‘Actually, could you?’ I ask as we slip into the first booth by the window. ‘Aside from the fact it’s not naff at all, I built a darkroom last weekend. While I’m learning, I’m also teaching someone to use it. We could do with the experience. And the only way we’re going to get experience is to have film to develop.’
‘Hang on, wait, you’ve employed someone? I didn’t think you could afford that yet?’ She looks concerned, and I can see her brain flipping over like an airport departures sign as she rearranges her cutlery.
‘No, no, no,’ I say. ‘I haven’t employed anyone. Christopher wants to learn.’
She snorts. ‘The same Christopher you couldn’t get far enough away from last week?’
I glance about nervously. ‘That’s him.’
‘Well, then,’ she says excitedly, shimmying on the spot. ‘Now we’re getting to the truth. What kind of help are we talking about? Are we knocking up doors and windows or are we knocking up to some Marvin Gaye?’
‘No.’ The flames of hell lick at my cheeks. ‘Not that kind of help. No. We sat down and talked through our differences. So, that’s that.’
‘I really don’t like him.’
Immediately, I regret saying anything. Not because something scandalous needs to be hidden, or because I’m doing something wrong, but because I need some time to myself to work out exactly what this is or could be without interference. And I feel like Lainey might bulldoze the conversation with her own feelings. Oh, and because thinking about Christopher and the look on his face as he said, ‘I’m not even sure I’m ready’ on his way out last night touches on something sore.
But that’s the thing about shedding first impressions and getting to know people, isn’t it? Your entire mindset can change on the flip of a penny, the slip of a hand, or whispered words in the dark. It’s confusing and beautiful all at once.
Katharine nine months ago would have leaped straight into bed with him without thought to consequence. This morning, the gallery would have been a mess of clothes, empty wine bottles, and notes on the bedside table. If this ever amounts to anything more than bumbled apologies, the person I am today wants to nurture this, whatever it may be. I want to keep it safe and build something solid, and the realisation takes me by short-breathed surprise.
‘Katie? Earth to Katie.’ Lainey is snapping her fingers in my face.
A waitress has managed to skate through the maze of tables and is ready to take our order. I feel a little dazed, a touch excited, and absolutely terrified of what this all means. I fumble about for a minute before I order the first thing I see, a cheeseburger and milkshake.
I clear my throat. ‘In other news, I’ve got all my artists sorted for the first six months.’
‘Also.’ Her eyes light up. ‘I can’t believe I haven’t told you.’
‘Told me what?’ I ask. Yep, I’ve just been brushed aside. Again.
‘We’re going to do a bit of a combined hens and bucks thing in Sheffield,’ she says. ‘You know, for everyone who can’t make it to London. I thought that might be easier. You’ve been up and down so much lately.’
Does that mean I’m uninvited to the London event? I don’t want to ask because I’m sure I know what the answer will be, and I don’t want to hear it. Well, she wouldn’t say it so much as imply it while dancing around how good a deal it is for me. It’s dawning on me today that, perhaps, I’m not as important to her as she is to me. My insides curl up and hide behind the metaphoric sofa.
‘That’s a great idea,’ I say, despite my feelings. ‘Who’s coming?’
‘Mostly cousins and stuff, but probably some of the old gang, too.’ Her gaze follows another waitress who’s gliding behind the order counter. ‘Why don’t they have men in roller skates, do you think? I mean, equality, right?’
I chuckle as I dig through my bag and check my phone. It’s silent. No messages, no missed calls, not a sausage. ‘Who would you put in skates?’
‘Let’s see. Frank? No, no, scratch that. He’s unbalanced on a bicycle, let alone roller skates.’
‘All right, then. Someone famous?’ I ask.
‘I don’t know, maybe Sam Claflin?’ she tries.
‘Good choice. Though I always thought he looked a little like Adam.’ I zip up my bag and relax back into the booth.
‘But, what about you? You haven’t told me who you’re putting in roller skates?’ she asks. ‘What’s his name?’
I hem and haw and huff so hard I can feel my fringe tickling my forehead. Christopher zooms past. ‘I don’t know. How about Henry Golding?’
‘Inspired choice.’ She offers an approving look. ‘Now, let me fill you in on more wedding stuff.’
We spend the rest of the afternoon tucked away in that diner, ordering hot chips and milkshakes, apple pie and vanilla ice cream. Mostly, we talk about Lainey’s wedding. For the most part, I’m okay with that. It gives me time to work on the thoughts clouding the back of my mind. As I head home that evening, I don’t have a definitive answer, but I do know I need to talk to Christopher because, if I haven’t stopped thinking about him all day, I wonder what’s going through his mind, too?
Chapter 23
Does guilt abate after a few days? Asking for a friend. Not a friend, actually, just me.
My finger has spent the last few days hovering over the call button, stuck in a state of shaky limbo as I try to work out exactly what I want to say to Christopher. There’s a desperate need to apologise, to explain myself and blurt out everything that my past year has been. Seems simple, yet I’ve struggled to arrange the hodgepodge of words in my head, going so far as to grab a pen and paper to jot down my thoughts. The page is still blank.
At university, I could take notes until the sun came up, working and reworking facts into cohesive arguments and acing essays. Now, I’ve gone blank. I guess that’s how I know this is more heart over head, and how this is so beautifully unique to anything I’ve ever known before.
I don’t want to work today. It’s Friday. On top of everything that’s racing through my mind, the back and forth of Lainey’s dress fitting and a day stuck on the computer yesterday, I just want one day to myself. I forgo my morning routine of checking and double-checking emails and social media and, instead, decide to enjoy breakfast at a café I’ve never been to as I watch the world go by.
Commuters whiz past on their daily journeys, cyclists and escargot vans vie for space while I sit happily on a milk crate chair with my coffee and fresh juice, attempting to frame the scene in a photograph. The camera on my phone is hardly a substitute, but I’m sure it’ll make for a nice post later in the day.
When I’m done, I head to a back-alley gallery. This time, it’s not about scoping out the competition or looking for business ideas. All I want is to absorb art with an open mind and enjoy not having to do any of the work. Who knows, maybe it’ll inspire me to make more of my own. Now that I know the darkroom works, I’ve got one less roadblock in my way.
Standing in a marble-floored space looking at a piece that’s been constructed with string and brightly coloured paint, I can’t say I like it. Sure, there’s a plaque next to it with notes about what the artist wants to convey, but I just can’t gel with it.