Chapter 41
On the outskirts of Aviemore, they passed the turn-off that headed to Inverness and eventually the airport. ‘I think you missed the exit.’ Marcus turned in his seat as the road sign receded.
‘I’ve got one more stop before we leave.’ Jake motioned to the glove compartment.
Marcus opened it and pulled out the two crumpled envelopes and dog-eared photograph that Jake had bizarrely stuffed in there when Marty had appeared, unsure why he had wanted to keep them from uninvited eyes.
‘I’m pretty sure that’s not me.’ Jake glanced at Marcus, who was studying the photo. ‘Look on the back.’
‘I know what’s written on the back,’ Marcus didn’t sound convinced. ‘Did you open this one?’ Marcus held up the second envelope.
‘No – what’s inside?’ said Jake, fully expecting Marcus to tell him.
‘I don’t know,’ said Marcus, but he must have caught the expression on Jake’s face because he added, ‘For your information, I do not go around opening other people’s letters. They were on the floor. When I picked them up, this photo had slipped out …’ He held up the photo of the little boy as he glared at Jake.
‘Sorry,’ Jake said sheepishly, giving him a quick glance.
There was a moment’s silence.
‘So, do you want me to open this – or what?’ Marcus held up the unopened envelope.
Jake sighed heavily. He knew Marcus wasn’t going to let it drop, especially if he thought somebody they didn’t know might have photos of Jake – however unlikely that was. The likeness was uncanny, but Jake was convinced it wasn’t a photo of himself.
He glanced at Marcus. ‘Open it.’ It didn’t interest him in the least. What he was interested in was returning the envelopes and heading straight home. He listened to the rip of paper and the rustle of Marcus’s hand in the envelope.
‘What have we here?’ said Marcus in a peculiar tone of voice.
Jake briefly took his eyes off the road. Marcus was leafing through several black-and-white photographs. ‘What is it?’ said Jake, trying to catch a glimpse of the photographs.
‘Are we going to see this Arnold fellow who gave you these?’ Marcus said slowly.
‘Well now,’ Jake paused while he made a right turn, ‘I am taking them back.’
‘Taking them back?’ Marcus repeated. ‘What do you mean taking them back? They’re our photographs.’
It took a moment for what Marcus had said to sink in. ‘What do you mean they’re our photographs? Show me them.’ Jake took a hand off the steering wheel as Marcus passed him a photograph.
‘Arnold Wright had better explain how he came by these,’ said Marcus, rifling through the remainder.
‘Mr Wright can’t tell us anything,’ said Jake, holding up the photo so he could take a closer look while keeping an eye on the road ahead. Jake recalled that Arnold kept referring to the letters, so obviously he had no idea that the envelopes contained old family photos of no consequence; he was going to be hugely disappointed.
‘Maybe Martha can explain,’ said Marcus.
‘No, she cannot,’ Jake said emphatically.
‘Why – is she dead?’
‘Not quite yet, but she’s not well enough to talk,’ Jake replied, his concentration wandering from the road for a moment.
‘Watch it!’ Marcus yelped, making a grab at the steering wheel. They were careering across the road into the path of an oncoming car.
Jake slapped Marcus’s hand away from the steering wheel and corrected the drift. When he thought he had sufficient control of himself, and the car, he held up the photo again to take a quick look. ‘It’s my house!’ said Jake in surprise. He looked at Marcus.
‘For god’s sake, keep your eyes on the road, man; I want to get there in one piece!’ Marcus snatched the photo out of Jake’s hand, spoiling for a fist in the face. ‘Look, why don’t you just pull over, and then I’ll give you the photos.’
Jake didn’t want to stop. He now had urgent questions he wanted to ask Arnold about how the photographs, taken at his house, had come to be in Martha’s possession. ‘Describe them to me.’
There were four photos, all taken at The Lake House – some in the house and some in the grounds. Without actually seeing them for himself, it was impossible for Jake to tell whether they were taken before or after he was born – but the photos were old. In all, Marcus counted five people present in the photographs – Jake’s parents, William, Aubrey and a woman Marcus didn’t recognise.
‘What does she look like?’
‘She’s got long hair, almost to her waist, looks kinda thick and silky and …’
‘Blonde?’
‘Yeah – do you know her?’
‘Martha.’ Jake remembered Arnold’s words: that’s the first thing people notice about her.
Jake turned up the driveway and stopped outside Cedar Grove.
‘When do you suppose these were taken?’ said Marcus, passing the photographs to Jake once he’d turned off the car engine.
‘Hard to say, precisely,’ Jake said, peering at a photo of the group. They were all linking arms, their right feet swinging in the air as if they were in the middle of some sort of synchronised line-dancing routine. And they all looked as though they were finding it incredibly funny. Jake put the photo down without comment.
‘Don’t you think it’s odd that Grace isn’t in any of these?’ Marcus commented.
Jake could see Marcus’s point. William had to be well into his thirties in these photos, and he would have been married to Marcus’s mother Grace for a good ten years before they were taken. Jake shrugged. ‘There are only a handful of photos here,’ Jake pointed out. ‘She’s probably in some of the others on that roll of film. Perhaps she was the one taking the photos.’
