‘You okay?’ he asks after a moment of silence.
‘I’m just thinking.’ I swallow. ‘It’s been a while.’
By now, I’m trying to help him wind film onto a spool, but I can’t quite get our hands coordinated. Try as I might to guide him around the equipment, it’s almost impossible from this angle. The frustration anchors my feet to the spot as I think how I could make this work. I’ve never taught anyone before and, despite our early laughter, I’m worried that getting this wrong would be far too humiliating. I slip under his left arm and stand in front of him.
‘Right. This is going to be much easier if you’re behind me,’ I explain.
‘That’s not one I’ve heard for a while.’
‘Stop it,’ I hiss through barely concealed laughter.
And he does. Within minutes, the film is wound onto the spool and deposited safely into the cannister for processing. I switch the light back on and talk about chemicals and waiting times; a lot of repetition and avoiding eye contact, but we eventually have a long slip of film that’s ready for the next step. After I hang the film up to dry, we split the loaf of bread and pour out strong fresh coffee for lunch.
There’s no denying that the tenor of our earlier conversation has shifted the temperature of the room. Every word crackles with charge and yet, as we eat and offer each other shy smiles, we talk about everything but those words and what they might mean. If I’m honest, I’m not sure I want to open that can of worms because, even though I already know I don’t want today to end, it still feels too soon after John.
I don’t think I’d cope if I were to throw myself into a relationship so quickly and have it go wrong all over again. Then again, maybe I could if this didn’t involve the gallery. But it does. Everything now is so intermingled and precious that, if I jumped at this and it did end badly, there’s every chance it would bring the gallery down with it. And I can’t risk that. So, I let it slide.
For now.
We return to the darkroom, where I switch on the safelight and deal out another round of chemicals. It takes some finessing but, with a bit of patience and crossed fingers, I work out the correct exposure for a print. Slowly, our first image appears – the gallery in the late afternoon light. I repeat the process a handful of times before I hoist myself up to sit on the bench and hand over to Christopher, who seems genuinely excited, if a little nervous, to try his hand at a new skill.
Compared to developing the film, the photo processing is the easy part. At least with the safety light on we can see our way around. Christopher is a brilliant student, quiet and attentive and, soon enough, he’s doing everything on his own. While my legs dangle aimlessly from the bench, he zips back and forth from paper, chemical baths, the sink, and the string our prints are being hung from.
‘It’s you.’ He turns to look at me from his spot by the sink, a photo of me held up against his chest.
‘Eating, again,’ I joke at the sight of my smile appearing in the shape of a half-eaten doughnut.
‘What are you talking about?’ His attention shifts from me, to the photo, and back again. ‘You look lovely.’
Hello. I was not expecting that.
From where I am on the bench, I lean in for a closer inspection as he steps back towards me. He lifts his eyes to mine briefly, dropping them again as his hand slides across the top of mine. Then, silence as I realise I wasn’t imagining this the other day. His skin against mine feels amazing. My insides light up like a fuse, zipping, crackling and sparking all the way, and I concentrate on the only sound in the room: breaths that are coming in short shaky spurts.
He moves carefully, as if he’s thought this all out beforehand. It begins with a tiny tilt of the head, a pretence of getting a better look at the image. I shift back as he leans in and slips between my legs and, here we are, foreheads pressed together and my knees up by his hips. I am so very torn right now.
‘Finally, you’re the right height,’ he jokes quietly.
My mouth dries because I’m in an absolute state about what I’m willing to let happen next. A thousand options, reasons, and clauses flash through my mind. Hours ago, I would have shouted ‘No!’ to the sky. Right now, though, this feels incredible. Yes, he would be worth it. But what about the gallery opening? The distraction? No, a shuddering exhale, what if this goes wrong and upends not only the exhibition, but my livelihood, dreams and ambitions?
When I open my eyes, all I can see are his long lashes and boyish smile. He reaches out and cups my cheek with his hand, drawing my face towards his. I groan when he shifts and brings his other hand to my back. Right now, I can’t be sure I’m breathing. His nose brushes the edge of mine, his lips sweep so gently I can barely feel the breeze they leave, and his hands slip under the hem of my shirt and curls around the softness of my hips.
