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itself for years. Why else would they all have been so keen to hang out there as kids? The danger was half the fun.
    About halfway between the town and the Mill, Alex saw the first sign. ‘Felinfach Arts and Heritage Community.’ So, not a Grand Designs project, then. A business, instead. And one that suddenly held a great personal interest for him.
    Increasing his pace, Alex found himself at the entrance to the Mill in no time. The rusty chain-link gates that had never kept them out were gone, replaced by something tasteful in wrought iron, presumably commissioned from one of the Arts and Heritage Community themselves. Another sign, this one decorated in flowing blues and greens, stated the intentions and motives behind what seemed to be a co-operative of artists. And a piece of paper stuck to it declared one empty unit, waiting for the right creative person to fill it.
    Alex had never thought of himself as a creative person. His family would laugh at the very idea – in fact, his dad had, the first time he plucked up the courage to mention it. He was a numbers man, all about the hard facts and figures. But then, during a two-week holiday – his first in three years, and forced upon him by his boss to, in his words, “stop you burning out, you idiot,” – he’d picked up a camera and gone looking for things to photograph. And suddenly, as simple as that, Alex had found something he loved more than numbers.
    He’d taken a couple of courses since then, and spent his limited downtime improving his technique. He’d stopped staying out late, so he could get some good shots of the morning light on the Thames. He’d stopped dating his usual kind of women, because they always wanted him to photograph them. It wasn’t that he didn’t like taking shots of people, but he wanted them to be real. His girlfriends always wanted to be posing, perfect and unreal. Alex wanted to take photos that showed who they really were.
    For some reason, they never liked that very much.
    He hadn’t told anyone yet, but the accountancy thing was only to keep the finances ticking over while he fixed up his new home. In the long term, he planned to be a photographer. Like he’d told Cora, his dad’s death might have speeded things up, but this had always been his plan – and knowing it was a plan his father had supported, once he’d got over his surprise, made him all the more determined.
    He’d intended to take it slowly, build it up a bit at a time. He didn’t need to rush, not while he could still make money the old way. But seeing that opening at the Mill… What better place for him to set up a studio?
    He shook his head and stepped back from the sign. He was moving too fast. Being able to make split-second decisions might be an asset in the City, but not always in real life. So he’d take some time to think it through, look at his plans and budgets, and move when the time was right for him.
    Except that strategy was the same one that meant he hadn’t managed to move home properly until after the funeral. And, since he was there anyway, it wouldn’t hurt to look.
    Inside, the bright and airy feel of the Mill matched the sign outside. The outbuildings had been built back up from their crumbling state, forming the main artisan units, housing studios and shops, all with wares on display outside in the sunshine. In just a casual glance, Alex spotted a glassblower, a blacksmith, a painter. The Mill building itself, on the edge of the rushing river, looked to be a cafe-cum-gallery, with whitewashed chairs and tables outside, and a chalkboard proclaiming the best Welsh Rarebit in the county.
    There were customers and patrons enough wandering around to give the place a buzz; apparently art was thriving in Felinfach. Tucked away in the corner sat an antiques shop – presumably providing some of the heritage the signs boasted of. And next to it…
    ‘Tiger Lily Jewellery,’ Alex read from the hanging metal sign. The words curved around a