This Could Change Everything(27)

Everyone present in the tiny church, including the burly paramedics, was wiping their eyes. Then the organist launched into Mendelssohn’s glorious Wedding March. Conor, who had discreetly taken several photographs during the renewal of the vows, moved forward and took more. Essie knew now that he always did this. Tonight’s visit here had been brought forward by Elizabeth’s physician because her health was failing fast; she wasn’t expected to see in the new year. But it had been her dearest wish to come to St Mary’s church one last time and renew her wedding vows with the husband she’d adored for so long.

And for John, Conor’s photographs would provide a precious reminder of this night in the months and years to come.

They gathered beside the heavy oak door and John and Elizabeth insisted upon thanking each of them in turn.

‘You’re angels, every one of you.’ Her voice wavering, Elizabeth reached for Essie’s hand. ‘You can’t imagine what this means to us.’

And Essie was able to reply with complete honesty, ‘I wouldn’t have missed it for the world.’





Chapter 13


The thing about Scarlett was you never knew when the next crush might be about to strike, or whom it might involve. She didn’t go for a recognisable type.

Watching her, Essie thought back to the boyfriends Scarlett had acquired and discarded during the last couple of years. The variety was endless.

Most people, offered a tin of Quality Street, went for the same ones each time. The Brazil nut one in the irresistible purple wrapper was Essie’s own personal favourite.

But if you were to offer Scarlett a full tin every day for a fortnight, she’d choose a different one every time. And she was exactly the same with men. The last boyfriend, Pete, had worked in a motorbike repair shop and had worn his waist-length dark hair in a plait. Pablo, the one before that, had been a sleekly besuited accountant.

And now she was clearly interested in adding Conor to the metaphorical notches on her bedpost.

The question was, would Conor be similarly entranced?

It was the fourth of January, a freezing Monday lunchtime, and Lucas had left for a meeting two hours earlier, instructing his staff to take down all the Christmas decorations. Once they’d been bagged up and the tree had been hauled outside to shed the rest of its needles in the back yard, Essie had wailed, ‘Oh no, I don’t like it like this! The walls look so empty now. They’re all naked and sad.’

Whereupon Jude had replied, ‘Not to worry. They’ll soon liven up.’

And Scarlett, who’d dropped in to warm her hands and feet, said, ‘If you want a bit of Banksy-style graffiti, I’m handy with a can of spray paint.’

Thirty minutes later, Conor had strolled into the bar and Essie, surprised to see him, had said, ‘Oh, it’s Conor. Hello!’

Behind her, in an ooh-I-say way, Scarlett had murmured, ‘Hello.’

Conor was carrying an artist’s portfolio, which he laid out on one of the empty tables. As he unzipped it, Scarlett bounced over. ‘Hi, Conor! We meet at last! I’m Scarlett!’

Cartoon hearts weren’t quite emanating from her eyes, but it was a close thing. Amused, Essie turned her attention to the contents of the portfolio.

‘Where did these come from? Are they yours?’

‘No, I just found them on a park bench. Yes,’ said Conor, ‘they’re mine.’

She’d seen the colour photographs he’d taken of Elizabeth and John during the renewal of their vows on Christmas night. She knew photography was his hobby, but had assumed he simply took photographs of scenic views and maybe the occasional garden.

These, though, were eye-catching portraits, black and white and taken on the streets of Bath. More than that, they were great.

‘You’re a street photographer,’ Scarlett exclaimed. ‘Essie didn’t tell me that. Cool!’

‘Essie didn’t know,’ said Essie.

‘I’m a modest chap.’ Conor shrugged. ‘I just enjoy taking photos of people. I’m a big fan of faces.’

‘Oh, you must take some pictures of me!’ Scarlett sucked in her cheeks and did a selfie pout. ‘I love having my photo taken!’

‘I’d never have guessed,’ Conor said good-naturedly.

Jude had disappeared to the storage room. Now, returning with an armful of frames, she announced, ‘Essie was worried about the walls looking bare. I told her not to panic, they’d soon be sorted out. Some of the regulars have been asking when your photos would be going back up.’

Essie was impressed. ‘These were on the walls before Christmas?’

‘The previous lot were. This is the new collection. I took these over the last fortnight.’

They were wonderful portraits of people he’d randomly encountered around the city. Some were gazing directly into the camera lens, creating an up-close connection that had incredible impact. Others looked elsewhere, enabling you to take in every detail of them. Some were quirky; others were calm and classical. Each and every one of them had the effect of making you long to know more about the characters of the people themselves.

‘You’re good at this,’ said Essie. ‘I mean, really good.’

‘Thanks. I started doing it at university. It’s been my hobby for years.’ Lifting out an A4-sized photo of an unrepentantly grinning woman in her sixties, Conor said, ‘What does this one say to you?’