Photograph, by Steve Harrison

“Just frame yourself love, it will all work out in the end; or you could always have a Jammy Dodger” As she looked at the black and white photograph he gave her, she realised the truth.

   She realised that the silver salts in the surface layer of the 7 by 5 inches of photographic paper had been changed and unravelled , those tiny particles had been energised , moved, re arranged then fixed in time and space.

Over time the image might fade if he hadn’t been careful, or had rushed those alchemy magic moments in the red light of the dark room, but for once he had safely stored the negative and could print a pristine perfect copy for future celebrations.

   She had always thought of herself as a mirror reflecting light but now she realised she was absorbing light and changing within. It had been an odd process, being  turned upside down, losing focus, making snap decisions, listening to but ignoring the negative comments; but she liked the way she was developing in novel ways to see the world in this new light: she had moved from one side of the lens to the other.

   She questioned what was happening on these blurry days and had turned to folksy advice to put it into perspective. The long shelf-length of self-help books were left untouched: the yellow post it notes inside the American Advice Manuals could curl a bit more.

Her Gran would have recognised the symptoms and in her pre-counselling age would have prescribed a simple mantra.

She would try to make this homespun aprony advice work: if only she could find a string on him to unravel or maybe to tie. He could sidestep her questions and dodge all the compliments and downplay and deny the huge significance of the picture.

“Look”, he said “it only took a 1/125 of a second, this is just an amateur print. In fact I used cat litter trays to do developing not those Posh Patterson ones”

   But he knew there was some magic accordance going on, since the picture had started to ghost itself into reality in the red shadows of the darkroom.

She would put up with this depreciating manner, even the lousy puns that came out when she asked when her picture would be ready.

   “Not long at all, darling, and don’t worry, as one day your prints will come!”

   She ignored this but realised the truth. The picture had joined the rest of her deep memory album that had started with the crinkled edged snaps of a photo corner sepia childhood, this was a huge change, not a new page but a whole empty album for future adventures.

  The significance of the picture in her memory now had increased as she realised she had added a sound track of the tinkle of the bell in the local art shop. She had heeded Granny’s advice and approached another freeze-frame moment in her life.

    She took the print carefully from its temporary store in a favourite book, kept flat like the pressed flowers from another important spring and she gleamed as she asked:

“Do you have a suitable frame and mount for this 7 by 5 black and white print please?”