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“It’s okay—life happens. Anyway, they’ll be thrilled to see you. We’re having dinner together on Tuesday night. You should come.”
“I’d love to.”
“Perfect. I’ll let them know.”
“I’m looking forward to it. Actually, I came down here to talk to you about something in particular.” Bea reached for her handbag and pulled out the film canister, setting it on the table between them.
Evie picked it up and turned it over, her brow furrowed. “Where did you find this?”
“Inside a wall at the old beach cottage my dad owns. We’re renovating it, my daughter and I, and this was sealed up in a fabric bag inside the wall cavity.”
Evie’s brows arched high. “Really? Well, isn’t that an interesting little mystery?”
“I know. I can’t help being intrigued. Why would someone put a roll of unprocessed film into a wall?”
“Your family has owned the building for a long time, right?”
“Yes, but it was built by someone else. Dad bought it from a man around the time I was born.”
“That would make this film…” Evie rolled it around in her hands, examining the wording on the outside. “At least forty-five years old.”
“Maybe fifty.” Even as she said the words, Bea found it difficult to believe them. It was a long time for a roll of film to be encased in a closed space.
“Wow.”
“I saw online that you do some photography. I was wondering if perhaps you would be able to process this, and we could see what’s on it.”
Evie smiled. “Well, you came to the right place.”
Twelve
Bradford’s truckwas in the driveway the next day when Bea came home from a full day’s work at the beach cottage. She sighed as she pulled the station wagon into the barn and turned off the ignition. She was exhausted, covered in paint dust.
All she really wanted was to climb into the enormous claw-footed bathtub in the ensuite off her old bedroom with a giant glass of red wine and look out the portrait window over the beach while she soaked and felt sorry for herself.
She was supposed to be going out to dinner with the girls from high school as soon as she’d showered and changed, but she wasn’t sure how to get to the Blue Shoal Inn. She’d only ever been there with her parents as a child and vaguely recalled a narrow, winding track somewhere through the centre of the island. She’d have to ask Dad for directions. Hopefully, the old station wagon would manage the trip.
Dani was still unwell and had been tucked beneath the covers with a fever when Bea left that morning. She’d called to check on her at lunchtime, and Dad said he was feeding her chicken broth while she watched a movie in the living room. At least she’d managed to emerge from the bedroom. And so far, none of them had caught the flu from her. Bea assumed that’s what it was, since she had all the symptoms.
It often seemed that when a person slowed down after a period of stress, they managed to catch something. She was only now beginning to realise just how stressed and overwhelmed her daughter had been while studying at university. All this time, she’d believed her to be fine and completely in control. But apparently that’d all been an act.
She trudged up the stairs and kicked off her muddy boots outside the door, then stepped into the warm interior. Dad had been reading a newspaper in his favourite armchair. He’d fallen asleep with it open between his two hands, his light snoring filled the silence. Dani lay asleep on the couch, with the television screen stuck on a frozen image.
When Bea sat down, he opened his eyes and licked his dry lips. “There you are.”
She smiled. “You were really out to it. How’s the back?”
He grimaced. “A little better, I think. The medicine helps. But I’m struggling to turn my head much from side to side.”
“That’s hard, I know.”
“How did it go at the cottage today?”
She shrugged. “Good, I think. It’s slow going and hard work. I’m aching all over. But I’m loving it at the same time.”
“I’ve been thinking about that roll of film you found in the wall yesterday.”
“Oh?”
