In Her Image Read online

  ‘Isn’t that just one of those things to make money? I mean, they charge you two hundred quid or whatever for the photos, then do nothing with them?’

  ‘Apparently not. He doesn’t charge a penny. He gets his money from his clients whenever they take on one of his models.’

  ‘Weird. Must just be a perv then,’ Mandy says.

  I force a smile and flick my eyebrows upwards before taking a sip of my drink.

  Mandy’s silent for a few moments before she speaks again.

  ‘You’re thinking about it, aren’t you?’

  ‘About what?’

  ‘About going down to this bloke’s studio and having photos done.’

  ‘Nah. Like you said, he’s probably a pervert or something. And even if he isn’t, I doubt anything would come of it.’

  I look out across the bar and do a bit of people-watching for a moment or two. Out of the corner of my eye, I can sense Mandy looking at me. She doesn’t say anything for a little while, but I can tell she wants to. I also know it won’t be long before she does say something. She’s never been particularly good at keeping her mouth shut when she’s got something on her mind.

  ‘Why don’t you give it a go anyway?’ she says. It wasn’t what I was expecting.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘The photos. Why not go down and get some done? What’s the worst that can happen?’

  ‘Christ knows.’

  ‘I could come with you if you want. If you’re worried.’

  Yeah, that’s all I need — Mandy flipping out and attacking the poor guy because he dares to shake my hand when I turn up. She’s never been the most forgiving or patient person I know. Don’t get me wrong, she’s got a heart of gold. But there’s no stopping her when she’s got a bee in her bonnet about something. She’s protective, and that’s a good thing, but I do worry sometimes that she could take it too far.

  ‘Nah, it’s fine,’ I say. ‘I’m not worried. I just don’t see the point.’

  She considers this for a moment. ‘The point is it might do you good. Let’s face it. You’ve been pretty grumpy since breaking up with Kieran.’

  Mandy’s Honesty Dart hits the bullseye once again.

  ‘No I haven’t,’ I say, perhaps a little too defensively.

  ‘Trust me, you have. I’m not saying you did the wrong thing, not at all, but I’m saying you might want to have a backup plan if you catch my drift. It might make you feel better about yourself.’

  I don’t know whether I should feel affronted or not, but I think I do. ‘I don’t need to feel better about myself,’ I say.

  Mandy raises her eyebrows momentarily and puts the straw to her mouth before taking another mouthful of her cocktail. ‘Alright. If you say so.’

  The most infuriating thing about Mandy isn’t her faultless honesty; it’s the fact that she’s always right.

  4

  I wasn’t quite sure what to expect when I phoned Gavin this morning, but it was a bright — if chilly — Saturday dawn and I woke up feeling much more chipper than I’d any right to. I guess Mandy’s words had been playing on my mind all night, and sleeping on it had helped me realise that there was no use moping around. So what if nothing came of the photo shoot? So what if it turns out to be a wasted day? What else did I have planned for today other than sitting about the house watching TV programmes I’ve already seen on Netflix?

  Before I called him, I decided it’d be a good idea to do a bit of research. It’s not that I don’t trust Mandy’s instincts, but it just seemed wise to find out a bit more about this guy before going down to his studio. I typed ‘Gavin Armitage photography’ into Google, and his website was the first result on the page. I clicked through to take a look at his website.

  It looked professional to me, even though I don’t know much about websites. I navigated to the About page, which didn’t have much information about Gavin himself, but went into detail about his approach to photography and modelling in general. He seemed to use all the right words: professional, bespoke, holistic. Words that don’t really mean anything, but convey positive connotations to potential clients. And I had to admit, it worked on me too.

  I browsed through the image gallery on his website for a while, looking at some of the photos he’d taken and was very impressed. He clearly had an artistic eye, and none of the shots were lewd or even provocative. They were classy. I spent another few minutes looking through his Flickr account, which contained most of the same photos plus a few more, then decided I would take the plunge and call him.

