The shop front was eye-catching, the grey brick flecked with silver paint – subtle, so no one knew why it caught the light so. It was sandwiched between the curio and sweet shops, and it stood almost directly opposite the pier. A good location. By the door, a handwritten notice boldly proclaimed:

I'll take you out of this world!

The sign above the door declared the shop:

Photographs of the Future

The shop was Elias' home. He did a decent trade on tourists, though at times people were leery of having their photos taken by a Jew; as if somehow his Jewishness would rub off on them. Elias was more than happy to let people like that alone. As for himself – he never said no to someone who wanted their photo taken.

Elias opened at 9:00 every morning; he made no allowances. The shop was his mistress. Saturdays were his busiest days. Saturday was the day most people assigned for frivolity. Saturdays were work. 

At a quarter past 9:00 on this Saturday, Elias' first customer walked in. She was alone, which struck him as strange. She was both young and beautiful and in Elias' experience, young and beautiful women went nowhere un-chaperoned and they certainly didn't wander into seaside photography shops.

The woman didn't greet him. She walked around the shop floor, looking at the pictures Elias had chosen to display his skill. Elias did not disturb her but he kept an eye on her as she explored. She was wearing a simple white dress, with red edging, and she wore white stockings spotted in red polka dots. The playfulness of this was at odds with the seriousness of her manner.

'You're still using glass plates,' she said eventually. Her voice was low and soft. Elias looked up. She wasn't looking at him but rather at his studio camera.

'Indoors, I am. I like the clarity.'

'This is practically an antique,' she said.

'That doesn't mean it isn't any good.'

She smiled at that and nodded in agreement.

'But it does make the name of your shop somewhat ironic. I take it the notice refers to that?' she said, pointing at Elias' paper moon.

'Yes,' said Elias and he walked over and stood beside her. He was proud of his paper moon – the best he had seen anywhere. 'My set is really very good. I can show you some of the results if you like?' He had not put any of his paper moon pictures on the walls. It would have spoiled the effect; he enjoyed the surprised look on his customers' faces when they saw themselves in space. This woman was different, however. She knew her photography and he imagined she was not one to suspend disbelief. For her, the photographs would merely be a curiosity. She shook her head, though.

'No,' she said. 'Take my picture.'

Elias was surprised. It took him a moment to act but then he was arranging the black cloth against the wall and straightening the stars. He checked the effect in the viewfinder of his camera and when he was ready he straightened up and looked for the woman. She was standing by the window, looking out at the pier. In her hands was the Japanese parasol he had bought some years ago – a prop he used from time to time.

'It's ready,' he said.

She came away from the window, stepped out of her shoes, up onto the set and arranged herself on the hidden seat behind the moon. She opened the parasol and swung it over a shoulder. Then she leaned into the moon. The moon’s face leered at her, hungrily. Elias thought she looked perfect as she stared into the camera with an expression he couldn’t quite grasp. Was it resignation or boredom? Was it sadness? He bent down, donned the cloth and studied her through his viewfinder. Who was she?

He took the photo and emerged and she was already stepping down, folding the parasol, stepping into her shoes and walking to the doorway.

'The photograph will be ready in a few days time,' Elias called out. She didn't turn around; she just waved and went out into the morning. He realised she had not paid.

Elias' next customer came in soon afterwards; a short, dark man in a snappy suit, though his tie was loose and his brogues were dusty. He had a cigarette stuck to his bottom lip, and his eyes didn't seem to be all that focused. As Elias approached him he got the distinct whiff of whisky, but the man was walking steadily enough.

'Out of this world, huh?' the man said, referring to the notice. He took a drag of his cigarette and then carefully blew the smoke into rings.

Elias smiled his salesman's smile.

'Absolutely! There's no other photographer that could capture you the same way!' Elias put a hand on the man's shoulder and walked him over to the window. He looked up at the sky and said: 'I'll make it so you're floating in the great beyond.' The words were well-rehearsed and he threw a hand into the air, gesturing to the enormous sky as he said them; just the way he had a thousand times before.

'Huh?' the man said, not buying it.

'Truly,' said Elias. 'I promise, you won't be disappointed.'

The man shrugged and walked away from Elias, looking at the other photos on the walls. He stubbed out his cigarette in an ashtray on one of the tables, and then walked over to an old megaphone that Elias had found one day and kept.

'Nice piece,' he said.

'Thank you.'

The man picked up the megaphone and put it to his mouth.

