and read, however briefly, about the history
of post-mortem photography. “The bodies
were arranged so as to appear lifelike,” she
mouthed. So in actual fact, the resulting
image became more a keepsake than any
morbid reminder. Collecting the pictures
of strangers, though, didn’t seem to make
sense. But then how does one explain
the activities of antique collectors? They
select discarded objects and paraphernalia
—things which no more belong to them than
to their former owners now. Maybe that was
it — the idea of belon ging. That would make
family photo albums a distant cousin and
explain away this narcissism of hers.
Flittingly, her eyes fell to her watch, and
then to the floor again. They travelled along
the line and settled on an end picture that
was no less dramatic than the others, only
different. Now her hair was blonde. Not a
natural blonde. Not even a salon blonde. It
was unapologetic and out of a bottle. But
it suited her, as though the fake colour of
her hair had replaced the necessity to fake
a smile. That’s when Finn came on the
scene–final year at uni when life still held
some excitement for her. She had spent
the summer months in Florida working at a
summer school for children and when she
returned, she had appeared healthier like
something radiant, sun-kissed and fun.
They had travelled the west coast of Ireland,
combing the beaches for heart-shaped
pebbles and writing sexual messages in
the sand. They had turned the camera on
themselves to record the windswept and
winsome moments that would carry them
through a marriage. It was a while until
the cracks began to show, and even now he
didn’t know her. He knew Eve the woman
he married, Eve the wife, Eve the mother,
even Eve the wonderful cook who never ate
‘Paula’ by Julia Corsaro
especially much. But he didn’t know Eve
before Finn; a life in pictures. She stared at
the clock on the wall in a hopless fight and
frowned softly. The pictures would have to
be gathered neatly — in order — and slid
carefully inside the envelope. Then she would
climb the stairs, treading lightly nearest the
skirting board so as not to wear away the
new carpet — the children would do that —
and go to the room at the end of the landing.
She turned to the drawers nearest the spare
bed and pulled open the third one down.
Once the envelope had been laid to rest, she
straightened up catching sight of herself in
the mirror where she paused to examine her
face — now gracefully older if powdered over.
She was not so unappealing. So if that was
all Finn could see and all he would know, her
daily life of smiles could resume. Because
her reflection could change. A reflection can
lie. Photographs would only betray her.
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