Serial – Part 3: Life Through A Lens by Teresa Ashby

His friendly, warm smile had gone, but then, so had hers

The first photos in the album were of Charlotte sitting up, so she had to be at least four months old. And she had teeth! So where did all the newborn baby photos go? It was unthinkable that Scotty hadn’t taken any.

Fiona said Scotty had packed up her cameras when she went off to stay with Charlotte’s parents when her birth was imminent. It was crazy to think she hadn’t used them.

Charlotte was several weeks old when her parents were killed in the car accident. Miraculously, Charlotte had survived it. Scotty brought her home and the rest was history.

Scotty had only told her the bare details of what happened, and if Charlotte ever tried to find out more, Scotty would get upset, so she’d drop the subject.

There was only one person she could ask, and she couldn’t tell her. But perhaps Scotty might have one of those lucid moments that were increasingly rare. It was the only hope she had.

The next day, when Charlotte went to see Scotty, she was sitting in the conservatory. A drawing pad and pencil were on the table beside her. She’d written her name and surrounded it with flowers.

She used to love books, but that was one of her lost skills. For a while she’d tried to keep reading, but even with the shortest novels she’d forget what she’d read and have to go back to the beginning.

That was one of the things that frustrated her. At

The Cedars they were experts in finding things she could do and enjoy, and for the first time Charlotte admitted to herself that Scotty had been right. This was the best place for her.

She turned when she heard Charlotte approaching, and her face lit up in a smile.

‘Hello, love,’ she said in a way that almost fooled Charlotte into thinking she recognised her. ‘What are you doing here?’

‘I came to see you,’ Charlotte said, bending down to kiss her before pulling up a chair.

‘Is Roland coming?’

‘Soon,’ Charlotte said.

‘Good. I miss him.’ Scotty leaned back in her chair for a moment and sighed, then she leaned forward again. ‘Are those photo albums?’

‘Yes. Shall we have a look?’ ‘Oh, yes please,’ Scotty said with such delight that Charlotte’s breath caught in her throat.

‘I took these photos,’ Scotty said. ‘This is Roland before he met you. I couldn’t have wished for a nicer daughter-in-law. You’ve made him really happy, Angela.’ She traced around the

edge of a photo with her finger. ‘You did get married didn’t you? Was it a church wedding like your mother wanted?’

‘They married in the Register Office. Look, here are photos.’

‘I came with you to buy that dress. You didn’t want me to buy it for you, but it looked so beautiful.’

‘That’s right,’ Charlotte said. She didn’t know that.

‘I’m so sorry about your mother,’ Scotty sighed. ‘It must be very difficult. Did she come to the wedding in the end? I can’t seem to…’

She chewed on her lip and stared into the distance as if trying to retrieve the memory, then she sighed and went back to the album.

‘There’s John with Roland,’ Scotty said, gazing at a photo of her husband standing beside their son. ‘Didn’t they scrub up well? Is John coming to see me? Is he still angry with me?’

‘Yes, of course he’s coming to see you, and he isn’t angry with you. Why would he be?’ The lies were necessary, Charlotte had to remind herself. It wasn’t cruel. It would be cruel not to lie. Imagine telling Scotty that John and Roland were both dead and upsetting her, only to have her think them alive again a few hours later.

She lived in a state of looking forward to seeing her loved ones, but she didn’t know the only loved one she had left.

‘Do you know anyone called Alexander?’ Charlotte asked.

‘Yes, of course I do,’ Scotty said. ‘Have you come about the flowers? I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name.’

‘I’m here to see you, Scotty,’ Charlotte said, sensing she was losing Scotty again. ‘We could do a jigsaw if you don’t want to look at the photos any more.’

Scotty gripped the edges of the album. ‘No! Don’t take it away!’

‘Can you tell me anything about Alexander?’

‘He’s a lovely man,’ Scotty said. ‘He would do anything for anyone and he’s always been so kind to me. He gave me some fuchsia cuttings.’

Charlotte’s skin prickled. ‘He’s been to see you?’

