Her mother wasn’t in the room when Lottie brought her coffee. But her grandmother was awake and looking at photos strewn across her chest. Lottie’s heart contracted. Gran didn’t look at her but stared at the photo in her hand. Her other hand flailed around on the side table knocking a book off. Her reading glasses were just out of her reach. Lottie handed them to her. She glanced at Lottie then with her glasses on said, ‘I’m so sorry.’

‘Gran, you don’t have anything to apologise to me for.’

Her grandmother had been the best . . . kind, loving, and understanding.

‘Lottie.’

‘Yes.’ She sat and tried to see the picture, but it was turned away.

‘My wedding, my first wedding.’ Her voice stuck on the words.

‘May I see?’ Lottie held out her hand.

‘We fooled no one.’ Her grandmother laughed.

‘Why were you trying to fool anyone?’ she asked, as her grandmother finally let the picture turn towards her. Seeing the photo, she was instantly transported far away from Boskenna. The ground in front of the church in the picture almost shimmered in the heat and the dust. Her grandmother held a bouquet of roses in front of her and then Lottie realized what she was saying. She had been pregnant. Despite the flowers, the angle of the photograph caught the swelling of her stomach. Allan Trewin stood straight and smiled directly at the photographer.

‘You look beautiful.’ Lottie turned to Gran. Those high cheek bones were still in evidence.

‘Thank you.’ Gran touched her hair.

‘Who took the photograph?’

She beamed. ‘Tom.’

Lottie frowned. ‘Do I know him?’

‘No. I don’t think so.’ She sighed. ‘He was the best of us.’

‘Did you work with him?’ Gran’s eyes flew open and her glance darted about the room before resting on Lottie again. She picked up another faded snap. In it her head was thrown back in laughter and on either side of her were young men. One Lottie recognised as Allan, looking rakish in a Breton top. The other man was dressed similarly but his look was more intense. He wore a bandana around his neck reminiscent of an old movie star. Was it David Niven or Cary Grant that she had seen in similar attire? She couldn’t recall.

‘Tom Martin.’ Gran pointed.

‘You look so young.’

‘I was nineteen.’

‘Who did you meet first – Tom or Allan?’

‘Tom.’ She looked out to the sea and groaned.

‘Is something wrong?’

‘No.’ She closed her eyes and in seconds she was asleep. Lottie gathered up the photos, taking time to look at each one. She paused, holding one of her mother in a tutu with a beaming smile on her face. It was so clearly her and yet so different. But aside from age, Lottie was hard-pressed to decide just what was different. Maybe it was the all-encompassing grin.