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It was a story she liked to tell; it er than herself, tied to a tis to feel a part of She'd told it again a feeeks earlier, looking at the saht So it on the way in, and she'd led the their cups of coffee on thin white saucers while they listened and smiled and nodded, and remembered stories of their own, and went quiet at the appropriate time Whenever he'd heard her tell the story, people had always gone quiet at the same appropriate time

It was taken in 1943, she said, gesturing towards the photo, a s cardboard surround, a na the botto herself firoing away on service for the second time, to the Med, I think, and sent it back from Portsmouth for myhere, as she always did, picturing theover her and her mother while they crouched under the Morrison shelter in the back rooreeting the with the all-clear ringing out down the street, the house safe for another day and the garden streith rubble fro her randparents' house, and that her grandparents wouldn't be co round for tea any more

It was the Med, wasn't it? she asked, glancing across at higed, setically

Don't look at hed

Albert Carter, their father, had been twenty-seven when the picture was taken, but he looked a lot younger; fresh-faced, s broadly, his skin so smooth that it was hard to believe he'd ever had to shave His hair was slicked back, with the coht as a slide-rule, and his smile lifted the sa as a boy The unifor loose around the shoulders, and there was none of the forht have been expected in a portrait photograph, no spit-polished brass, or epaulettes, or braiding; it was a uniform which looked purely functional, ready for the serious business of crewing a ship into battle

Of course, Susan said, I don't re All I can re in the house, like theThe others leant in towards the photograph as she spoke, looking at Albert Carter's fixed and frozen smile He just appeared, she said, there was no discussion, he was just suddenly lurking about the place,up hing, as though she was unsure what sheI always re there, and nobody asking my opinion The others smiled at this, as people usually did

David was going to tell so on to it for a h and crinkled texture of the greying card, turning it over to read the soft pencilled dates and nuain across the scratches scored into the photograph's dull surface Dozens of scratches, mostly too faint to see unless the picture was turned into the light; mostly, except for three deep scars which had split and torn right through the skin of the paper, gouged across the youngface

Susan explained that she'd made these marks, one afternoon when her father had been ho

me for a few months This was the part of the story where people alent quiet, and looked at the picture more closely, or turned to her and nodded, or soing to say She'd been told to take a nap so that her mother and father could have a lie dohile the new baby, David, was sleeping Auntie Julia, whose house they were all staying in until they could find so Restless and bored, Susan took a srabbed the picture from the mantelpiece, and scoured frantically across its surface beforea tearful escape to the bedroom

Theout an ashtray on the hall table to a guest with a cigarette, is that nothing was ever said The picture was replaced with another one, almost identical, and nobody ever mentioned it, she said

Goodness, said a woht red scarf tied around her neck Really? Susan nodded

Not a word, she said We found the das after he died, and I insisted on keeping it I've only recently put it up though, she added The dinner guests peered closely at the picture for a few raduallyroom

Mymy father out of their bed, the woarette s

Anyone want another coffee? Susan asked, as she followed them back to the table

David stood in the hall for athe scratches with his fingers, iirl which they recorded so well He looked at the eyes, the sly and was now gone, and he turned away