I can’t do this. Not now. So, it’s no surprise a tidal wave of relief washes over me when my phone rings.
Just as carefully as he’d held me, he lets go. I don’t have to ask him how he feels; I can see the disappointment and confusion etched in his face as we scramble around each other and out of the room.
We’ve been locked away so long that the sun has almost set, the area lit by orange streetlights and my rapidly blinking phone. I search for light switches I haven’t yet memorised and grab for my phone. There are ten missed calls from Lainey. Seeing her name there reminds me I haven’t seen or heard from her in almost a week now. I don’t think it’s anyone’s fault, but our regular Friday night pizzas, and the closeness we seemingly shared in London, have already become a thing of the past, and I miss that.
‘Lainey,’ I answer, flicking a bar of lights on. Christopher has already busied himself with washing coffee cups and packing up. Does this mean he’s getting ready to leave? I try waving at him to stop, but he pays me little heed. Eventually, I have to grab at a soapy hand to stop him.
‘Katie, thank you so much for finally answering.’ She sounds out of breath. ‘I’ve been trying for hours now. Where have you been? Are you all right?’
‘I am so sorry.’ A panicked Lainey isn’t one you want to mess with. ‘What’s up? Are you okay?’
‘It’s my final dress fitting tomorrow, and my sister has just told me she can’t come.’
‘That’s awful. I’m sorry.’
‘Will you come instead? I want someone other than the person looking for my money to tell me it looks okay.’
‘Hold up.’ I scuttle across to the dining table and deep-dive for my diary. It’s covered in Post-it notes and is full of bookmarks and receipts and flinging it open only serves to cover the place in retail confetti. Circled in bright red letters, I’ve got a meeting with a printing company in the morning. ‘What time is your appointment?’
‘Midday. You can make midday, can’t you?’
I sigh. With a surreptitious look thrown my way, Christopher is becoming less able to hide the fact he’s listening. I shake my head and roll my eyes at him. I’m keenly aware of how uncomfortable he is right now. I’d give just about anything to bring the mood in the room back to normal. I also don’t want to be negative where Lainey is concerned because I’m so thrilled that she’s thought to ask me, even if it does put me between a rock and a hard place. Again.
‘Katie? Please?’ she begs.
‘Isn’t your mum going to be there?’ I try.
‘Naturally, but I need you there, too,’ she says. ‘I need you, I need you.’
‘Look, If I make it, it probably won’t be for midday,’ I explain. ‘I’ll probably be there a little after one o’clock. As I said, I’ve got an appointment first thing—’
‘Change it?’
Woah. Until now, I’d smiled and nodded along with the occasional pushy comment, but this feels like things are being taken to a whole new level. Surely, she doesn’t expect people to drop everything so she can try on a dress? Especially considering it’s the final fitting, which means it’s a done deal already. The success of my business isn’t quite as c
ertain.
‘I can’t. This is important to me,’ I say. ‘Depending on when it winds up, I should leave here with just enough time.’
‘Please can you just be there? I need you there.’
I pinch at my forehead and, knowing I can’t do much else to appease her, I tell her I’ll do my best and end the call. Christopher is already halfway out the door.
‘Where are you going?’ I ask. ‘Don’t you want to finish what we were doing?’
My voice drifts. I already know his answer by the look on his face. I’ve seen it on men more times than I’d care to admit.
‘I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have done that earlier.’ He picks at his fingernails as he speaks. ‘I hope I haven’t made you uncomfortable.’
‘What? No, of course not.’ Immediately, I regret that he feels this way. ‘But maybe right now isn’t the best time? For both of us. Just with, you know, the gallery, the school, getting everything organised.’
It’s only when I stop talking that I realise I’m breathless. I’m gasping like I’ve run a marathon.
‘I really don’t know,’ he concedes. ‘Maybe?’
‘You know what?’ I scramble. ‘Why don’t we just take a few days and we talk about it later?’
