I notice I'm chewing on the inside of my mouth again and mindfully stop before anyone notices.
We reach the final pages of the album and I feel as though a balloon has been deflated inside me.
The collection ends with some snaps of mine and April's respective graduations. Here she again has confidence that beams from the page, whilst I simply look awkward; pale and clumsy in a black cap and gown. Sandy strands from a badly-gauged fringe cling greasily to my forehead, whereas April's hair is sleek and forms a perfect amber sheet flowing over her shoulders.
But something isn't right. I flick back a few pages. I thought there would be more pictures than this. Not that I can visualise any in particular. Surely some of Will should be included too. I'm certain I remember him ending up in at least a few family shots.
I must be remembering wrong.
What is odd though is that the graduation shots appear at the end of the album, even after April's post-university travel snaps.
My fingers slip under the plastic of the first of the blank pages at the end. The film is loose, as though it has recently given up its memories.
'Dad, are there some photos missing?'
'Not sure, Love. I left the albums out so your mother could have a look through for the service. She couldn't find any she liked though. That's why we had to use April's Facebook picture, wasn't it?'
Perhaps Mum took some out for herself. That would explain the missing images.
Dad's afternoon surprise has left me feeling exhausted, drained of energy. He looks at me expectantly from his wingback leather chair. 'Well, what do you think, eh?'
'Yes, it was great ... seeing all these photos again. It brings back so many memories.'
Will gets up. He declares he will make us all some tea and disappears into the kitchen.
'I know what you mean,' my father says. 'I was sitting here last week myself going through these books. Having a little sob to myself, I was. I think your Dad is getting soft in his old age.'
'It's all right to have feelings, Granddad,' Eva says.
'That's what Penny said when she found me.'
'Found you? Don't you keep your door locked, Dad?'
'Of course not. I leave it open for guests to come and go during the day, don't I? I bet she thinks I'm a right old softie, now.'
'Don't worry about it, Dad.'
Later, I realise my father still has a bee in his bonnet about getting Eva to send something through the post. He insists on taking her out to the village paper shop to purchase a birthday card for her Grandmother.
'Good idea. I'll come with you,' I say, moving to the hall for my shoes.
'No need, Hannah, Love. We won't be long. Perhaps you and Will can come up with some ideas for how we can spend next week.'
I'm left alone in the hall as he shuts the front door behind himself and Eva. I caught only a brief glimpse of her before she was whisked out the door and vaguely register that she has applied some eyeliner around the corners of her hazel eyes. I hadn't noticed that when we were at the zoo. Have I been paying her enough attention with everything that has been going on lately?
I shall have to rectify that when we get home. I know I've certainly let other things slip.
Back in the lounge, I perch myself on the settee. Now that my daughter is beyond my watch, I feel a little on edge, unsure of what to do with myself.
Will comes into the room and sits down too, pulling me closer to him and putting his warm arms around me.
The mild scent of his aftershave fills my senses this close. He brushes my hair onto one shoulder as his lips brush the back of my neck. The bristling of his beard causes goosebumps to erupt over my arms.
'Alone at last,' he whispers, his breath hot against my skin.
A spectrum of confused thought swirls in my head. April as a child in this house; her and Will together in the village, holding hands and stealing kisses here and there, giggling and uncaring that I can see everything they are doing; April gone – her smiling face in the photograph beneath her eulogy.
I sit up straight and move to the edge of the seat. 'You know how close the newsagents is. They won't be long.'
'Neither will we.'
Will smirks and pulls me back again, his hands moving beneath the fabric of my top and stroking my sides teasingly. My body starts to respond, my hands slipping over his strong shoulders beneath the plaid shirt, but something just isn't right.
My thoughts skip to Eva, of how she is out alone with Dad. I feared him close to a stroke on our walk last weekend.
What would happen if he had a funny turn now? Would my daughter call an ambulance? Would she accompany her Grandfather to the nearest hospital in Telford and end up there on her own, unsupervised? Why did I let them go out the door together against my better judgement?
I pull away.
'What's wrong?'
'Nothing. It's just weird doing this here. It's too soon after ... Well, after these last few weeks and everything that has happened.'
'It's all right, Hannah. Nothing is any different between us. I've been looking forward to some quality time together for ages. We haven't done it since before you got the news.'
'I'm sure everything will feel more normal once we get home. Dad seems a lot better already. I'm sure by the end of next week we can leave him to get on with things.'
A muscle in Will's cheek twitches and he lets out a sigh of frustration and leans back on the sofa. One of his hands unnecessarily adjusts the scatter cushions beside him. 'We can't go home quick enough.'
I glance at the old carriage clock on the mantelpiece. 'I should start to get dinner ready for when they get back. Are you going to help me?'
'In a minute.'
Tonight, I have volunteered to make my speciality, spaghetti carbonara. I picked up the recipe in my student days and have been perfecting the recipe ever since. Neither of my parents have ever tried it, but it's a favourite of my daughter's.
After a while, Will comes to assist me, warming the garlic bread and placing a large bowl of it on the table. He is quieter than usual.
I'm just draining the pasta when I hear the front door shut. Dad and Eva are back.
My father appears in the doorway. 'Something smells good. I'm ready for that, I can tell you.'
Eva doesn't drift into the kitchen behind him.
I sigh. 'Has she disappeared into her phone again? I'm surprised she doesn't get repetitive strain the amount of time she spends on that thing.'
I wish I could have avoided getting her the device until she was older, but all her friends have their own smartphones. Besides, I suppose it makes her safer; always having a lifeline to contact me through should she ever need to. Not that she makes many regular phone calls. Not to me anyway.
Dad looks at me, blankly. 'Eh?'
'Is Eva in the lounge? Tell her dinner will be ready soon. She needs to wash her hands.'
It suddenly occurs to me that I didn't hear a second set of footsteps. Nor can I recall the rumble of the stairs after my father entered the house.
'Dad, where is Eva?'
'Oh, Eva? We met some of her friends in town. She is spending a bit of time with them.'
He turns his back on me, busying himself moving around Will setting the table. He lays only three plates.
'What? I don't understand ... What friends? She doesn't know anyone in the village.'