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It was tucked between two battered travel guides — Europe on £10 a Day (1974) and a dog-eared AA Road Atlas.
A square photograph, sun-faded at the edges: a family of four at the seaside, the father in dark sunglasses, the mother in a floral dress, two children squinting into the light. Behind them, a strip of grey-blue sea and a row of beach huts painted in candy colours.
No names, no date. Only the glossy surface and the faint smell of dust.
I bought it for 50p and carried it home in the pocket of my raincoat. Now it sits propped on my desk, watching me work.
I don’t know who they are. But I think the boy might have grown up to become a painter, and the girl perhaps writes postcards she never sends.
What do you think their story is?
