Chapter 16
Chapter Sixteen
Matt fed another photograph into the scanner and watched the progress bar creep across the screen. This one showed a barbecue. Three men were caught mid-laughter, and someone in leather pulled a face at the camera.
The photographs had become strangely addictive. Every evening he’d promised himself he’d scan “just another dozen.”
Every evening it had turned into another hundred.
He clicked Save, slid the next photograph into place, and pressed the button again. The scanner hummed.
Matt’s thoughts wandered.
Owen had said casual worked for him. On paper, Matt could see the appeal.
He’d watched enough relationships implode at university to know they weren’t always the fairy tales people pretended they were.
Friends who’d spent months analysing text messages.
Others who’d lurched from one relationship to the next, every breakup somehow louder than the last. People wondering where they stood, hoping the other person wanted the same thing.
And each relationship comprised more guessing than actual talking.
Owen seemed to have stripped all that away. No games, no guesswork, just two adults deciding what they wanted.
Maybe that’s why casual works. If everyone understands the rules, why wouldn’t it?
If neither of them lied, if nobody expected forever, if no one got hurt…
The scanner finished, and Matt removed the photograph. He stared at it.
But that isn’t the whole story, is it?
The casual relationships weren’t what had shaped Owen. Ben had done that.
Everything else had come afterwards.
Matt rested the photograph on the pile. It suddenly seemed obvious.
Owen hadn’t stopped believing in love. He’d loved once so completely that he no longer expected lightning to strike twice.
Maybe that was the difference.
Casual wasn’t replacing the great love of Owen’s life. It was what remained after it.
I think I understand him a little better.
His thoughts went to the digital photo frame hidden in his laptop bag, the one he’d bought that morning, with the intention of giving it to Owen the following day before they went to the reunion.
Owen was going to love it.
Matt had already loaded about sixty photographs onto it. He’d selected a variety. Ben was in quite a few of them. Callum and Cyn were there too, along with images of Owen’s friends crammed together outside pubs. Pride. Brighton. That ridiculous photograph with the bunny ears.
He couldn’t think of a better thank-you for everything Owen had done to make the reunion evening special.
“Time to take a break,” Owen called out from the kitchen. “Do you want a beer? A glass of wine? A snack?”
“A beer would be great.” Matt loaded another photo into the scanner.
“And would you mind if I put some music on?”
He chuckled. “Can I remind you it’s your house? Put on whatever you like.” He grinned. “Unless you and my dad have similar tastes in music, in which case I draw the line at most of the groups from the nineties.”
Owen walked into the room, carrying two glasses. “Hey. What’s wrong with the nineties?” He placed them on coasters on the table, then picked up a photo from the pile. He peered closely at it.
Matt smirked. “Whenever Dad looks at photos, he does an impression of playing a trombone. You know, holding it further and further away?”
With a sigh, Owen reached into the breast pocket of his shirt, removed a pair of glasses, and put them on.
“It comes to us all, eventually.” Then he snorted.
“You know what I found myself doing this morning? I was looking at one of the photos, and I pinched out, trying to make it bigger.” He gazed at the photo.
“I remember this day. My forty-sixth birthday. We spent it with friends.” He smiled.
“One of those days that felt as if it would never end, and I didn’t want it to.
” Then his face tightened. “A few days later, all I wanted was a time machine to go back to it and stay there forever.”
“Why? What happened?”
Owen bit his lip. “Ben had started suffering from seizures, along with severe persistent headaches that were at their worst in the mornings. So we went to see a specialist.” He swallowed.
“They diagnosed glioblastoma, an aggressive brain tumour. Then they told us he could have twelve to fifteen months left.” Owen’s gaze met Matt’s.
“Six months later, he was gone. Turns out their prediction was based on averages.” He huffed. “Trust Ben to be different.”
There was a rock in Matt’s throat. “I’m sorry.”
Owen sighed. “I try not to think about those months. I won’t talk about them either. It was a hideous, painful time. Our friends wanted to be there for us, because I was all Ben had, but most of the time it was just me.”
Matt’s vision blurred.
Owen stared at him, then covered Matt’s hand with his own. “Hey. It’s all right, really. He’s at peace now. He’s not in pain, and he’s safely locked in here—” He tapped his temple. “—and in these.” He gestured to the photos.
Matt didn’t want to wait until London.
He pulled his hand free of Owen’s, reached into the laptop bag beside the table, and took out the box. He held it out.
“This is for you.”
Owen frowned. “What is this?”
“A gift,” Matt said simply.
“You didn’t have to get me a gift. Hell, I should be the one giving gifts. You’ve done so much. And I’m not talking about the stuff I pay you for.” He opened the box, and the frame slid out. Owen stared at it for a second.
“Here.” Matt stood it in its stand, then turned it on. The screen lit up, and a heartbeat later, the first photo filled it.
Talk about some things being meant to be.
