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None of the people in the pictures look as though they know they’re being photographed, they’re all looking away slightly, unconcerned, uninvolved.
All the pictures have something in the corner, a window-frame, a curtain, a part of a front door, and all of the pictures look like secrets.
There’s a picture of me, I’m walking away down the street, I’m turning my head back to look at something, and on the back he’s written my name, he’s written something else and then crossed it out with thick repeated lines.
I look at each card, almost everyone on the street photographed and noted, sometimes a name, sometimes a comment, I look at each one in turn and when I have finished I stack them all in a neat pile.
The woman from over the road, the mum of the twins, standing at an open upstairs window, looking into the street, smiling, looking much younger than she must have been.
The man from next door, holding his hat off and pushing his fingers across his head like a comb, on the back it says I think they have an allotment somewhere but I think only his wife goes there.
I remember seeing her, pulling a shopping-bag trolley with a garden spade waving out of the top, trundling past, already wearing her gardening gloves, turning to us and saying hi-ho.
The man who was always washing his car, an empty bucket in his hand, a wet stripe down the front of his shirt as though he’d been running a race.
The young couple from the top flat opposite, I used to hear them arguing all the time but the picture shows them hand in hand and he is laughing.
There are other photos as well, without people, stuck to the cards without any explanation on the back, an armchair in an alleyway, a lamp-post painted red and green, a pigeon flying past with a twig in its beak.
A picture of a pavement by a bus stop, chickenpoxed with grey spots of spat chewing gum.
But mostly the pictures are of people, and mostly people in the street, the boy with the pierced eyebrow, the thin father of the kid with the tricycle, the man in the shop, standing behind his counter and smiling broadly into the camera.
On the back it says he was the only one I could ask, his name is Mr Rozi.
He says did you know all those people, I say I recognise them, I didn’t really know any of them, he says no.
He takes more things out of the box, a handful of curtain hooks, a jamjar full of cigarette ends.
He looks at the jar, he looks at me and he laughs, he says some of this stuff, it’s a bit, I don’t know, and he picks up the curtain hooks and starts passing them from hand to hand, letting them fall from one to the other like dominoes.
I say if he collects this much stuff while he’s travelling he’ll be driving a lorry by the time he comes back, and he looks up and half-smiles and the phone rings.
I get up and answer it, and Sarah says oh my God I don’t believe it.
I say hi, alright, I got your message, what’s up, what don’t you believe?
She says I just spoke to your mum, I lost your number so I called her to ask for it and she said she was worried about you, she said she thought I knew.
I say knew what, she says what do you think, I close my eyes and swear and turn away from the room, and as I do so I hear Michael picking up the teacups and carrying them through to the kitchen.
I say, oh, so she told you, she says yes I couldn’t believe it, I say I’m sorry I was going to tell you, I was just waiting, I was just waiting for, for a little while.
She says how long have you known when is it due who was the why didn’t you I mean, and her words come out all tangled and rushed, like a corrupted email.
I say Sarah I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about it before, but I really don’t want to talk about it now, not right now.
She says oh, sorry, and her voice sounds punctured.
I don’t want to upset her, I say shall we meet up, soon, do you want to come round?
Okay she says, okay, maybe at the weekend, that would be good I say, there’s a lot to talk about, we’ve got a lot of catching up to do, and she laughs a little, nervously.
She says, but, are you okay?
She says, your mum, she was worried, she seemed really worried about you.
I say I’m okay, I’m fine, Michael’s here, he just came round, I think we’re going somewhere for lunch, I’m okay, thanks for ringing, I do appreciate it, really.
