It’s such a shame Erica had a nose job. But of course – Vee hears herself sigh – she’s within her rights to do so. Her body, her choices, her pain.

Erica has become silent, deeply so, it seems; Vee takes another photograph, another, and she lets her think. Heaven knows the woman must get little enough quietness in her life. Oh, it’s always so good to hold this camera, to feel the chafe of the strap at the back of her neck as she moves. It always has been.

And then Erica looks directly at Vee’s lens. The click is pure instinct, because the shape of her face and the play of the light, a hard dark something in her eyes and a mouth ripe with words not yet said – actually, that’s the shot. Never presuppose, Vee says to herself, you forgot that. Don’t think you’ve got it. Don’t go home too soon.

‘Meeting you has made me think differently,’ Erica says, then adds, ‘you’ve changed my life, Vee.’

Vee lowers the camera, ‘Good,’ she says, then, as a feeling of relief she doesn’t understand brings tears to her eyes, ‘you’ve changed mine, too.’

18 October 1981

18 October 1981

Vee

When Vee gets back to the car Leonie is waiting, sitting on the verge. ‘I couldn’t find you,’ she says.

‘Until now.’ Leonie squints a smile up at her, holds out a hand, and Vee takes it and pulls her to her feet, her other hand braced against the car behind her.

‘Did you get everything you need?’ As soon as she’s said it, she wishes she hadn’t, because Leonie was sensitive enough about getting this job via Vee as it was.

But her friend just smiles. ‘Did you?’

Vee smiles back. ‘Time will tell.’

‘Are you going to go and bolt yourself into your darkroom?’

Vee declines the bait. ‘The Guardian will develop it. My assistant comes in tomorrow. She’ll take them.’

‘Assistant, eh?’ Leonie actually sounds impressed.

‘Of course. I need to make sure I have time for the important things. Like reading your manuscripts.’ Leonie doesn’t speak, but Vee can feel that she’s pleased. They’ve known each other for so long. ‘Thank you,’ she says into the silence.

‘What for?’

‘I thought you might stop sending me your work. After—’

She’s gone too far. Leonie looks away, stiffens. ‘The only thing my books have got going for them is that they’ve been read by the award-winning Veronica Moon.’

Vee unlocks the car, and they get in and drive off in silence.

After about five miles, Leonie asks, ‘You didn’t take a photo of me when I got stuck with that baby, did you?’