Around and around her thoughts swirled. She was kept busy emptying her dad’s house and preparing it to go on the market, but that gave her too much time to think, surrounded by the detritus of his existence. Everywhere there were memories of life with him: the worn saucepans she had to scrub clean after meals, the rough, scratchy towels, the leather belts that hung in his bedroom closet and that still made her shiver.

Preschool broke up for the summer holidays and Nicole had to accompany her to the Bondi house, bringing dolls, puzzles, and drawing materials to keep her occupied. Usually they went to the beach in summer, or to the park, or a museum, so they were missing out by being stuck in a stuffy old man’s house. Val resented it, for her daughter’s sake and her own.

Meanwhile, as if she wasn’t busy enough, she had to maintain standards in her own home, and produce an edible evening meal for Tony. She was constantly occupied but felt disconnected. She lost her appetite, because there was a lump in her throat that made it hard to swallow, and if she did manage a few mouthfuls, they weighed heavy in her stomach. She couldn’t sleep, but lay awake in the dead of night with Tony snuffling and grunting beside her.

Although she felt bone-weary, sick with exhaustion, her mind wouldn’t shut down. The same questions came up time and again. What had happened to her mom? What had her dad been referring to when he said “I didn’t want to kill her”? And what could she do to make her own life better?

* * *

“Mrs. Doyle?” the voice on the phone said. “It’s Graham from the antique dealer’s.”

She felt slow. Who was Graham? “Uh-huh,” she said, trying to nudge her brain into action.

“About one of the items you dropped off for valuation? The camera? It’s a Kodak Autographic, a type they started making around 1914. It’s a lovely camera. Very popular at the time.”

“Uh-huh,” Val repeated. Why was he ringing her?

“I thought you’d want to know there’s a roll of film left inside. Someone forgot to process it.”

Val frowned. Who might her father have photographed? Was her mother on there? Her father’s birth family? “Would it be possible to process the film now?” she asked.

“It will be tricky, but I have a friend who runs a developing studio and I took the liberty of calling him this morning. He’s willing to give it a try, as an experiment, so long as you realize he might not be able to get any clear images. He says it depends on all sorts of things. It can be hard if the camera was kept in a humid climate, for example.”