  He told me he had a pretty free afternoon, and that I could pop down any time after lunch if I wanted. Nothing too formal — bring a few changes of clothes and send him a text before I leave. The casual nature of the whole thing appealed to me. Nothing formal, no pressure. Just pop in and get a few shots done, see how it goes. When you spend your life having days that are completely regimented and organised down to the last minute, that sort of sudden spontaneity can appeal quite a lot.

  I wonder how long I’ve been secretly longing to break out of that disciplined and systematic routine and be a little more spontaneous. I imagine it might be longer than I think. Was that why I started to feel as though my relationship with Kieran was breaking down? Was it becoming a little too regular? Was my brain telling me that I needed to have at least *something* in my life to excite me? Something that didn’t consist of lists, schedules and appointments?

  We even used to book our date nights a week or two in advance. If we wanted to spend time together we’d have to fit it around work, my kickboxing classes, his rugby socials. Perhaps it was all a little too clinical.

  There’s nothing clinical about Gavin Armitage’s photographic studio, though. I look up at it as I reach the address he gave me on the phone earlier. 86b Reynolds Street. I’ve never even noticed this building before, even though I must have walked past the end of the road plenty of times. At first glance, it reminds me of a smaller-scale version of the building they use for the TV series Dragons’ Den. It’s all large leaded windows and exposed brickwork; an homage to the style of the old Victorian workhouses. I don’t know if it’s an original building or just built in that style. Architectural history was never my strong point. Either way, it looks pretty impressive.

  I ring the only buzzer on the door. I don’t hear anything, but I imagine a buzzing noise going off somewhere deep in the depths of the building. A few seconds later, I hear a click as the door unlocks. I give it a push and step inside.

  As I close the door behind me, Gavin appears at the top of the stairs with a beaming smile on his face, his shirt sleeves rolled up to reveal a chequered tartan pattern on the insides of the cuffs.

  ‘Sorry, I wasn’t being rude. The intercom doesn’t let me talk back for some reason. I can either unlock the door or not unlock the door.’ He shrugs. ‘Come on up. I’m just getting everything organised. Won’t be a few moments. Tea? Coffee?’

  I follow him up the stairs as he disappears round the corner, telling him I’d love a cup of tea.

  The studio itself looks smart, in the organised-chaos sort of way that I imagine all artistic workspaces look. You would expect even the most organised painter’s studio to be covered in blobs of colour and smears of oil paint, or a writer’s desk to be piled high with stacks of paper. Gavin’s studio is no different, except it’s filled with desks covered with assorted lenses and bits of kit I couldn’t even name.

  There are huge white umbrellas erected in various places, as well as white, blue, green and black sheets stretched over frames. There are a number of huge black plastic cases in the shape of Smarties tubes. I have no idea what any of it’s for, but it looks impressive.

  ‘Don’t mind the mess,’ he says, as if reading my mind. ‘I promise there’s some sort of logical pattern to it all. If anyone tided it up I’d be lost.’ He smiles and hands me my mug of tea. ‘So, have you ever done anything like this before?’

  ‘No, nothing,’ I reply, fully expecting him
to come out with something corny like I’m surprised. Good looking girl like you. But he doesn’t.

  ‘Well there’s nothing to worry about. The best advice I can give is to stay relaxed. All sorts of people will give you different tips and tricks, but everyone’s different. The only thing I’d say is relax and don’t think of the camera. If you do, like if you’ve got to look at it or whatever, pretend it’s a person. If we’re going for a sexy look, pretend it’s someone you really fancy. If it’s a more sullen look, pretend you’re talking to a funeral director and booking your nan’s cremation. You know the sort of thing.’

  I laugh. I have absolutely no idea what he means, but at the same time it seems to make perfect sense. No-one likes an awkward photo.

  I show him the clothes I brought with me, and he picks out a few he thinks would be good for the shoot: a short red and white polka-dot dress, a tiger-print maxi dress and a pair of jeans and a jumper.

  ‘You’d be surprised how many places are going for the casual look at the moment,’ he says. ‘I’m glad you brought these with you, actually. I meant to say don’t just bring smart and sexy stuff. Looks like you’ve got more of an eye for this than you think.’

