Page 40 of Italy and Forever

‘Uh, okay.’

‘What colour is the grass?’ he asked.

‘Is that a trick question?’

‘No,’ he said with a laugh. ‘I’m genuinely not sure.’

She lowered the camera immediately. Her features were the usual surprising muddle in his brain, but he was getting used to feeling the intensity of her gaze. She empathised so fiercely, he wondered if it might be dangerous – for them both. ‘Does it matter what colour the grass is?’ she asked.

‘No,’ he replied. ‘But I’d like to know what other people see.’

‘Okay,’ she said, lifting the camera again. ‘Um, it’s bright green, neon green. It makes me think of the blades of sugar grass in Willy Wonka’s factory.’

He loved that answer. It was less of a meaningful description and more of a glimpse into her brain. He nodded as she handed back the camera.

‘You see something different?’

‘It’s not really the colour, it’s the quality of it. If I fiddle with the exposure, you might understand what I mean.’

‘Go on, then. I’d like to see.’

He grinned at her. ‘How long have you got? I still have four shots before the film is done. Then I’ll have to develop it.’

‘That’s a film camera?’

‘I know you’re young, but I don’t think they had digital cameras when you were born, right? Don’t worry, I have two more cameras for the wedding, including a brand-new Sony that will take better action shots than I managed at the last wedding. This old camera is… an experiment.’

‘Does it take better pictures?’

Lifting the camera to his eye once more, he turned the manual focus on the lens, watching the view of the village blur and then sharpen, the summits leaping out as he experimented with depth of field.

‘There’s no one answer to that,’ he replied. ‘I don’t know what these pictures are going to be like. I haven’t printed them yet.’

‘It’s your first time using the camera?’

‘That’s not what I meant. You can’t control everything the same way with film. I have a good idea of the aperture I want and I could check my instincts using a light meter if I needed to, but I like the unpredictability.’

‘It really is capturing a moment.’ Her voice was wistful.

Glancing beside him, he commented, ‘An imperfect moment. Many of the shots won’t work out. Maybe it’s a bit like a wedding.’

Her lips turned up, just slightly. The ring in the bottom one shifted with every subtle expression. ‘Because you prefer to focus on the weddings that don’t work out, rather than the many that do?’

‘Something like that.’

‘It’s still worth capturing that moment, right?’

‘Of course.’

‘That is how I feel about weddings,’ she said, glancing up at him. ‘And I’d like to think that every moment is perfect in its way. At least, it’s the moment we’ve got – the moment we’re supposed to have, I hope.’

The words burrowed into him. ‘That’s either a very naïve or a very stubborn thought.’

‘I won’t ask you which you think it is, in my case.’

Stubborn. She was definitely stubborn. But she was naïve as well, imagining that the future would never tarnish her ‘perfect’ moments.

‘Here, capture your moment.’ He held the camera out to her. ‘Take it. Film is expensive, but I can give you a single frame.’