd said. She stood up and went into the house, looking worriedly at David as she went.

Eleanor smiled at him and shuffled across the ground to kiss his neck and his ear. He broke off a handful of grass and threw it at her as she turned away. She broke off a handful herself, and was just about to throw it back at him, laughing at his cowering face, when they heard the gurgle and splash of water down the outside drain and saw Kate reappear at the back door, holding up her wet hands.

Good girl, Eleanor said, and Kate hurried over to kneel beside David's stomach again. She looked at the scar, and up at him, and back at the scar again. She seemed to be waiting for his permission. He watched her. Be careful, Eleanor said, moving round to sit beside her. He felt like a patient again, lying in bed watching doctors and students make comments about his body, taking it in turns to pinch and prod at his flesh.

Kate's small finger brushed against the damaged skin, pulling away suddenly, reaching back. She traced the line of the scar, and the two dotted lines where the stitches had been, and the pinched line of the scar again. She looked round at Eleanor.

It's like on my elbow, she said, sounding surprised.

Well, said Eleanor, it's similar, isn't it? Kate lifted her arm and ran her finger along the faded scar she'd got from falling on to a piece of glass in the street a year before. She ran her finger along his scar again, and along hers, and smiled up at him, the seriousness gone from her face.

It's like my elbow, she said, as if she thought he hadn't heard her speaking to her mother a moment before.

Yes, he said, it is.

Does it hurt? she asked.

No, he said, not any more. She looked at it again, thinking about something.

Have I got a pendix? she asked.

Appendix, Eleanor said, correcting her. Kate looked up at her mother, frowning.

I said a pendix, she said; have I got one too? She looked down at herself, prodding her stomach. Eleanor smiled.

No, it's an appendix, she said again, and you have got one, don't worry.

Have you got one? Kate asked, looking up.

Yes I have, said Eleanor.

But Daddy hasn't? she asked.

No, Eleanor said quietly, not any more. She looked at David, her eyes narrowing very slightly. Kate looked at his scar once more, satisfying herself that she understood, then stood up and went back to her archaeological exploration in the corner of the garden, plunging her hands into the warm soil to look for Roman pottery, Bronze Age coins, snail shells. David lay down again, the late afternoon sun on his face, and closed his eyes, his own hand reaching automatically for that stiff pinched reminder of a few months before.

He must have woken a few times before he managed to speak, struggling in and out of consciousness, because he didn't remember being surprised to see Eleanor sitting there when he finally opened his eyes.

Hello, he said, and his mouth felt swollen and stuffed with rags and he didn't think she could have heard him. Hello, he said again, the word cracking in half across his dry lips. She looked up at him suddenly, leaning forward and smiling, her eyes wet and blinking quickly. She looked very tired. You alright there love? he said, trying to lick some softness back into his mouth and his words. You been here long? She pulled her chair closer to the bed, reaching for his hand.

A wee while, she said, smiling again and tilting her head to line it up with his. He smiled back and immediately felt a swirl of nausea in his empty stomach.