It was a photo of Ben and Owen.
Each photo lasted about ten seconds before morphing into the next.
Owen’s mouth fell open, but no words came. He watched in silence as the images drifted across the screen: Ben, Callum, Cyn, friends…. Matt hadn’t even thought about which image would appear first. Somehow, the frame had chosen perfectly.
Owen reached out almost hesitantly, as though afraid touching the frame might somehow stop it. His fingertips rested against the edge while another image dissolved into view.
He let out a slow breath. “I haven’t seen some of these in years.”
“You’ve seen all of them,” Matt reminded him.
Owen smiled without taking his eyes off the screen. “No. I’ve looked at them.” A photograph of Ben laughing appeared. “I don’t think I’ve really seen them.”
Silence fell for several long seconds. When Owen finally glanced up, his eyes were bright. “I don’t know what to say.”
“You don’t have to say anything.”
Owen swallowed. “I think I do.” He looked back at the frame as another photograph faded into the next.
“This…” His voice caught. “This might be the nicest present anyone’s ever given me.
” He stood. “Give me a minute.” Then he crossed the room to the unit holding his CD collections.
Owen ran his fingers along the spines, clearly seeking something specific.
“Aha!” He removed a case, opened it, and slipped it into the player. Soft piano music filled the room.
Matt smiled. “Ben’s?”
Owen nodded. “He always said this album made every room feel calmer.” He indicated the couch. “Bring the frame. I’ll bring the beers.”
Matt carried it over to the coffee table and set it down. Owen joined him, placing the glasses next to it before settling onto the couch.
“Ben loved this album. Sunday mornings, coffee, newspapers…” He smiled. “If this was playing, the world could wait an hour.”
For a while they watched the photographs and drank.
“Thank you.” Owen’s voice rang with sincerity. “This was so thoughtful of you.”
“I’ll add more when I’ve finished scanning them all.” He pointed to the frame. “Am I likely to meet any of these people at the reunion?” Then he grinned. “I love that picture of Mum.”
Owen chuckled. “Second year. She’d just discovered hair spray.”
Matt laughed. “I’ll never tell her you said that.”
“Oh, please do.” Another photograph appeared, this time of Dad. “And this was the first time your dad grew a moustache.” Another chuckle. “Your mum hated it. They argued about it constantly.”
Matt blinked. “My parents argued?”
Owen snorted. “Dear Lord, they bickered about everything.”
He frowned. “I thought they got together because they agreed on everything. At least, that’s the way they tell it.”
Owen grinned. “They got together because they enjoyed arguing with each other more than anyone else.”
He laughed. “You know, now that you say it, that actually sounds like them.”
Another image appeared. “You’ll probably meet her. That’s Diane. She remembered everybody’s birthdays.” Owen stroked his beard. “I wonder if she still does. And what she looks like now.”
“You still look like you. Dad too. I mean, you recognised each other, didn’t you?”
“True.” A photo appeared of a tall, lean guy with black hair. “That’s Mike Whittle.” Owen shook his head fondly. “Within thirty seconds of meeting you, he’ll know where you were born, what you studied, your favourite drink, and what you had for breakfast.”
Matt laughed.
“He was always asking questions. I sometimes thought if anyone was going to work out what was going on between Professor Stevens and me, it’d be Mike.”
Matt gave the photo a quizzical glance. “So they never knew.”
Owen shook his head. “No.”
Matt looked at the younger Owen smiling from the photograph.
They never met the man sitting beside me.
Owen drew a slow breath. “I’m still undecided whether to tell them about my life since university.”
“I got the impression you usually don’t hide it.”
“No. But this feels… different.”
“Because they’ll remember the man you were?”
Owen considered that. “Maybe.” He watched another photograph dissolve into the next. “Or perhaps because they’ll discover the man I became.” He shrugged. “We’ll see how the evening goes.”
For a while, neither of them spoke.
The frame continued its slow procession through more than thirty years of memories. University parties gave way to weddings, birthdays, holidays, Pride marches, Ben, Callum, friends gathered around barbecues, then back again.
Matt found himself wondering how many different lives one man could live, and how none of Owen’s cancelled out the others. They simply belonged together.
Owen drained the last of his beer. “Right. We’d better call it a night. We’ve got a lot to do tomorrow.”
Matt glanced at the frame, still changing photographs. “I’ll leave this running.”
Owen smiled. “I think I’d like that.”
Matt stood, returned to the dining table, and gathered his laptop. As he reached the door, he paused. “Thanks.”
Owen frowned. “For what?”
Matt thought about every conversation they’d shared since he’d walked into Owen’s house.
“For letting me get to know you.”
For a heartbeat, Owen gazed at him. “Goodnight, Matt.”
“Night, Owen.”
Matt headed for the front door and stepped out into the warm evening.
Tomorrow they would travel to London.
He grinned. And maybe we’ll make a few more memories.