'Hear ye, hear ye!' he said and his voice grew a little through the cone. 'Hear ye, Hear ye!' he said louder, and his voice crashed around the room. 'May I relate to you the sad and dismal story of one William Horace,' he continued. 'I am... William Horace.' He put the megaphone down and pulled out a pack of cigarettes from his breast pocket. He took one and put it between his lips.

'Have you a match?' he asked Elias.

Elias stepped over to him and, producing a box of matches, he lit the man's cigarette.

'Thank you,' said the man. 'I'll give it a go, I think.'

'Give what a go?'

'This outer space thing,' he said, pointing at the paper moon. 'I'll give it a go.'

Elias smiled and stepped back, giving the man space to walk over to the moon. The man didn't move at first. He turned around on the spot, looking looking looking. And then he stopped, his eyes resting on a bowler hat that sat on a wooden head. He strode over to it, picked it up and put it on at a jaunty angle. Then he picked up the megaphone and strode over to the moon. He sat down and leaned his back into the curve of the crescent. He dropped one leg over the side of the moon, but placed his other foot at the tip of the moon – the chin, as Elias saw it – and he rested the megaphone on his knee. He took another drag from his cigarette and then, leaning forwards, he blew the smoke out through the megaphone.

'Hear ye, hear ye!' he said. 'This is the sad and dismal story of William Horace. His crime was to be average. His sentence was to be drunk. His drunkness was to be sobering. And in sobering he was to realise his mediocrity.'

Elias took the photo and came up from beneath the black cloth.

'Hear ye, hear ye!' the man said. 'Is it done? Am I out of this world?'

Elias nodded. The man uncurled himself and jumped down from the set.

'Swell,' he said and he walked over to Elias. He handed him the megaphone. He put the bowler hat on Elias' head, adjusted it, then took a drag from his cigarette. 'When will the picture be ready?'

'Monday.'

'How much do I owe you?'

'Seven shillings and sixpence.'

The man discarded his cigarette before retrieving a wallet and pulling out the money. He pressed it into Elias' hand and said:

'I think I'll return to the world now.'

Elias returned the hat to its wooden head, and the megaphone to its place in the corner. He went into the back of the shop and set about preparing silver solution for his photographs. He had been working for perhaps half an hour when he heard the door open and two voices:

'Oh, isn't it darling?' said a woman.

'You do like to exaggerate,' said another woman.

Elias wiped down his hands and came out into the front, smile at the ready.

'Hello there,' he said and the women turned to him. They were clearly sisters, though their faces were not similar. The taller of the two had a paler complexion and a warmer smile. Her sister had wider eyes. They had gathered their hair up in exactly the same way, and piled it neatly on their heads. Their clothes were of a piece, long day dresses, one yellow, one pale green. They were in their middle years and neither could be called handsome, but they had a nice aura about them. They were ordinary apart from one thing: they both wore one long black glove – the tall one wore hers on her left arm, her sister on the right.

'Hello,' said the tall woman, 'we came in to have photograph.'

'Of course,' said Elias smiling, 'are you on holiday?'

'Yes,' she said. 'Yes, we've come for the week, and we've been having ever such a marvellous time.'

'I'm glad to hear it. It warms the heart when people appreciate one's home.'

The shorter sister spoke then:

'What sorts of pictures do you offer?' she asked.

'All sorts,' said Elias, turning to her. 'I have all kinds of sets, but I have also just acquired a new Leica camera which is very portable, so I can even take photographs outside, on the move. I could take a picture of the two of you enjoying the pier, perhaps?'

'Oh, wouldn't that be smashing!' the tall sister said, but Elias kept his eyes on the shorter one. Her eyes had fallen on the paper moon.

'What's that?' she asked, pointing at it.

'That's my space set; the set that takes you out of this world. The effect is very charming, and quite surprising. You'll believe you were sitting on the moon.'

The woman snorted, but she kept her eyes on the moon.

'It would be rather wonderful, wouldn't it?’ said the tall sister. ‘Quite a different sort of souvenir to take back home with us.'

'That is would...' said her sister. 'How much?'

'It's normally seven shillings and sixpence,' Elias said and he saw a grimace cross her face. 'But the first photograph is always cheaper,' he said.

'Well, how much is it?' she asked, her voice snappish although Elias sensed it was more from worry than irritation.

'I can take it for four shillings,' he said. That was generous. Too generous. 'Four shillings and a story.'

'A story?' the woman said. 'I'm not sure I have any stories.'

