I was horrified: ‘You weren’t meant to find that bag!’
Bernie was on her way downstairs with a carrier bag
containing many old paper wallets of family photos. The wallets covered trips
to Ireland, the Costa del Sol and Majorca.
‘Well, your girls want to see the pictures of you when you had hair. Don’t shoot the messenger.’
Maude curated the contents of the bag and a daughter peered
over each of her shoulders. Here, indeed, was the evidence that I once had a
big curly head of hair and skin tight stonewashed jeans and a face so innocent
and optimistic that it almost brought me to tears.
The bag also contained pictures of my father looking similarly innocent and optimistic circa 1955.
Aurora took pictures of the pictures on her phone and there
was much amusement around shots of me in a Fuengirola hotel room in my pants.
‘You know that old chess set of yours is in the cupboard on the stairs as well’, said Bernie.
I hadn’t realised that quite so much of my youth was in ‘the
cupboard on the stairs’. It was always the place where family history was haphazardly
archived. I remember finding an old suitcase of Dad’s in there. It was the kind
of cheap, almost cardboard, case that many ‘Paddys’ came to England with –
usually reinforced by some form of strap or belt. Dad’s case contained a cache
of letters from an old girlfriend and a paperback of ‘Juliette’ by the Marquis
de Sade. My guess was it was a novel with saucy bits – but I never got around
to checking.
Bernie joined me at the cupboard and rummaged for a while.
‘There’s the board – under that stuff.’
We moved the pile of ‘stuff’ and revealed what was quite an
ornate chess board with Tudor roses on the black squares. I remembered then
that the pieces were Tudor figures – with Henry VIII as king. Jocasta later
pointed out that having Henry VIII as black and white king was ‘surely a
continuity error.’
‘There’s a carrier bag in there with the chess pieces in. Mum
said, ‘to the right as you open the door’. My guess, then, is far left.’
Bernie laughed and started to offer me some of the Catholic
icons stored at the back of the cupboard. An image of Jesus with lambs at his
feet appeared.
‘Do you want a Jesus?’
She carried on rummaging and found the old family 'Sacred Heart' picture:
‘Do you want a Jesus with a light?’
The Sacred Heart used to hang in the living room when I was
a child. The light signified the presence of Jesus in the house – protecting us.
Indoctrinated as I was as a child, I would panic that Jesus had forsaken us and
that I was destined for Limbo when mum hadn’t fed the meter with coins and
Jesus and his bright red heart were dimmed.
Aurora’s bedroom is a well thought out teenage grotto of
film posters and icons from pop culture and Manga comics.
‘I’ll have a Jesus with a light. It’ll look great my room.’
‘You will not,’ said Bernie. ‘It’s a proper religious thing
for, you know, devotion. Anyway, your dad said it might be worth a few quid one
day.’
