John sat on the bed surrounded by piles of bundled recycling sacks and the old Box Brownie camera that John had found sitting on the sideboard downstairs and had brought up to have a fiddle with.
‘Christ, I’m unfit. What’s all this stuff?’ he asked, distracted by the camera.
‘Dido’s clothes, shoes,’ Clara muttered.
‘Is this it?’ he asked. ‘Not much.’
‘Old compact powders and combs and things have gone in the bin,’ Lucy said mournfully. Why was she so upset by this? It wasn’t as if she really knew Dido.
‘How does this even work anyway?’ John asked, turning the camera over in his hands.
‘I’ve no idea. Will knows. He’s a photographer.’
John looked up and smiled. ‘I know. He said.’
‘He’s good. I’ve seen his stuff,’ Lucy admitted.
John nodded. ‘Great.’
‘He’s coming round in a bit, actually.’
‘Is he?’ John smiled.
‘He’s going to help paint again.’
‘Would you like to talk about Will for a bit?’ John teased.
‘No,’ Lucy said. ‘Shut up. I only meant you can ask him to show you how it works because …’
‘He’s a single, handsome photographer …?’ John volunteered.
‘Shut up,’ Lucy cried, stifling a laugh.
‘Have we worked out why he was engaged, but isn’t now?’ John probed.
‘I’m going to throw something at you.’ Lucy laughed, finding her brother-in-law far nicer than her own sister right now.
‘Go and make me a cup of tea instead,’ John begged.
‘Fine. Just don’t break the camera,’ Lucy insisted as she went to make them all tea and Clara began laying out the floor sheets and prising open the tin of paint.
A few minutes later, a very smug-looking John and Clara entered the kitchen. Clara was still holding the paintbrush and looked as if she’d realised her mistake, and finding nowhere to lay it down, had to hold it aloft.
‘Lucy?’ Clara asked. ‘Have you opened this camera?’
‘Opened it?’ she asked. ‘No. Why?’
‘Had it never occurred to you to open it?’ she questioned.
‘No,’ she said uncertainly. ‘Why would I?’
But it was John who spoke next. ‘Because there’s a roll of film inside.’
Chapter 29
‘Why didn’t I think to open the camera?’ Will asked incredulously when he came over to Deux Tourelles later that afternoon and sat at the kitchen table with Lucy, John and Clara – evidence of their day’s painting on their clothes.
‘I guess we were so wrapped up in … everything else,’ Lucy explained.
