That Winters Evening

I set the photo back down on my mothers mantelpiece, I positioned it askkued now, it appeared out of place in-between the neatly arranged crystal vase and the marble clock. As I counted the bodies inside the photo again, I pressed down on the glass leaving my fingerprints behind.

Five people; my mum, my dad, my twin sister Kimberly, my brother Jonathan and me. The Campbell family . I allowed my fingers to traced the red oak frame , it’s still shiny, almost brand new. This wasn’t the sort of photo that had been proudly displayed in the hall in like the other family photos or passed around at family get together’s , BBQs, Sunday roast or christening.

This particular photo had its place on the mantel in the far corner , virtually hidden behind other objects. This was the type of photo to only be glanced at in passing, never touched or spoken about. If I think about it, I can honestly say this is the one and only full family photo that had ever been taken with the all five of the Campbell’s in it.

As I fix my eyes on my twin sister Kimberly, I wondered if the number would have stayed at five if it hadn’t been for ‘that’ winters evening. September 1993, the leaves had just fallen from the trees, the short wet English summer was well and truly over. Autumn had give its wink of approval to winter and the real cold began to settle over Hammersmith.

The Campbell family shouldn’t have ventured out into central London that day. Mum made Kimberly and me both wear thick itchy woollen scarves, Kimberly complained her scarf was scratching her nose and chin.

Jonathan couldn’t find his, he didn’t want to go out anyway, he wanted to stay in and complete the final level of his computer game Galactic Aliens Invader. Mum wasn’t bothered if we didn’t go out this one weekend. She was exhausted from a full week of working and looking after us but dad wanted to go , it was Campbell tradition that every first Saturday of the month was the family day out, winter or no winter.

We all secretly thought dad loved this family time the most. A day at the arcades in Piccadilly Circus or a family movie followed by popcorn and ice cream. I always choose the big green and yellow gobstoppers from the sweet counter over chocolate ice-cream, I loved the way they left my hands and tongue stained in a sweet multi-coloured goo.

We set out at 3pm a little later then we usually do. The last tickets at the cinema to see the Lion King had been sold to another family of five; the only other option was the Ghost Busters movie that Jonathan was dying to see but Kimberly and I at the age of seven were too young to see the certificate of an over twelve movie.

Mum had said it was far too cold for ice cream so dad was running out of ideas. I remember that the wind had been blowing quite fiercely that day, I saw an old man chase a five pound note down the street, he caught it but not before bumping into a lamppost .

The wind rushed past my cheeks and whistled in my ears , people wrapped their coats around them like shields and hurried to where they were going. It was that same wind that blew the five of us into the photo shop that day.

Dad was like a small kid, excited with his discovery, a small shop about seven doors down for the cinema in the same complex next to the bowling alley, I’d never noticed it before. The windows displaying large portraits of people in Victorian and Tudor clothing. The photos had been taken In sepia and black and white, some with hair lines and light burns through them for effect.

Mum explained to Kimberly, Jonathan and I that we were all going to dress up like we were from the American civil war period. I said the outfits looked silly. Kimberly said in a mater of fact way that this is what people wore in the olden days but I don’t think she really knew.

There was so many styles to choose from, I choose a peach silk dress with a pale satin sash. The matching hat had a ridiculous feather. It was so big it just flopped to the side, Kimberly choose a similar style in blue, dad and Jonathan were allowed to hold fake pistols, Kimberly and I tried.

to convince Jonathan to swap his pistol gun with our umbrellas. They were made out of cloth and didn’t even open.

Mum had the nicest dress of all , layers of lace and silk fabric with extra padding underneath. It was so big an assistant from the shop had to help her into some sort of cage and corset before the dress was fitted over it.

The photographer arranged us with mum in the middle and me and Kimberly on either side of her. I was hot and uncomfortable.

The photographer told us not to smile to make the photo look authentic.