‘Actually, I’m not even sure I’m ready anyway,’ he says. ‘Goodnight, Katharine. I’ll see you around.’
Chapter 22
Everyone has those mornings where something simply doesn’t feel right. It’s not something that can be explained, like forgetting to charge a phone, or discovering an odd pair of socks. It’s more a charge in the air. That’s how I feel right now, life slipping off kilter as I step into the bridal shop. A bell above the door tingles to alert the God of mischief that it’s time to suit up.
There’s a tiny lie in that statement though. I’m certain I know what’s wrong, and it began in the space between my darkroom, kitchen and car park last night. The thought of Christopher’s face as he stood by the door making excuses for his behaviour makes me want to sob, the distracted eyes and downturned mouth. Even if I’d also decided I didn’t want anything to happen, the memory is too much.
Add to that my phone call with Lainey, and I was in two minds about being here today. Weddings are stressful things to organise but, even though I love her like the stars, I started my meeting this morning feeling rankled and hurried. As I stood in the office of the printing company, going over the cost of didactic boards, fliers and business cards, I constantly had one eye on the consultant and another on the clock.
They could tell I was rushing too, I’m sure of it. I can’t afford to make people feel like that, so I took a deep breath or ten, told myself I’ll get to London when I get there, and did my best to concentrate on the issue in front of me.
As it was, I had to race up and over the platform at Sheaf Street as the last call for the train bellowed across the station. And, though I had no control over the speed of the trip, I never truly managed to calm down until I toppled out the other side of a bus ride to the Chelsea bridal boutique. I had nearly three hours to chew over the events of last night, and that didn’t bode well for my emotions.
There’s enough tulle in this shop to sink a container ship, and I can’t quite put my finger on the smell. It’s a little plastic polyester with a dab of lavender to calm the nervous bride, mixed with a dash of eucalyptus to perk up the mother-of. Not too much, mind you – one strike of the wrong match and the place would melt in a Vincent Price spectacular.
I will admit, just quietly and between the walls of my mind, that some of these dresses are stunning. When I dig past the sequins, beading, boning and ghastly veils (as if he doesn’t know what you look like already), I find myself staring at a boatneck dress that is plain yet elegant, soft but heavy at the same time. It looks like a cloud I’d happily fall through. For now, all I can do is imagine what I might look like in it.
It would be a small wedding, a handful of people, and somewhere quiet. There’s no sacred churches or noisy public gardens in sight. I’ve got more cake than I’ll ever be able to eat, a dessert buffet, and it’s not so serious that people feel like they’re at a black-tie event. I peer up to my right to find Christopher standing in a tuxedo.
Wait. What?
How did he get here?
I stuff the dress back in the rack quicker than the Roadrunner on a freeway and give my head a quick shake in the hope Christopher might fall out of my made-up scenario. Nope, he’s staying put, clinging to the edges of my mind. And because he is who he is, he rebels by climbing straight back up into my daydream and making himself comfortable, gluggy paintbrush between his teeth in lieu of a flower.
I take a deep breath and press a hand to my chest and feel my heart thudding heavily beneath my shirt. Welp. I am dead.
‘Aaaaaand let me just take those before we have an international incident.’ From out of nowhere, a staff member with tightly pulled hair and the world’s best posture flits into view and back out again, absconding with the tray of coffee and bag of cupcakes I’d just paid way too much for at an overpriced food truck.
‘No, but I won’t spill them.’ I make grabby hands while she Mario Andrettis around the corner and out of my life. ‘That’s breakfast and I’m hungry!’
‘Dresses from all over the world!’ she spruiks from somewhere in the distance. ‘I’ll be back to help you pick one in a moment.’
Now, that’d be a great trick if she could pull it off.
‘Is that you, Katharine?’ Lainey squeaks over the top of everything.
Trying to find my friend among the aisles of dresses is like trying to make it through the labyrinth to Jareth’s castle. I follow her chorus of ‘ouches’, ‘be carefuls’ and ‘I need my boobs’ until I find her perched on a platform outside a fitting room. Immediately, I’m glad I made the decision to be here today because she looks stunning. There are no other words for it. Lainey is going to make the most incredible bride.