‘Well, it would be funny if he hadn’t, wouldn’t it, what with the wedding?’ Scotty said impatiently. ‘Do you know how long I’m going to be here?’ ‘Alexander,’ Charlotte pressed, knowing she shouldn’t, knowing Scotty was tired. ‘Who is he?’

‘Oh, Angela, you are funny! You know very well who he is.’ She stopped smiling. ‘Why do you keep asking things?’

She looked down at the album, her face creased, and suddenly, she swept it off her lap. ‘Take them away,’ Scotty mumbled. ‘I don’t want to see!’

Charlotte sat in front of her laptop, staring at the names she’d just typed into Google. Hitting the search button had never been so difficult.

She’d been here before several years ago, typing her parents’ names into the search bar – but back then she’d been at Scotty’s house.

‘Don’t do that,’ Scotty had grabbed the mouse and closed the window in one swift movement. ‘If you want to know something about your parents, ask me. Don’t look online. You won’t find what

Scotty stopped smiling and said, ‘Why do you keep asking things?’

you’re looking for and you may find something you don’t want to see. Trust me, Lottie.’

‘You had no right to do that,’ Charlotte had muttered in tormented teenage misery. ‘They’re my parents. I have a right to know what happened.’

‘I’ve always been honest with you,’ Scotty said, pulling her into her arms, ignoring the fact she’d gone as stiff as an ironing board. ‘But the internet may not be. Promise me you’ll never look them up. If you have questions, ask me and know you are getting honest answers. Promise me, Lottie.’

‘Or what? You’ll stop me using the computer? This isn’t the only one in the world.’

‘I know that, darling,’ Scotty had said. ‘I wouldn’t stop you using it. Just please, please promise me you won’t look.’

It had piqued Charlotte’s interest even more, but she loved Scotty so much. Scotty was her everything. She’d raised her at a time when her life should have been her own.

She made the promise for Scotty’s sake. And then she asked her the same questions she always asked.

It made her feel closer to them, knowing the small details – their favourite colours, what food they liked to eat and whether or not they liked cats. And as Scotty talked about how the firefighters had rescued her from the back of the ruined car and carried her tenderly to the ambulance, she began to see the sense in Scotty’s words.

What if there were pictures of the car? Or worse? Even at a time in her life when she felt she could take on the world, she wasn’t sure she could handle that. She already knew that you could see things online quite by accident, that you could never un-see. How much worse it would be to see something connected to you.

She held the cursor for a few seconds over the search button, then flicked her finger across the pad and closed the window.

She couldn’t break her promise to Scotty, but she couldn’t ask her any of the new questions she had either. Even if she could, she wouldn’t get any answers.

‘Conservation and Heritage, Charlotte Williams speaking, how may I help you?’

It felt good to be back at work and busy. Her desk was piled high, there were hundreds of emails waiting for her and she’d only been away a week. Yet the weekend itself had seemed so long.

‘Hello, Charlotte. It’s Fiona. Next door,’ she added as if Charlotte wouldn’t know who she was. ‘I hope it’s all right to ring you at work.’

Charlotte’s stomach clenched. ‘Fiona,’ she said.

‘Of course it’s all right. Is something wrong?’

It was ridiculous to think Fiona could possibly be calling with news about Scotty. The Cedars would ring if something had happened.

But this brought it back to her just how many calls she took from Fiona when she was concerned about Scotty, before Charlotte finally admitted to herself that her grandmother needed expert care.

‘Scotty thinks her car has been stolen,’ Fiona had said once. ‘She wants to drive to town. She asked if she could borrow my car.’

‘She mustn’t drive.’

‘I know that. She’s gone back home, but she’s very upset.

She was talking about catching

a bus into town. I’ve tried to reason with her, but I really think you should come home.’

Even now she couldn’t shake off the feeling that if Fiona was calling her, something must be terribly wrong.

‘Not wrong, exactly,’ Fiona said. ‘Calum has just asked if I know how to contact you. I didn’t want to give him your number without permission, so I said I’d call on his behalf.’

Charlotte felt her face burn. ‘Thank you, Fiona. You did the right thing. Why does he need to contact me?’

