Page 129 of The Art of Loving You

Love.

There’s the sound of a metal fork against a glass, a hush falls.

‘If you could follow me, everyone,’ Faith calls.

I follow the throng, those butterflies now dancing in my stomach as we wander outside,passing Socks under the shade of a tree, licking his paws.

Outside the larger barn – the grandly named Norma Butler Exhibition Hall – Liam stands in front of a red ribbon, scissors in hand. His friends begin to clap as I approach. I’m touched they’ve all made an effort tonight, wearing shirts and trousers, part of their old school uniform, some trousers too short, ankles on show, dirty trainers on feet, but none of that matters. They are here to support me. We’ve become a mismatched family. At the centre of their cluster is Faith. Michael, now her ex-husband, might have become a father but in an odd kind of way she has become a mother. Nurturing. Protective. Encouraging. A Wendy to the Lost Boys inPeter Pan.

Everyone has joined in with the applause and I hold up my hands, laughing, giving a wave as I see Angela standing at the back.

‘Faith.’ I call her over. It’s as much her night as it is mine.

‘Thanks for coming.’ I address the crowd before I scan my notes. I’ve practised my speech over and over.

‘Many things have brought us here today. The kindness of Sid who allowed us to buy this house and generously set up a trust. The vision of Jack who strived to make the world a better place. He made my world a better place.’ I falter. Screw up the paper in my fist. It doesn’t feel right to recite prepared words. I want to speak from the heart.

‘A wise man’ – my eyes find Sid’s – ‘once told me that “everything will be all right, it usually is” and although there’ve been times I’ve doubted that, I think that this’ – I make a sweeping movement with my arms – ‘is all right.’

‘More than all right,’ someone shouts.

‘When Jack first came up with the plans for the centre I thought it was too ambitious, but to Jack everything was limitless. He loved a challenge. He taught himself to play guitar in days because I … well, because …’

‘You thought it was hot,’ calls out Alice to laughter; heat rushes to my cheeks, perhaps I should have stuck to my notes.

‘Jack liked nothing more than an adventure. On one of our first dates, I wanted to share why I loved photography and so I took him to my favourite place, a waterfall. I rummaged around in my bag for the right lens and by the time I’d found it Jack had stripped to his underwear and was swimming in the lake. “I haven’t brought any towels,” I called to him. “How are you going to dry yourself?” He smoothed back his hair and laughed. “Live in the moment, Libby,” he said. “Don’t always worry about the what next,” and after a moment’s hesitation, I joined him. I’ve never forgotten how cold I was that day, but I’ve also never forgotten how it felt to be present. Alive. Grateful. Jack taught me those things and I miss him immeasurably.’ I pause. Take a moment to let the lump that has risen in my throat settle. ‘Jack isn’t here and yet he’s everywhere. This is his dream and I feel so privileged to finally say Alethic, the Jack Gilbert Centre for Art, is finally open.’ With a snip, I cut the ribbon while Liam uncovers the shiny plaque.

‘Now we can all—’

‘Just a moment.’ Greta steps forward, cutting me off. ‘I’d just like to say something. Twelve months ago Libby was invited to submit an entry for The Hawley Foundation Prize and although, due to the circumstances, she didn’t want to enter, I accepted the invitation on her behalf. The theme was “hope” and last month, after persuasion, she chose her final pieces and they were taken away to be judged.Tonight, I am delighted to tell you that she has, very deservedly, won first prize.’

I cover my mouth with my hands. I’ve won. It’s overwhelming. My dreams, Jack’s dreams, all coming true.

‘He’d be so proud of you.’ Greta pulls me into a hug before there’s a pop and a glass of fizzing champagne is thrust into my hands.

I take a sip and tell myself it’s the bubbles that are making my eyes water, but it isn’t. It’s everything.

I look around.

Thisis everything.

‘Please feel free to wander around.’ Faith takes control while I compose myself.

‘I’ve a surprise for you.’ Greta leads me into the barn that Liam had been trying to keep me from going into earlier.

I step inside.

Four photos.

It took four photos to cement my world back onto its axis.

Every entrant to The Hawley Foundation Prize was invited to submit a selection. One they’d be judged on and three supporting pictures that fitted the theme. Mine had been sent away but Greta must have collected them because now they are hanging on the newly plastered, freshly painted walls of the barn, alongside a silver sign which says ‘Elizabeth Emerson – First Prize.’

Hope.

My first photo, and my showpiece, is of Chloe of course. Alice stands in front of it now with her daughter; she looks a world away from the tiny baby pictured in an incubator, vulnerable, tubes and wires. A too-large hat falling down over one eye.

‘That’s you,’ Alice says.

---