She was a little less obsessed now, but still – smoking? He’d have to ask her about it when he gave her the album. Or maybe he shouldn’t include this photo. She might not like it.

As a matter of fact, he wondered whether she would like the photo regardless of the cigarette. She was quite a bit different in it. Her face was fuller, and her arms – she was in a Nirvana T-shirt – were nowhere near as muscular as they were now.

In fact, it didn’t really look like her at all.

The hair was the same, but young Alice had a wider smile and warmer, more expressive eyes.

He opened the next one.

It was a troupe of actors on a stage. It took a while for him to recognize Alice as she was dressed as a boy, a wool cap on her head. It was a pantomime; behind them on the stage was a Christmas tree.

She had never mentioned acting, either. He bent closer, zooming in on her face.

It was clearly the same person as in the other photo, but she bore no more than a passing resemblance to his wife. Had he not known better, he would almost have thought it was not the same person.

Well, people’s appearances changed. They lost weight, gained weight. It wasn’t that uncommon to hear someone say something along the lines of she almost looks like a different person.

His wife had changed a lot, probably after – and because of – her parents’ death.

He just hoped Alice would be OK with being reminded of her former self.

Wast Water, July 2013

Alice

They swam lazy circles in the lake. Alice was aware that next to Brenda’s sleek elegance, she was like a barrel bobbing about.

‘This is magical,’ Alice said. ‘Makes me want to stay here for ever.’

‘It really is,’ Brenda said. ‘Maybe we could stay here for ever.’

It was a bit of an odd thing to say. Alice looked at Brenda, and she was smiling, but the smile seemed forced.

Then the smile fell away, and with a sudden flick of her legs, Brenda lurched towards her. With her left arm she did a freestyle stroke; her right came out of the water, fingers spread wide. Too late, Alice understood what she was doing. Too late, she realized that the hand was aimed at her head. It was like in school swimming lessons when someone ducked you for a joke.

Except this was not a joke.

And this was not a swimming pool.

Brenda’s hand slapped against her head and pressed down with a shocking and intolerable force. Alice kicked her legs hard and circled her hands, trying to counter the pressure from Brenda’s hand.

‘Brenda,’ she gasped. ‘Stop. Please. What are you doing?’

Brenda stared at her. Her eyes were hard and expressionless.

And empty.