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Back Walking on Sunshine Save as PDF
Chapters (46)
  1. Cover
  2. About the Author
  3. By the same author
  4. Dedication
  5. 1
  6. 2
  7. 3
  8. 4
  9. 5
  10. 6
  11. 7
  12. 8
  13. 9
  14. 10
  15. 11
  16. 12
  17. 13
  18. 14
  19. Three Months Later
  20. 15
  21. 16
  22. 17
  23. 18
  24. 19
  25. 20
  26. 21
  27. 22
  28. 23
  29. 24
  30. 25
  31. 26
  32. 27
  33. 28
  34. 29
  35. 30
  36. 31
  37. 32
  38. 33
  39. 34
  40. 35
  41. 36
  42. 37
  43. Epilogue – Five Years Later
  44. Acknowledgements
  45. An extra note from me …
  46. THIS IS JUST THE BEGINNING

The little girl looks up and meets my eye. Her head tilts to the left. I smile at her, but her gaze is one of indifference. She’s adorable. I hold my camera up to my face and the sound of the shutter closing and opening as I take a snap causes a little smile to creep across her face. She turns her cheek, her chin lowering so she’s left looking up at me bashfully. She lets out a little giggle before running to her mum who looks over with her own smile. The girl motions for another child to come over, and when the other little girl joins her they whisper and giggle. The first girl motions for me to use my camera, and as I start clicking away the girls start striking innocent poses, both letting out cheeky chuckles as they smile for me. They then run to the camera, wanting to see what I’ve taken in the viewfinder, before heading off again so I can take some more. It’s not long before they’re joined by more children, all wanting to be part of the fun. I’m happy to be capturing their joy and this moment.

Whatever the cynical part of my brain wants to tell me, this co-op, these stalls selling handmade arts and crafts are an investment in the future of these children and their generation.

Before Scott starts rounding us up and getting us back on the bus I select gifts for the children, matching hats and gloves, and a blanket for me for those nights curled up on the sofa with a glass of wine. As I’m handed my plastic bag of gifts I feel a surge of excitement at the thought of handing them to Barnaby and Chloe, and telling them all about the children I met here in Peru.

A pang of longing hits me at the thought. Being a parent is complex. I spend so much of my time longing to breathe, and now that I have that space I long to be wrapped in their arms and legs, pulled in tight for warm hugs and sloppy kisses.

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21

Mike

I’m very used to female drama and the complexities of being friends with women who absolutely adore each other but also irritate each other from time to time. Isn’t that the beauty of friendship? Having those who see us for who we are and completely accept us for every flaw and foible, but are also willing to challenge us in moments of questionable behaviour, or when we’re on the receiving end of their messiness?