  I’m not quite sure what to make of that — I know Mandy would see some sort of insult hidden in Gavin’s comment — but I also know that he was actually giving me a compliment.

  I spend the best part of an hour and a half at the studio. There are shots standing, sitting and lying down. Even lying down isn’t just lying down, apparently. There’s lying on my back with my head tilted sideways towards the camera, there’s lying on my front with my hands propping up my head from under my chin, there’s lying down flat on my back with him stood over me, shooting the camera downward, my hair sprayed out all around my head like a fan.

  ‘I think that’ll probably do,’ he says, as he finishes taking the last photo of me standing with my back flat against a mock lamppost, my head pointed sideways toward the camera with a sullen look on my face. ‘That should give us something for most of the big players anyway.’

  ‘So what do you need me to do? Anything? Or do I just wait to hear back from you?’ I say a few minutes later as I’m changing back into my usual clothes behind a screen.

  ‘Yeah, I’ll send a few of the best shots through to you over the next couple of days if you give me your email address. I should ask that people don’t use them for their social media profiles or whatever, but to be honest I don’t mind as long as you put my name down as a credit. Other than that, the hard work’s all mine now,’ he says, smiling.

  I write down my email address on a piece of paper and hand it to him. Then, with a spring in my step, I leave.

  5

  We wouldn’t normally bother going out on a Saturday night after meeting up for drinks in the week, but it’s Mandy’s birthday tomorrow and I promised her we’d go out for a few drinks to celebrate.

  Zizi’s is much busier tonight than it was last night, and it quickly becomes clear that we’re not going to be able to get a table. There are some stools left at the long rectangular bar, though, so we decide that’ll do for now. It’s not the sort of place people tend to spend the whole evening, so there’ll be a table free at some point.

  Once we’ve ordered our drinks, Mandy elbows me on the arm — almost making me yelp.

  ‘Don’t look now, but you-know-who’s down at the other end of the bar.’

  ‘Who?’ I ask, instinctively looking in the direction she’d just told me not to look. It’s Kieran. He doesn’t see me, but I see him. The first thought that crosses my mind is the slightest flash of anger and jealousy that he seems to be having a good time. And why shouldn’t he?

  ‘Looks like he’s having fun,’ Mandy says, in her characteristic way that makes it seem like she’s reading my mind.

  ‘Good,’ I reply, trying to sound pleased for him. ‘He’s entitled to. He’s a free and single man.’

  ‘Doesn’t look too cut up, though, does he?’

  I find myself wanting to defend him. ‘He’s a bloke, Mand. He’s hardly likely to sit sobbing onto his mates’ shoulders, is he?’

  I look over at Kieran again, just as he looks up and makes eye contact with me. Even at this distance, I can see what he’s feeling. And it’s not just the outer layer of male bravado. I need to get a grip, though. I’m not the sort of person who makes a decision and goes back on it. I wouldn’t last five minutes in my job if I was.

  I’m sorry, David. The current restructuring means that your role is no longer required. We’ll keep your details on record, though, if anything else should come up in the future.

  But it’s nearly Christmas. I’ve got a family.

  Okay, no problem. As you were, David.

  Do I get a little pang of regret every time I have to deliver those words? Of course. I wouldn’t be human if I didn’t. But I’ve got a job to do. And anyway, it’s evened out by being able to give jobs to other people. The Lord giveth with one hand...

  But there’s nothing I can give Kieran. We had all that. We had the good times, and it was time to come to terms with the fact that they’d reached their end.

  ‘Fuck,’ I say, reaching for my glass and taking a huge slurp.

  Mandy looks over and sees Kieran walking towards us.

  ‘He’d better not start any trouble,’ she says. ‘If he does I’ll lump him one.’

  ‘Mand, chill out. He’s not like that. He probably just wants to say hi.’

  ‘Yeah, well you seemed really enthusiastic about that a second ago.’

  ‘That’s different. I wasn’t expecting to see him,’ I say, almost forcing a whisper as Kieran reaches us.

  ‘Hi Alice,’ he says. ‘Alright Mandy?’

