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Alright, Kate said eventually. We're finished now, can we go out? David stood over the table, looking at each of the family trees.
These look really good, he said. Did you all manage to fit everyone in? Kate nodded; the other girls shrugged.
Yeah and we've finished now Dad, Kate said, tucking all the pens back into their plastic pouch. Can we go out?
David backed away, raising his hands. Sorry, he said. Pardon me for taking an interest. Of course you can go out - where are you going?
Park, Kate said as they all stood up.
Well, make sure you cross at the crossing, David said. Bye girls, he added, as the three of them slipped out through the door.
Bye Mr Carter, they mumbled back.
Say hello to your parents for me, he added, but the front door was already closing and they were gone.
47 Envelopes w/Aberdeen postmarks, occasional 1984-2000
A letter came for him at the museum. It was from Donald, Eleanor's brother, with a photograph of his eldest son's first baby, and a short note saying when he'd been born and how much he weighed and that the mother and father were doing fine. It is strange to find myself a grandfather already, the note said, and young Eleanor a great aunt too. But we are none of us getting any younger.
Where did he get the address from? Eleanor asked when he showed her, putting the photograph down and looking at the envelope instead.
Eleanor, David said, impatiently; it can't have been difficult, can it? There's only one museum in Coventry. That's not the important thing, he said. She put the envelope down, closing and rubbing her eyes for a moment.
How are you feeling? he asked. Eleanor shrugged.
Fine, she said, fine. Why?
I was just wondering, he said. Do you miss them? She sighed, and stood up, and started to clear the table.
David, she said, don't. I mean, yes. Of course I do. But there's nothing I can do about it now. She carried the dishes through to the kitchen and closed the door behind her.
David gathered up the photo, the envelope, the note, tucking them into his jacket pocket.
I trust this finds you both well, the note said. We often wonder how you are keeping.
The letter had arrived almost a week earlier, but Eleanor had been in a strange mood when he'd got home, brittle and tearful, and on Friday morning she'd refused to get out of bed. He'd known immediately that she was having one of her increasingly unusual and short-lived depressions; that he would have to take Kate to his mother's for the weekend and let Eleanor sleep, and be there if she wanted to talk but more likely leave her alone while she waited for the increased dose of medication to grind into effect. By Monday evening she'd been well enough to come downstairs and eat with them but he'd waited another two days before taking Donald's letter from his jacket and showing it to her. He listened to her in the kitchen now, remembering when a weekend like the one they'd just had would have stretched into weeks and sometimes months; dark slow days when he would flounder helplessly and resentfully around, wanting desperately to make things better but unable to find any way of doing so.
It was hard to say what had happened, really, what had changed. They hadn't spoken about it much. When Kate was born he'd thought that she might be cured, that the energy and devotion she was putting into raising a daughter might perhaps let some light into the darkened room her life had sometimes become. But that turned out not to be quite true. And then later he'd thought, guiltily, that the time she'd spent looking after him when he came out of hospital had cured her, that being relied upon in that way had given her some strength or vitality or reason to be. But that had turned out not to be the way things were either. These things were partly true, some of the time; they helped, and she never again sank so deeply into the speechless unreachable despair she'd struggled through before Kate had been born. She still had bad days, bad weeks, but she'd learnt to live with it somehow, had lost her fear of it, had found, crucially, a sympathetic and imaginative doctor who'd worked to develop the best levels of medication and treatment for her. It had become just another part of their lives now; something they dealt with and wondered occasionally how it had come so close to breaking the both of them.
Do you want a hand in there? he called out, standing up suddenly. Eleanor appeared in the doorway, drying her hands on a tea towel.
It's okay thanks, she said, smiling. I've finished now.
48 Photographs of Kate at eight years old, with birthday cards, 1984
His mother spotted them first, over by the ice-cream van. Isn't that your friend from work? she said to David. What's her name - Ann? He turned, and saw Anna standing there with Chris, laughing. He felt his body tensing for a moment, and turned away.
It's Anna, he said, correcting her, reaching across for another sandwich, hoping someone else would say something. Susan turned to look.
Aren't you going to say hello? his mother asked, lifting her hand towards the two of them, trying to catch their eye. Eleanor shifted round on the blanket and glanced at David.
I see her at work every day, David said, trying to sound indifferent. She probably sees enough of me as it is, he said.
Yes, but, his mother said, waving in their direction, you could offer them some birthday cake at least. Hello! she called out suddenly, waving more vigorously; Anna! Hello! David stood, and waved as well, taking a few steps towards them. They looked over, Anna waving back, Chris nodding and moving closer towards her. Come and have some birthday cake! Dorothy called, beckoning them over and pointing at the half-eaten cake in the centre of the blanket. They hesitated, looking at each other, looking at David. Chris looked over his shoulder, and said something into Anna
's ear. David watched them, and noticed Chris wiping a hand on the back of his trousers, and noticed Anna avoiding his eyes.
The birthday picnic had been his mother's idea. Susan came, with her children, and they let Kate choose three friends from her class to invite, and they all sat round a chequered blanket eating crustless sandwiches and crisps, drinking fizzy drinks, and singing happy birthday as Kate waited to blow out the eight pink candles on the chocolate ladybird cake Dorothy had magically produced from a box in her wheeled shopping bag. By the time Dorothy spotted Anna and Chris, the children had got bored of sitting down and were chasing each other around the park, playing a complicated game which Kate appeared to be making up as they went along.