A few tourists and couples busied themselves trying on clothes and choosing their theme. The five of us posed for a few more photos before the photographer called “that’s a wrap.” Kimberly and I got to choose which photo would be printed and framed before running off to the changing rooms.

mum yank the dress over my arms while tutting and telling me to hold my arms up straight. It was Kimberly’s turn to have a hot head now. I bent down and crawled under the rack of dresses to find her, she wasn’t there, I went back to where we had been sitting to get our photos taken; she wasn’t there either. Mum and dad started looking for Kimberly too. We looked near the props section. Maybe Kimberly had gone to take a closer look at the plastic pistols , she wasn’t there nor was she in any of the nine changing rooms either.

I think I threw up and passed out while looking for her. I remember dad carrying me to the car and my trainers being soaked in something acidic, from the back seat I could hear mum talking to the police in hysterics. I covered my ears, I knew her head was spinning because mine was too.

The police later informed us that a paedophile had been praying on children in the area. Kimberly was gone, we never found her . Dad and mum put up’ missing child’ poster all around Hammersmith and Chelsea. The neighbours all chipped in but nothing came of that.

As the weeks turned into months there was no new information. Months blurred into years. When I was old enough to ride the bus on my own, on several occasions after school I would visit the photo shop where Kimberly disappeared. The shop was under new management but the shop assistant knew why I was there.

I would check under the tables next to the hats. I really don’t know what I was hoping to find. All I could imagine was Kimberly huddled somewhere, frightened and scared, pulling at her itchy woollen scarf

.

As I matured into a teenage and Jonathan left for Bournemouth university the arguments between mum and dad became more frequent.

We all knew my mother blamed my father for making us go out on such a windy day, my dad blamed my mum for not keeping an eye on Kimberly by the time I moved out four years later they hardly spoke at all.

Its been twenty years since Kimberly went missing. I straightened the photo and kissed my mum on the cheek and thanked her as she entered the living room with my birthday cake, five plates and twenty seven red candles. All four of us took our place on the sofa . Mum pressed the timer on the camera, she carefully cut five slices, one for me, one for dad, one for herself and Jonathan and the last slice is always set next to an empty chair for Kimberly just in case she is found and comes home one day.

I set the photo back down on my mothers mantelpiece, I positioned it askkued now, it appeared out of place in-between the neatly arranged crystal vase and the marble clock. As I counted the bodies inside the photo again, I pressed down on the glass leaving my fingerprints behind.

Five people; my mum, my dad, my twin sister Kimberly, my brother Jonathan and me. The Campbell family . I allowed my fingers to traced the red oak frame , it’s still shiny, almost brand new. This wasn’t the sort of photo that had been proudly displayed in the hall in like the other family photos or passed around at family get together’s , BBQs, Sunday roast or christening.

This particular photo had its place on the mantel in the far corner , virtually hidden behind other objects. This was the type of photo to only be glanced at in passing, never touched or spoken about. If I think about it, I can honestly say this is the one and only full family photo that had ever been taken with the all five of the Campbell’s in it.

As I fix my eyes on my twin sister Kimberly, I wondered if the number would have stayed at five if it hadn’t been for ‘that’ winters evening. September 1993, the leaves had just fallen from the trees, the short wet English summer was well and truly over. Autumn had give its wink of approval to winter and the real cold began to settle over Hammersmith.

The Campbell family shouldn’t have ventured out into central London that day. Mum made Kimberly and me both wear thick itchy woollen scarves, Kimberly complained her scarf was scratching her nose and chin.

Jonathan couldn’t find his, he didn’t want to go out anyway, he wanted to stay in and complete the final level of his computer game Galactic Aliens Invader. Mum wasn’t bothered if we didn’t go out this one weekend. She was exhausted from a full week of working and looking after us but dad wanted to go , it was Campbell tradition that every first Saturday of the month was the family day out, winter or no winter.

We all secretly thought dad loved this family time the most. A day at the arcades in Piccadilly Circus or a family movie followed by popcorn and ice cream. I always choose the big green and yellow gobstoppers from the sweet counter over chocolate ice-cream, I loved the way they left my hands and tongue stained in a sweet multi-coloured goo.

