Click

We look so happy, don’t we? Harold has a hand on my shoulder. The photographer has us positioned just so. Harold is the head of the house. The provider, the man, and as such he’s at the back. On the step. His head is higher than mine. Harold looks kind, has nice eyes. The photographer comments on them. Harold’s hand is on my shoulder. I look happy. It hurts1

Toby, our oldest son, is next to me. Equal. His father wouldn’t touch him. Toby looks happy. He tries to hold my hand, low, so the photographer doesn’t see. Harold brings a knee up to break the contact. Harold squeezes my shoulder. It hurts. Toby doesn’t look directly at the camera. He tries to hide behind his glasses.2

Brian is happy. He smiles with his whole face; his eyes show what the rest of us are trying to pretend. We look happy. Brian is between Toby and I. I hold him with one hand to stop him squirming. Hold him tight. His elbow brushes my stomach and I wince. His head is the lowest. He is the baby. He looks directly at the camera. He’s seen nothing wrong.3

Brian and Toby wear identical jumpers. Reindeer. Christmas scene. Harold dressed them. Try to look normal. Cover up. I have a blouse under my dress. Harold has his top button done up. Everything in place. 4

Harold’s hand is on my shoulder, squeezing on the bruise. I look happy. I try not to cry. 5

The camera clicks. The flash goes off. Tonight I’ll get the boys to pack. We’ll go to my mother’s house.6

Harold can keep the photo.7