She’s been cinched and fastened into her dress, which is classic A-line with lace sleeves and plunging neckline. She’s got her hands up near her armpits while a seamstress drifts about her feet with a mouthful of dressmaking pins. I offer help, but there’s nothing I can do except take a seat on a silver velvet sofa opposite Camille, her mother, who gives me a stressed hello.
‘Is it okay?’ Lainey asks, eyes downturned in worry.
‘You look beautiful,’ I say, and I mean it.
‘Are you sure?’ she tries as she fluffs the skirt. ‘You don’t have to say that just because you’re my friend. You can tell me.’
‘Honestly, Frank’s not going to know what hit him.’ My voice breaks.
‘Did you bring food?’ Lainey changes topic like the wind. ‘I’m sure I heard you talk about food.’
‘I had coffee and cupcakes, but they got confiscated.’ I give an apologetic shrug. ‘Hopefully, we can get them back at the end of the exam.’
‘If I don’t eat something soon, I’m going to be carb neutral,’ she announces, sweeping back into the change room and pulling the curtain shut behind her.
‘Lainey, sweetie, you want your dress to fit.’ Camille offers a pinched face, ‘no offence’ grimace before turning her attention back to the demands she’s giving her daughter and the dressmaker.
‘And it will,’ Lainey calls from the other side of the curtain. ‘There is no way I’m dieting just so a bunch of your friends can turn up for a free feed.’
Camille tuts a sigh and gives her head a tight shake. I guess that tells me all I need to know about the state of the union this morning. I shrug. What more can I do?
‘Are you bringing anyone to the wedding?’ Lainey asks.
‘I’m not sure,’ I say, frowning. ‘How much longer do I have to decide?’
‘A week or two?’ The curtain sweeps aside, leaving Lainey standing there in her underwear with a pool of dress at her feet. ‘Is that okay?’
‘Perfectly fine.’
She fixes me with a look that begs for furth
er explanation. ‘And are you okay?’
‘I really am.’ I give my best reassuring smile. ‘Better than fine. Life is wonderful right now.’
In the corner of my mind, somewhere by my shoulder, I’m sure I hear Christopher whisper, ‘That’s right. It’s because of me.’
I flick the metaphoric devil from my shoulder and train my attention back on my friend.
‘So, who are you thinking of bringing?’ she asks, strained. ‘Have you met someone? Remember, whoever you bring will need a place card.’
For the first time in our friendship, I feel like I can’t explain yesterday to Lainey. Not yet. It’s not that she wouldn’t understand. I’m sure she would. Maybe it’s just because I don’t even know what to label it yet. Does it even need a label? For all I know, yesterday could transpire to be nothing more than mixed signals and shared embarrassment. The last thing I want to do is put anything out in the universe and have it bite me on the arse at the first roundabout.
‘I might bring Adam,’ I offer. I probably wouldn’t. ‘He might like the night out.’
‘You’d bring your brother?’ she asks. ‘Did you know your gallery was the first time I’d seen him in years? Maturity suits him.’
‘Surely you’ve seen him before then?’ I ask, trying to think back to events over the last few years. I can’t picture them in the same space.
‘You know what you could do? You could advertise for a plus one.’ She steps out of the cubicle to the sound of her jeans zipper and shakes a finger at my scrunched face. ‘Hear me out. I’ve known people who’ve hooked up like that. Happily ever after. A guy at Frank’s work did it. Had been on Tinder for eighteen months, tried speed dating, blind dating, every other type of dating you could think of. I think he was just at that age where he was like, “Okay, I need someone.” Ad in the newspaper? Boom. Married. Boom. Second baby due next month.’
‘I’m okay as I am, thank you.’ I cross my legs at the knees and watch her spin in the mirror to make sure she’s dressed herself properly. I love her so much, but she’s definitely got a dose of wedding brain.
Accidentally in Love: An utterly uplifting laugh out loud romantic comedy Page 23
