In the loft, itchy from the fibreglass insulation wedged between the joists, I sit back on my heels, my prize in my hand. The date stamp on the photos I’m holding under the single bare bulb is July 2000. From a quick shuffle through the pile, it quickly becomes clear they were taken during that holiday. I recognize a young Alex Wells, slouching against a wall, frowning at the photographer. He’s a cool kid. There’s another one of him, his arms and legs dangling over the edges of a wheelbarrow while his little brother pushes, running barefoot and bare-chested across the lawn. There are slim pickings of Nick. The photographer has caught him looking up from his book in one, his shoulder and part of his profile in another. In neither does he look happy. I run my finger over it, a lump catching in my throat. What happened to you, my love? If you aren’t dead, then it’s time to come home. It’s not too late.

I discovered, spending time with Nick, that relationships don’t have to be abusive, that you can love without an agenda, that it isn’t a matter of keeping one step ahead of the enemy, of watching what you say and what you do every moment you’re with them. I discovered give and take, tolerance, humour and warmth. I saw that what I’d had with Douglas was unhealthy, and that this had been bad for me and worse for my daughter. I discovered that I had a mind of my own, and that I wasn’t unintelligent, just poorly educated. I should have found some backbone, told Nick what I had done, and taken the consequences. He might have understood. Now, I’ll never know. The past attaches itself to me like cobwebs.

I go through the pictures again. I assume Anna got hold of the film in the aftermath, when the last thing anyone wanted was a visual reminder of that summer. Anna’s mother might be glad to have the pictures of Izzy. She’s a smiley little thing, less robust than the other children whose rude good health appears vulgar beside her translucent pallor, but her face is open, and you can tell she has a good nature. Although that might just be my interpretation, because I know that she was kind to Nick when he needed a friend.

I put it to one side, because I may take it away and see if Alex Wells wants to take it. Anna will never know; I doubt she’s looked at them in years.