Or maybe it was simply the case that his parents, and Martha, were William and Aubrey’s friends and not hers. Jake didn’t say out loud what he was thinking, especially as his next thought was that Grace could be a bit of a snob, whereas Jake remembered his parents were like William – just down-to-earth, hardworking people.
Marcus looked at him doubtfully as he handed Jake the next photo. In it were Jake’s father and William, both standing in a relaxed pose, William with a hand on Jake’s father’s shoulder, who was laughing as though somebody had just told an extraordinarily good joke.
The next photo could have been a carbon copy, except that Aubrey had joined them and was standing beside Jake’s father, sharing the joke.
The next photo was different to the others. The two women had been photographed unawares; at least, that was how it appeared to Jake. He recognised the hallway in his house where Martha, her back to the camera but her silky locks giving her away, was pointing in the direction of the stairs for the benefit of the second woman, whose profile Jake recognised – it was his mother. He traced the line of Martha’s outstretched hand to the stairs. About two-thirds of the way up, deep in shadows, a small, round face was looking down on them through two wooden spindles.
‘Do you see that?’ Jake passed the picture to Marcus, pointing at his find. ‘I think I can date these photos. That’s definitely me, probably spying on my parents’ friends. I must have been around four. It would have been shortly before they died.’
They both fell silent.
Marcus turned the picture over and showed Jake the back, on which was scribbled a name and a date. The date was about right, but the name was wrong.
‘Ralph,’ Jake said. ‘I could have sworn that was me in the photo.’ He pointed at the face peering through the banister.
‘Martha’s son?’ Marcus asked.
‘Must be.’
‘So, where were you ?’
Jake shrugged. ‘Probably hiding from all the visitors again.’
Marcus turned in his seat. ‘What do you mean – again ?’
‘I was kind of a shy, introspective kid.’
‘Yeah – right.’
‘No, it’s true. Obviously all that changed when I came to live with you, Eleanor, and your parents. But when I lived with my parents at The Lake House, and with my father away on tours with the army, there would just be me and my mother. She’d have lots of friends to stay. She was always throwing open the doors to The Lake House. I’d often retreat to my room with all the adults about.’
‘Well, it sounds as though that one time, Martha must have brought her son with her. You would have had someone to play with.’
‘I don’t remember that.’
Marcus said, ‘Why are you surprised? It was a long time ago, and you were only very young.’
Jake nodded. ‘I suppose you’re right.’ He looked at the photos, convinced he now knew what all this was about. Arnold had handed him the envelopes in the hope that he could discern what Martha so desperately wanted, because whatever purpose Martha had for these photos was now lost to the condition she was suffering from. And Jake had it figured. ‘That’s it!’ he said. Martha was looking for a son she had lost touch with. That was what the photos were all about – people who knew her and her son, and might be able to locate him for her.
He told Marcus his thoughts. ‘I’m now guessing,’ he added, ‘that Martha was a friend of my parents and just happened to be there that day when William and Aubrey paid a visit.’
‘Hmmm,’ said Marcus, not sounding convinced.
‘What do you mean – hmmm?’ Jake though it was obvious.
Marcus held up the photo with them all linking arms. ‘Don’t you think they look altogether a bit too chummy for people who have just met?’
Jake stared at Martha, comfortably ensconced between Aubrey and William in the lineup. He really didn’t care which of them had known each other all those years ago. What mattered to Jake was that these photos explained something. On his visit to see Arnold and Martha, he’d had a distinct sensation of déjà vu; he’d been to Cedar Grove before as a child. The fact that his parents had known Martha explained why he’d visited there as a child. She must have been living there for many years. It was a question he felt like putting to Arnold – how long had she been here?
Marcus said, ‘I don’t get it – where’s this kid, Ralph’s, father?’
‘Perhaps he was taking the photos?’ suggested Jake.
Marcus shook his head. ‘No, I don’t think so. I think he was taking the photos!’ Marcus handed over another photo, surprising Jake that he had held one of them back until now.
On the back was the name Ralph .
Jake scratched his head. ‘Okay, I’m really confused now.’
‘Take a look.’ Marcus said nonchalantly.
Jake flipped the photo over. He looked up at Marcus.
Marcus shrugged and said, ‘He was always full of surprises.’
It was a photo of Aubrey, standing on the lawn in the sunshine, one hand tucked neatly in the front pocket of his suit jacket. The other held a cigarette with which he was pointing at something or someone out of camera frame and smiling broadly.
Jake put the photo of Aubrey back in the envelope with the others. Aubrey had always been vague when it came to his past, his background before meeting William, so this piece of news didn’t surprise Jake in the least. Especially since he had already found out, courtesy of the British police, that Aubrey Jones did not exist. So, Jake finally knew his real name – Ralph.
Jake opened the car door.
‘Where are you going?’
‘I’m still giving these back.’ Jake put one foot on the gravel drive.
‘But isn’t it odd? There’s a photo of some kid called Ralph, and he’s called Ralph too?’ Marcus snatched the envelopes out of Jake’s hand.
‘Just what do you think you’re doing?’ Jake turned to see Marcus opening the passenger side door.
‘I want to find out more about these, and I wouldn’t mind knowing just who Aubrey Jones is – for real.’ Marcus got out.
‘Look, I feel the same. Give them here. I’m going back in.’ He glared at Marcus. ‘On my own.’