Gabriel finds a large photograph album with a mottled cover. The album is heavy and Gabriel slides it off the bottom shelf and onto the floor. The pages are black and the photographs are slotted into small white triangles of cardboard. There are names under the photos, written in watery white, but Gabriel doesn’t recognise any of the people until he gets to one of a little boy wearing long shorts and sturdy shoes. A cloth cap casts a shadow over the top of his face, hiding his eyes. The boy’s hands make fists at his sides and his mouth looks like Gabriel feels when he’s afraid he’s going to cry and show the old man how unhappy he is.
‘Edward’.
The name has been written beneath the photograph.
Gabriel remembers Dad’s other laugh, the loud and not really happy one. Good old Edward, Good old Dad, and Mum saying, But surely he could help us, Joe?
Is this him? Good old Dad? Gabriel can’t imagine the old man being a little boy. He turns the next page. Maybe he’ll see him again. But there’s nothing on the next page or the next. Just near the back, though, there’s a bigger photograph. A woman with a soft white face and two chins. She’s dressed in a black dress with a white lace collar. Standing next to her is a man with dark hair, his eyes gleaming silver. In front of them are three children, a boy and two girls. Mama, Papa, Edward, Lucy, Abigail, the same writing says. Gabriel bends closer to the photograph. The boy is older here, but his body is still tense, his jaw a hard, angry angle. He stares out as if he would like to rip the camera out of the photographer’s hands.
The man with the silver eyes is grasping a cane. It’s thin, whippy looking. His large hands cover most of the head but they don’t hide its lolling tongue, its fearsome teeth.
Gabriel has learnt the word ‘heirloom’. He heard it the first day they moved into this house. No running around mind, the old man’s voice, crusty and cross. Don’t want you breaking the family china now, do we?
Old plates with blue patterns, silver knives and forks, crystal glasses and bowls. Gabriel has to be careful of them all. They’re family heirlooms, Mum says. All of this belongs to your grandfather and his father before him and back and back. One day it will be yours, Gabriel.
Gabriel looks back down at the cane. He doesn’t want any heirlooms, thank you. He doesn’t want anything that belongs to the old man he refuses to call Grandfather.
There’s the sound of footsteps in the passage, thudding on the wooden floor. Gabriel quickly closes the album and slides it back onto the bottom shelf. He’ll be in trouble if the old man catches him scrabbling around in his past.