We set out at 3pm a little later then we usually do. The last tickets at the cinema to see the Lion King had been sold to another family of five; the only other option was the Ghost Busters movie that Jonathan was dying to see but Kimberly and I at the age of seven were too young to see the certificate of an over twelve movie.

Mum had said it was far too cold for ice cream so dad was running out of ideas. I remember that the wind had been blowing quite fiercely that day, I saw an old man chase a five pound note down the street, he caught it but not before bumping into a lamppost .

The wind rushed past my cheeks and whistled in my ears , people wrapped their coats around them like shields and hurried to where they were going. It was that same wind that blew the five of us into the photo shop that day.

Dad was like a small kid, excited with his discovery, a small shop about seven doors down for the cinema in the same complex next to the bowling alley, I’d never noticed it before. The windows displaying large portraits of people in Victorian and Tudor clothing. The photos had been taken In sepia and black and white, some with hair lines and light burns through them for effect.

Mum explained to Kimberly, Jonathan and I that we were all going to dress up like we were from the American civil war period. I said the outfits looked silly. Kimberly said in a mater of fact way that this is what people wore in the olden days but I don’t think she really knew.

There was so many styles to choose from, I choose a peach silk dress with a pale satin sash. The matching hat had a ridiculous feather. It was so big it just flopped to the side, Kimberly choose a similar style in blue, dad and Jonathan were allowed to hold fake pistols, Kimberly and I tried.

to convince Jonathan to swap his pistol gun with our umbrellas. They were made out of cloth and didn’t even open.

Mum had the nicest dress of all , layers of lace and silk fabric with extra padding underneath. It was so big an assistant from the shop had to help her into some sort of cage and corset before the dress was fitted over it.

The photographer arranged us with mum in the middle and me and Kimberly on either side of her. I was hot and uncomfortable.

The photographer told us not to smile to make the photo look authentic.

A few tourists and couples busied themselves trying on clothes and choosing their theme. The five of us posed for a few more photos before the photographer called “that’s a wrap.” Kimberly and I got to choose which photo would be printed and framed before running off to the changing rooms.

mum yank the dress over my arms while tutting and telling me to hold my arms up straight. It was Kimberly’s turn to have a hot head now. I bent down and crawled under the rack of dresses to find her, she wasn’t there, I went back to where we had been sitting to get our photos taken; she wasn’t there either. Mum and dad started looking for Kimberly too. We looked near the props section. Maybe Kimberly had gone to take a closer look at the plastic pistols , she wasn’t there nor was she in any of the nine changing rooms either.

I think I threw up and passed out while looking for her. I remember dad carrying me to the car and my trainers being soaked in something acidic, from the back seat I could hear mum talking to the police in hysterics. I covered my ears, I knew her head was spinning because mine was too.

The police later informed us that a paedophile had been praying on children in the area. Kimberly was gone, we never found her . Dad and mum put up’ missing child’ poster all around Hammersmith and Chelsea. The neighbours all chipped in but nothing came of that.

As the weeks turned into months there was no new information. Months blurred into years. When I was old enough to ride the bus on my own, on several occasions after school I would visit the photo shop where Kimberly disappeared. The shop was under new management but the shop assistant knew why I was there.

I would check under the tables next to the hats. I really don’t know what I was hoping to find. All I could imagine was Kimberly huddled somewhere, frightened and scared, pulling at her itchy woollen scarf

.

As I matured into a teenage and Jonathan left for Bournemouth university the arguments between mum and dad became more frequent.

We all knew my mother blamed my father for making us go out on such a windy day, my dad blamed my mum for not keeping an eye on Kimberly by the time I moved out four years later they hardly spoke at all.

Its been twenty years since Kimberly went missing. I straightened the photo and kissed my mum on the cheek and thanked her as she entered the living room with my birthday cake, five plates and twenty seven red candles. All four of us took our place on the sofa . Mum pressed the timer on the camera, she carefully cut five slices, one for me, one for dad, one for herself and Jonathan and the last slice is always set next to an empty chair for Kimberly just in case she is found and comes home one day.