  ‘All good here,’ Mandy replies, before burrowing her face in her margarita glass. I give her a look that says Grow up and make apologetic eyes at Kieran.

  ‘We’re out for Imran’s leaving do,’ he says to me, before explaining to Mandy. ‘He’s off to Australia for a year on Wednesday. Doing some travelling with his girlfriend. You out celebrating your birthday tomorrow?’

  I smile a little. It’s so typical of Kieran to remember his ex-girlfriend’s mate’s birthday. In a way, he was almost too caring and considerate. That sometimes came across a bit weird, though. I still remember the first time we met. His chat-up line involved telling me how he was sorry to stare at me, but he had to do a double-take because I looked like his sister. Hardly a classic.

  ‘Just a couple of quiet ones,’ I say. ‘At least that’s always our intention.’

  Kieran laughs and Mandy forces a smile. It infuriates me when she gets like this. It’s almost as if it was her relationship that broke up and not mine. I know deep down she’s only defending me and looking out for my best interests, but I’m a big girl now. I can look after myself. Besides which, she always gets the wrong end of the stick and sees threats and dangers where there are none.

  ‘Well, I don’t want to get in your way,’ Kieran says, clearly sensing Mandy’s mood. ‘Just wanted to say hi and find out how you are. Didn’t really fancy an evening of awkward glances and trying to pretend we hadn’t seen each other.’

  I laugh, as if that had never been on the cards. ‘Honestly, it’s fine. I hope you have a good evening.’

  Kieran smiles, wishes Mandy a happy birthday for tomorrow and goes back to join his friends.

  ‘At least that cleared the atmosphere,’ I say, trying to make conversation with a clearly-pissed-off Mandy.

  ‘If you say so.’

  ‘Come on, Mand. It would’ve been far more awkward if he hadn’t come over. He’s trying to make the peace.’

  ‘He’s trying to get back in your pants.’

  I give Mandy a look that tells her I’m not going to stand for any comments like that. She seems to back down a little. Or so I thought.

  ‘If you want to get back with him, why don’t you just get on with it?’

  ‘Because I don’t,’ I say, looking her dead in
the eye.

  She looks down at her drink again.

  ‘Could’ve fooled me.’

  6

  As expected, the quick couple of drinks turned into a pretty heavy night. Kieran and his friends moved on to another bar about half an hour after he came over to speak to us, and I figured it was going to make my life a lot easier with Mandy if we just stayed put at Zizi’s. Unfortunately, Zizi’s is a cocktail bar, and not a particularly expensive one at that. A few 2-for-1 margaritas later, and I was starting to realise it would be heavier than planned.

  I’m just glad I didn’t have much planned for today. A lazy Sunday in front of the TV is about all I can manage.

  I roll over and pick up my mobile phone from the bedside table, as I always do when I wake up. Part of me worries that it’s a little sad that this is the first thing on my daily routine, but that’s modern life.

  I got to bed pretty late, so the only thing showing on the screen is a text from Mandy letting me know she got home safe. Oops. I probably should have stayed up until that came through, but it’s a bit late now.

  I put my phone back on the bedside table and think about going downstairs and getting coffee. Again, it’s part of my daily routine, but coffee’s the last thing I want when I wake up with a raging hangover. Water and sleep is all I want right now. Having said that, a massive fry-up dripping with fat wouldn’t go amiss.

  My phone vibrates on the beside table and I pick it up again. It’s an email from Gavin. The subject line is Early shots. I open the email. There’s no text; just a succession of photos from yesterday. I reckon there must be a dozen in total. I open the first one. It looks pretty good, actually. It’s a shot of me sitting backwards on a chair, leaning on the back of it with my hand under my chin, propping my head up. Nothing original in the slightest — and I remember groaning inwardly when he asked me to do it — but it actually looks fantastic. I swipe the screen to move on to the next photo, and the one after. They’re both shots of me in the red and white polka dot dress, one where I’m standing face-on, my hands spread and up to the sides of my head as if in despair, and another of me looking down at the camera. I remember Gavin lying on the floor while he took that.