'Well why don't you tell me the story of your gloves?' Elias asked as he walked over to the set and straightened the black cloth once more.

The sisters followed him.

'Please, make yourselves comfortable.'

The tall sister sat down on the curve of the moon, her legs hanging over the side. The shorter one walked behind the moon and wedged herself right next to where the moon swooped upwards. The lower half of her body was hidden by black cloth and stars so she appeared only half there. She put her arm around her sister's shoulder and then they looked at each other and smiled sadly. The tall one spoke then.

'These gloves belonged to our sister,' she said. 'The only thing she left behind.' She looked up and straight down the camera. So did her sister. 'She was nineteen and had a sweet sweet smile. She made us laugh. And then she was gone.'

Elias took the picture and came out into the light.

'She'd run away, they said. There was a man, they said. But we knew that wasn't true. They tried to hide it from us, tried to cover up the hurt. But the gloves remained. And now we wear them.'

The tall sister stood up then and letting go of the other's hand she walked over to the window, head bowed. The shorter one walked over to Elias and opened her purse.

'No,' said Elias, holding his hands out. 'This one is gratis. It'll be ready on Monday.' The woman smiled.

'Thank you,' she said. Then she took her sister's hand and they walked out together.

As the door closed, a man stopped by the window and looked in. He held a lead and next to him sat a black Staffordshire terrier with a white chest and wise eyes. A moment later the man walked in, dog trotting beside him.

'Can you take a picture of the dog?' he asked.

'Certainly. What sort of picture would you like?'

'What've you got?'

Elias gestured to the some of the photos.

'I can set you up in a jungle, or maybe on a ship. If you want, I can take a picture of you both outside?'

'I don't want to be in the picture!' the man said, as if this was a mad suggestion. 'I just want the dog.'

'Okay, well what would you like?'

The man turned on the spot, looking around the room.

'The moon,' he said. 'I fancy seeing the dog on the moon. Yes. That'll be very good.'

'Of course,' said Elias, 'let's just put him on the bench. What's his name?'

The man looked at him in surprise.

'I don't know. He isn't mine!'

'Oh,' said Elias. 'I misunderstood. Are you having his photo taken for his owner?'

'No, for me. For me.'

'Oh,' said Elias. 'Well, let's just get him sitting nicely on this.' He bent over and picked up the dog. As soon as he put it on the bench it sat down and stayed still – a wonder dog. 'Make sure he doesn't move,' Elias told the man, and he went over to the camera, ducked under the cloth and looked on. The dog was magnificent. It sat perfectly still and looked towards him with an expression that implied it was about to ask him a most profound question. Elias took its photo and then came out into the air.

'Is it done?' the man asked.

'It is.'

'How much?'

'Seven and sixpence.'

The man counted out the money and gave it to Elias.

'Could I just ask...who does he belong to?' said Elias, pointing at the dog.

The man shrugged and went to pick up the dog's lead.

'I don't know. I saw him tied up outside the butchers. Liked his face, so I took him.' The man tugged the lead and was gone before Elias could even tell him when to collect his picture.

'Should have charged him more,' he muttered to himself as he thought of the poor person, missing their dog.

Elias had a quiet lunch, and then spent much of the afternoon developing photographs. As three o'clock rode past him the door opened and four people spilled in, laughing loudly.

'And then he said,' chuckled a man, 'and then he said... nah man, he's just a geezer!' All four of them fell about in hysterics. Elias watched them politely from behind his counter. The men were clean shaven and dressed in smart, though ill-fitting suits. The joker wore a waistcoat under his brown jacket and the other man wore a bright red bowtie. The girls they came in with looked young and soft. They both wore smart tops and old fashioned, voluminous, grey bloomers.

'Right, so,' said the bowtie, 'are we gonna get this done or what?'

'We are!' giggled bloomers one.

'What'll we have?' asked bloomers two.

'Look, he has a paper moon!' said the joker. 'Let's get a picture on the moon, girls, come on!'

The bloomers one and two laughed in response and bowtie nodded his head.

''Hey you,' said bowtie, ''How much for a picture?'

'How many copies?'

'We'll want two, won't we?' bowtie asked the joker.

''S'right,' said joker, nodding. 'And can we make a sign?'

'A sign?'

'Yes. We want to hold up two signs; one saying just married! And the other saying married again!' joker whipped his hand along in front of him as though he were forming the words.

'You're just married?' asked Elias.

'Nah,' said bowtie and one of the bloomers elbowed him and said:

'Yes! Yes, we are!'