‘He found something. He thought perhaps you should see it. Can you come over?’

The other phone on Charlotte’s desk began to ring. A colleague came over, a sheaf of papers in his hand. Her screen was full of urgent emails. There was no way she could just drop everything and leave work.

‘Not right away,’ she said. ‘After work, is that OK? Will he be there?’

‘I expect so, but if he’s not, I can let you in. I have a spare key so I can take in deliveries for him. He’s expecting new kitchen units to be delivered.’

‘Thank you, Fiona,’ Charlotte said. ‘I’ll see you later.’

She hung up. What could Calum or Alexander or whatever his name was have found? She’d cleared the house right out before selling it. Nothing had been left behind.

It had to be something small. A piece of jewellery perhaps, found between the floorboards, or a letter that had fallen down a crack somewhere. She’d have to come clean about who she was now, but then again, so would he. ‘Charlotte,’ her colleague said. ‘Can you look at these?’ He dumped the papers on her desk as she answered her phone. At least if she was busy, the day should pass quickly.

When she pulled up outside Scotty’s house later, a different skip was on the drive and it was already full.

She saw the curtain twitch next door before Fiona came out holding up a set of keys.

Scotty’s keys. Charlotte folded her fingers around them, so familiar, such a big part of her life for so long, and yet nothing to her now.

‘He didn’t say what he’d found,’ Fiona said. ‘But he’s left whatever it is in the living room. He should be back soon.’ She looked anxious.

‘Are you alright, Fiona?’ Charlotte asked.

‘Yes, I’m fine. It’s you I’m worried about. Would you like me to make you a coffee and bring it round? Or you’re welcome to come in and have a drink with me if you like. I know it must be hard for you coming back here, love.’

She reached out and gently rubbed Charlotte’s back.

‘I could come in there with you if you like.’

Charlotte nodded, unable to speak for a moment. The kindness of other people was always her undoing. It had been so much easier to cut herself off and not have to face just how hard this was.

‘I’ll be fine,’ she said at last. ‘Thank you, Fiona.’

‘You know there are several of us who would like to visit Scotty,’ Fiona said. ‘We need your permission. I didn’t like to ask before, but would you think about it? I know Scotty probably wouldn’t know us, but she’d most likely enjoy the company and it would mean you didn’t have to go every day.’

‘How do you know I go every day?’ Charlotte asked.

‘Because I know you.’ Fiona smiled. ‘Scotty’s mother had dementia and she loved visitors. Didn’t know anyone from Adam, but she was always happy to chat to someone.

I used to go in and sit with her so Scotty could get out of the house for a while. You knew she lived with Scotty at the end?’

She knew. She’d been wrong to cut Scotty off from everyone. ‘Let me know who wants to visit,’ Charlotte said. ‘I’ll let them know at The Cedars.’

She wondered how long it took Calum to figure out the lift-and-wiggle technique of unlocking the front door as she let herself in.

The house didn’t feel or smell the same, yet as she stepped into the hall it was just like coming home. She closed her eyes, half-expecting to hear Scotty call out from the kitchen, ‘Through here, love. I’m just getting something out of the oven. Reset the smoke alarm for me would you?’

She smiled. Laughed. Scotty was always setting the smoke alarm off, even before she started to get forgetful. She loved photography and gardening, but you could forget anything domestic.

The door into the sitting room creaked a little as she pushed it open. On the bare floorboards next to a garden chair was a faded old cardboard box. How on earth had she missed that?

Her footsteps echoed round the room as she hurried across to the chair Calum had thoughtfully provided, and sat down. The room seemed much smaller without furniture.

The box had been sealed up with sticky tape, but it had long since lost its glue and peeled away easily, leaving smooth dark strips on the cardboard.

Leaning forward, she flipped back the flap of the box and lifted out a book wrapped in yellowing tissue paper. An album!

The first few pages were full of pictures of her parents, her mother heavily pregnant, her father always with a protective arm around her. He didn’t look at the camera, just at his wife.

Her heart contracted seeing the love they had for each other so clearly in their faces.

