‘It would never occur to me that someone would leave film in an old camera. Who opened it?’ Will said, frowning. ‘I hope no one opened it in broad daylight.’
‘I googled,’ John said proudly. ‘I looked up how to wind the film back and it said go to a dimly lit room to open and check. So I did.’
‘Actually,’ Clara said gleefully. ‘He climbed inside the wardrobe, shut the doors and then opened it up.’
‘And hey, presto: film,’ John said, smiling.
‘What now?’ Lucy asked, staring at the camera, now closed with the film inside and on the middle of the kitchen table.
‘I can try to develop it,’ Will said. ‘If it’s not been exposed to light and moisture it should still work. I can start it now.’
‘Now? You develop your own film?’ Lucy asked.
‘Of course. What kind of photographer do you think I am?’
‘One who takes pictures on a digital camera,’ she teased.
‘I do that too,’ he said. ‘But for authenticity, the old ways are the best.’
He stood up and reached for the camera. ‘Want to come and watch?’ He addressed the room.
Clara looked at her watch. ‘I have to get Molly from her play date.’
‘I’ll come and watch you develop the photos,’ John said and then catching a look Clara gave him, changed his mind. ‘No. I can’t come. Sorry.’
‘Just us then,’ Will said to Lucy.
‘Do you have a proper darkroom?’ Lucy asked as they entered Will’s cottage.
‘Not here,’ he said. ‘This set-up is more makeshift.’
They entered Will’s bathroom and he pulled down the blind and took a box of chemicals and canisters from underneath the sink. The bathroom was clean, which pleased Lucy no end. There was nothing quite like a man who cleaned his own bathroom. Aftershaves and shower gels were lined up neatly on the shelf and she itched to open the fragrances one by one and smell them. He always smelled nice, fresh, she realised that now.
She watched as he lined up what he needed along the edge of the bath and along the sink.
‘It really is makeshift,’ Lucy said, edging out the way so Will could work.
‘Yeah, sorry. Bit tight in here,’ he said as they bumped arms in the small space. When he’d lined up everything he needed, he took hold of the Box Brownie, opened it gently, pulled out the film and said, ‘You ready?’
Lucy watched as a variety of chemicals and solutions were added one by one. Then Will went to work silently with pipettes and the different solutions. He looked expert, confident, as if he’d done ita hundred times or more, which he probably had. The process intrigued her and she found herself following his hands as he moved between solutions. He set the timer and every now and again swished the solution, set it down and waited.
‘Can I ask you a question?’ Lucy dared. ‘It’s not about all this,’ she warned him.
‘Go on,’ he said dubiously.
‘Yesterday, when Clara was …’
‘Interrogating me?’ he finished for her. But before Lucy could reply he said, ‘I think I know what you’re going to ask me.’
Lucy waited.
‘You want to know about my engagement.’ It wasn’t a question.
Lucy nodded. ‘I do,’ she said brazenly. ‘Sorry. You don’t have to tell me, obviously,’ she said, but wished fervently that he would tell her.
He rubbed his finger across his lip, waiting, choosing his words. ‘We broke up, or rather, I broke it off with her. I’m not proud of it. But getting married … we should never have got engaged. I should never have proposed. It was my fault, how it all panned out.’
‘How?’ she asked, far too curious to let him stop there.
