Prologue

I struggled frantically to remove the camera from the bag, thanked the stars that the correct lens was attached, flicked the power switch, raised it to my eye and set everything as best I could, very quickly.

Looking through the viewfinder, I'd suddenly lost them, and waved the lens randomly before panning luckily past the three of them, and returning to zoom and frame them properly.

My God, how many self-made rules had I broken already, and I hadn't taken the picture yet. My father would kill me if he knew how I was treating my Christmas present. I knew how hard it was for them to find the money in the first place. Here I was, two days later, at the beach, first off, standing in the first few inches of water, swinging the fragile machine like a madman, and taking photos of girls. Hardly serious photography, is it?

Screw that. This was important. As I calmed down a little, and framed the girls in the shot, I was surprised at the symmetry involved. Determined to make the best of this, I focused carefully, stood as steadily as I could manage, checked the corners of the frame, the level horizon, the light, angle, shadows. I rechecked the composition, and squeezed gently on the shutter to take the picture. Then something happened, and my finger muscles closed on the little button, hard. The power winder kicked in, and some part of my mind was concerned, a little, at the waste as I pumped through the entire film without even considering stopping.

The fact was, I didn't need even one of the photos, because the scene was etched, permanently, in the back of my head.

The frame was simple enough. The light shone from behind my right shoulder, high and hot, as you'd expect in the middle of summer. You could split the contents of the six by four in roughly two parts. Top half blue cloudless sky, bottom bluey-green seawater. The water was mostly reasonably flat, but a succession of waves broke up the texture. No wind, no birds, nothing to disturb the harmony of sea and sky? Well, there was something.

In the centre of the picture, gloriously adding to the symmetry, were three girls. Two shorter black-haired girls either side of a taller redhead. The girls were facing me, having turned around while I was attempting to manhandle the camera into position, and all three wore the sort of grins that belong to summer. They were also all wearing t-shirts and skirts. I hadn't been able to tell how long the skirts were, because they'd been holding them up above their knees, to try to avoid the waves, jumping and laughing as each approached. That was what I'd intended to photograph, but it wasn't what I caught. You see, as I clicked the shutter, all three of them lifted their skirts up above their waists, grinning even more widely, and waited for a moment, so I could capture it. The symmetry wasn't broken at all by the change, as the two shorter girls were both wearing skimpy black knickers, and the redhead in the centre sported similarly brief white ones.

I'd been taking photographs for a while, and I was well aware that sometimes a successful picture was skill, sometimes, timing. At times though, it was pure luck. Like this time.

An eternity later, after the camera stopped clicking, I lowered it from my face, and looked directly at the girls, just as an unusually large wave hit them. The girls all jumped, then fell back to the sand underneath their feet. They turned away again, lowered their skirts a little, and ran off toward the crowds further along the beach, giggling and splashing as their asses jiggled.

I stood shocked, and did nothing.