'Oh,' said Elias. 'Well in that case you get a discount. You want two copies you say? It'll only cost you fifteen shillings.'

'Fifteen?' said joker, with a raised eyebrow. One of the bloomers squeezed his arm. He looked down at her and then wrapping his arm around her shoulders he said 'fair enough.'

'I'll make some signs,' said Elias. He took out some paper, paint and a paintbrush and got to work and as he painted the words the two couples explored the shop, picking up his props, trying on hats and feather boas, stroking taxidermied animals, getting into sword fights and pointing guns. One of the bloomers reclined on the chaise longue and sighed artfully. The other bloomer looked deep into the crystal ball and putting on a deep voice she foretold:

'You will, each of you, have long and happy marriages.' Then she shrieked with laughter.

'Oh no!' said bowtie and bloomer grabbed the Japanese parasol and chased him around the room, brandishing it above her head.

'Right!' Elias called out over their noise. 'The signs are done,' he said. Let's get the photo done too.'

The couples jostled against each other and fought for space around the moon.

'The girl's have got to sit,' said joker, 'doesn't matter who's on what side.' And eventually they did sit, both bloomers on the moon, legs hanging down, ankles crossed. Joker slung an arm around left bloomer and bowtie slung and arm around right bloomer. Both bloomers took their hands and smiled at the camera.

'The signs?' asked Elias.

'Right! I'd almost forgot,' said joker. 'My girl gets married again!'

Elias stepped forwards and put the signs on the bloomers laps. Then he stepped back and admired his handiwork. They were too many for the moon; they made it look small and flimsy. The effect was displeasing, but a job was a job.

Elias disappeared behind the camera and took the photo.

'Okay, all done,' he said when he emerged. The bloomers squealed and bowtie stepped up and handed him the fifteen shillings.

'When can we have them?' he asked.

'Monday,' said Elias.

'Cheers,' said bowtie with a wink and a grin, and then, 'let's CELEBRATE!' he roared and the couples disappeared into the afternoon sunshine.

'They had signs,' said a voice, causing Elias to spin in surprise.

'You scared the life out of me!' he said to a teenage boy in a grey suit, two sizes too big for him.

'Sorry,' the boy said. 'I came in while they were being photographed. They were quite loud, you wouldn't have heard me.'

'No,' said Elias and he moved behind the counter and started putting away the paint.

'Wait,' said the boy. 'I'd like a sign too.'

Elias looked at him.

'I don't think you can afford a photograph,' he said.

'How much is it?' asked the boy.

'Six shillings,' said Elias and the boy grinned. The grin looked strange and awkward on his face; as borrowed as his clothes perhaps. He dug into a large pocket and brought out a handful of coins. He had enough.

'What kind of photo, do you want?' asked Elias, pocketing the money.

'The moon,' said the boy, pointing at the paper moon. 'Your sign outside says you can take people out of this world. I'd like that.'

Elias nodded.

'It's been that sort of day,' he said. 'What do you want on your sign?'

'Can I paint it myself?' asked the boy. Elias didn't see why not. He shrugged and gestured for the boy to have at it. The boy moved behind the counter and bent over his work, painting with concentration and care. Elias watched his face as he worked. He guessed the boy was around fifteen. He was thin and serious and despite the largeness of his clothes he had dressed himself with great care, his collar stiff and white, his tie tied into a perfect knot, and his dark hair was combed neat, and gleamed with hair grease.

'What's your name?' Elias asked.

'Boy,' the boy said.

'Really?'

'Really,' Boy said and Elias knew it was really true.

'I'm done,' said Boy and he went over to the moon, holding his sign carefully. He looked around for a moment and then asked Elias:

'Could I have some string?' Elias obliged. Boy stood up on the moon bench and reach up to a beam above the moon's top curve. He looped the string around the beam and then hung his sign from it. Elias could finally read it. It said:

NOBODY LOVES ME

Without a word, Boy sat down. He faced the camera square on, crossed his legs at the ankles and placed a hand on the moon's nose. He looked at Elias with a calm, almost vacant stare. Elias took the picture.

'Are you finished?' asked Boy. Elias nodded. Boy smiled another awkward smile. 'Can I pick it up on Monday?' Elias nodded. Boy walked to the door.

'Wait,' Elias said, before Boy disappeared. Boy turned and looked at him. 'You can have this photograph, gratis,' Elias said. Boy shook his head and walked away. Elias shook his head too.

There were no more customers that day. Elias took his time developing the photographs. He developed one extra to keep.