Scotty had gone mad with the camera. There were pictures of her grandfather too. They must have been the last Scotty took of him because he died, before Charlotte was born. Scotty had told her it was very sudden, but never said how or exactly when he’d died.

Fiona had said ‘they’ went to stay with Roland and Angela when the baby was due, and Scotty had come back alone with Charlotte.

He looked so healthy. Poor Scotty. She’d lost her husband and her only son so close together, and yet she’d stepped up to take Charlotte in.

She turned the pages slowly, drinking in the detail on each one. Another couple appeared in some of the photographs.

She recognised them as her maternal grandparents from the wedding pictures. She didn’t even know their names. What had happened to them? Scotty had always been vague about that.

Angela’s mother had red hair too, like Angela and Charlotte, and she was smiling, looking much happier than she had in the wedding photos. There wasn’t one of those in which she was smiling.

Charlotte had asked Scotty about that a long time ago.

‘It’s a very stressful time for a mother when her only daughter gets married,’ Scotty said. ‘Especially when she gets

‘He didn’t say what he’d found, but he left whatever it is in the living room’

married in a Register Office and you’ve got your heart set on a big church do.’

Was that what Scotty was talking about when she said she was sorry about Angela’s mother? Was that why Scotty went with her to buy her wedding dress?

‘I see you found the box.’

She was so lost in thought she didn’t hear Calum come in. When she looked up he took a step back, almost dropping the paint he was carrying. ‘You? I was expecting someone else.’

‘Fiona gave me the keys,’ Charlotte said coolly as she marked her place with the ribbon bookmark and closed the album.

‘You’re Charlotte? Why on Earth didn’t you say something before? Why did you let me assume you were just some random passerby, hunting for treasure in skips? Why didn’t you say something?’

She stood up and laughed harshly. ‘Why didn’t I say something? That’s rich. Where did you find the box? And I want the truth. I know that you didn’t find it here. You couldn’t have done.’

He put the tins of paint on the floor.

‘The box was in the attic.’

His friendly, warm smile had gone, but so had hers. OK, she hadn’t been straight with him, but he hadn’t been straight with her either, and she was angry – so angry.

Not just with him, but with this whole awful situation.

‘You can’t have found it in the attic,’ she insisted, sounding a lot calmer than she felt. ‘I cleared it out myself. There was nothing left. It was completely empty.’

‘The box was tucked away. You could easily have missed it.’

She laughed again, still harshly, the tremor in it betraying her anger.

‘Oh, stop this,’ she said. ‘Who are you? Why did you visit my grandmother? Why did you buy our house? And why are you lying about your name?’

He shook his head. ‘You’re making a lot of accusations here. I’ve told you who I am and I have not been to visit your grandmother. I don’t even know who she is! I didn’t buy your house and I’m certainly not lying about my name.’

‘So you still claim that your name is Calum?’

‘I’m not claiming anything. My name is Calum. Wait, I’ll show you.’ He dug into his jeans pocket and took out his wallet. He opened it, then changed his mind and tossed it to her. She only just managed to catch it. ‘Take a look.’

It was stuffed with cards, receipts and a few notes. She took out his driver’s licence.

‘Calum Shaw,’ she said, looking up at him. ‘Then why did you tell people your name was Alexander Williams?’

‘What?’ He took his wallet back and shoved it back in his

‘Oh, stop this. Who are you and why did you visit my grandmother?’

pocket. ‘Why on Earth would I do that? What’s Alex got to do with any of this?’

‘You know him?’

‘Of course I know him, and I’m starting to wish I’d just given the box to him and let him deal with it.’

She slumped back down on the chair, not knowing what to say or do next.

‘Look, I don’t know what’s going on with you, but I think we need to talk,’ Calum said, his voice kinder than she had any right to expect. ‘I’m out of milk, but there’s a café down the road. We could get a coffee.’

She checked her watch. She’d be late to see Scotty if she went for a coffee, but Scotty wouldn’t notice. When she looked up at Calum, he reached out and touched her shoulder gently.

‘You look so sad,’ he said. ‘Let me get you that coffee.’

‘Why should I trust you?’ she said.

‘Why should you not?’