Luke looked at her in admiration, marvelling at the resilience of his friend. ‘Absolutely,’ he told her. ‘You could definitely make that work.’
The Next Summer
Orla took a deep breath before entering the village hall, her camera hanging around her neck like a special kind of talisman. She tried desperately not to think about what had happened to her there the year before, when she’d been asked to photograph the village fete and her fear and panic at being surrounded by so many people had sent her running. That wasn’t going to happen again. She was quite determined. She was a different person these days, wasn’t she?
There had been so many positive changes in her life during the last year and she felt as if she was truly moving forward now. Just five months ago, she’d leased a shop in Woodbridge and had opened a small photography studio. Business was good. More importantly, Orla felt good. She genuinely liked being out in the world and meeting people, seeing places and doing her own shopping, especially shopping for books. She’d found a wonderful little shop nearby and loved the experience of holding a book in her hand and flipping through it rather than choosing one from an image online.
She’d bought a small car and was driving into the nearby town four days a week. She’d also been working with the local schools, forming photography clubs and encouraging the youngsters to use real cameras instead of just their phones. She’d seen a few of them today as she entered the village hall, and they’d waved to her, which made her smile.
But there was an even bigger change in Orla. She’d agreed to have more surgery, not because she was concerned about her looks but because her scars were causing her discomfort and she knew she could improve that with a few more simple operations. Luke had encouraged her when she’d told him about it during one of the long weekly phone calls that they’d shared ever since he’d returned to Kent back in the autumn.
‘You know, when you were visiting Bill and worrying about him, you totally forgot your fear of hospitals, didn’t you?’ Luke had said.
That really hadn’t occurred to Orla, but she’d had to agree with Luke. Her fear was fast becoming a thing of the past.
Now, in the heart of the village hall, surrounded by her neighbours and so many of her new friends, Orla smiled and got on with her job, moving around the room, taking shot after shot. She photographed the tables with the heaps of wonderful produce and home bakes, she photographed the winners as the prizes were given and then moved outside into the sunshine, where the fun really began, with bric-a-brac stalls, a tombola, and the ever popular attraction: throw-a-wet-sponge-at-your-local-MP, which the vicar seemed to be enjoying a little too much. Orla photographed it all, stretching up on tiptoes and bending down onto knees to get the best angle, capturing all the joy and laughter of the day and feeling so much of it herself too.
When the crowds finally began to drift away, Orla walked across to a shady spot and looked at the back of her camera for a sneak preview of what she’d taken. There was some good stuff there, she thought, pleased with the images she’d caught.
She looked up from her screen, watching as the stallholders began to pack things away and the exhibitors reclaimed their produce or donated it at a collection point which had been set up. These were her neighbours, her community, and they were good, kind, honest people who had welcomed her so wholeheartedly. They hadn’t been there to judge her or reprimand her for having shunned them for so long. They hadn’t overstepped the mark by staring at her or questioning her, as she had once feared they might. They’d simply acted as if she was one of them, which she was. She was finally beginning to feel that now.
She was just popping the lens cap onto her camera when she saw him across the playing field. He was helping to dismantle a slide which had been set up for the younger children. She walked across the grass towards him and he looked up.
‘Luke!’ she cried, her pace picking up at the sight of him. ‘You made it!’
‘Of course I did,’ he said with a smile. ‘You don’t think I’d miss it, did you?’
‘I didn’t see you in the hall.’
‘I came in late, I’m afraid, and I saw you were busy and I didn’t want to interrupt. How did it go?’
‘Good, I think.’
He grinned. ‘As modest as ever. I bet you’ve got some great shots.’
‘Maybe one or two.’
‘Fancy an ice cream down by the harbour?’ he suggested.
She nodded enthusiastically.
Ten minutes later, ice creams in hand, the two of them walked down to the quay and sat on a bench, staring out at the calm blue of the water.
‘How’s Bill getting on?’ Luke asked.
‘Really well. Back to his old self, only Margy fusses around him more since his operation, which drives him mad. She’s even been taking her knitting up to the allotment so she can keep an eye on him there.’
Luke laughed. ‘I can’t imagine him liking that much.’
‘Actually, I think he’s beginning to get used to it. You should see them. They look so cute together, sharing a flask on the bench outside his shed.’
‘Shall we pop in and say hello to them later?’
‘Of course,’ Orla said. ‘I saw Margy buying a rather large Victoria sponge at the fete so we may be in for a treat.’
They sat for a few minutes enjoying their ice creams in silence.
‘How have you been?’ Orla asked him at last.
‘Good,’ he said, and then shrugged. ‘Well, by good, I mean better.’ He paused. ‘You know.’
‘Yes, I know.’ She gave him
