by Hannah Doyle
‘It’s all about showing the real Erin, okay?’ Frazer says, nodding along in agreement with himself. ‘We’re launching her website soon and we already know that her fans love her down to earth nature. She’s going to be a superstar, but she’s also a Dublin girl, born and bred. Everybody needs a niche and Erin’s is that, sure, she’s stunning and talented and famous, but she’s also JUST LIKE YOU.’
Frazer actually points towards me when he says this.
Erin shoots me an apologetic look. We’ve had a little bond already and every time Frazer says something cocky slash stupid, our eyes flicker to meet each other’s. I bury a smile back at her. It’s all water off a duck’s back because I’m not here to be the star of the show. I’m here to #werk and I’m going to do the best job I chuffing well can. At the moment Erin’s doing a voiceover for a new TV ad, so we’re in the studio in Frazer’s building as she sits with a pair of headphones on. It’s dark and narrow, which isn’t making my job easy, but I’ve managed to gecko myself into a tight corner of this small room and if I try not to breathe, I can just about get a decent angle. Don’t nobody tell me that my job isn’t ALL glamour.
‘Brilliant, brilliant,’ Frazer is saying down the phone. ‘I’ll get my PA to send you the release as soon as we’ve wrapped. I’m offering you a world exclusive with these shots of Erin, mate. A world exclusive.’ He pauses for effect, the whole room ringing with silence now that Frazer’s booming voice has stopped. ‘It’s a huge deal. I want Erin’s name at the top of the list for every potential endorsement from now on, okay? And you’d better start dropping her name left, right, and centre. Believe me, these pics will be your story of the day. Most hits of the week! I can see it now. . . Of course the shots are going to be good. I’ve found an up and coming talent to take them, she’s called Jasmine. No you won’t have heard of her, she’s only just set up on her own but don’t panic. Dave Corrigan’s using her headshots for his new book. Yes THE Dave Corrigan. I tell you what, mate, stop asking questions and start trusting me. This is about to blow up and you’re getting ringside seats. I’ll be in touch when they’re ready.’
Frazer puts the phone down and shoots a self-satisfied smile around the table. Erin looks like she’d like to be swallowed up by her cup of tea.
‘How are we doing?’ Frazer asks, sidling over to me.
‘I am doing just fine,’ I reply pointedly. All this testosterone tossing is giving me a headache. ‘There’s loads of great stuff here, I think we could wrap?’
‘Let me have a quick look through what you’ve got first,’ says Frazer, clearly not used to trusting anyone else’s judgement.
‘Sure,’ I reply, sliding my laptop across the café table to him. We’ve just completed day two and the shots are good, I just know it. Erin in a lightweight jumper, sleeves pulled down past her wrist as she sips tea in one hand, glasses perched on the end of her nose and a manuscript in the other. ‘Erin, do you fancy getting some fresh air in the meantime?’
Frazer looks up at me, surprised. He’s used to calling the shots. But I’m not being rude and it’s obvious that we could all do with a break.
‘Thank you,’ Erin squeezes my hand as soon as we’re out of earshot, walking along the river. ‘I don’t know why but I never feel like I can stand up to Frazer. He’s so. . .’
‘Cock-sure?’ I offer.
‘Definitely. Don’t get me wrong, he’s amazing at his job. I’m so new to all of this and he’s already opening up some amazing opportunities for me. I just. . . I dunno. . .’
‘I get it. He’s been brilliant to me too, this job came at just the right time for me. But Jesus wept, Frazer, why don’t you stop swinging your big fucking balls around for two seconds and let the rest of us catch our breath?’
Erin starts laughing. ‘I know, right? I like that he takes charge during all that corporate stuff that I’m useless at but did he really need to boss Betty around today? She was doing us a favour by letting us shoot in her café. I’m going to have to apologise when I go in next week. I swear he’s trying to set me up with another one of his clients, too. He thinks a relationship could be just what I need to make me a “household star”.’ She winces.
‘Eww. Don’t let him pressure you into anything. . .’
‘No way,’ Erin shakes her head firmly. ‘I don’t have the time for a boyfriend, I’m way too busy focusing on my career right now.’
‘I wish I’d had my shit together at twenty like you do.’
‘Huh,’ she says, stopping at a bridge to look out over the water. ‘You seem pretty sorted to me.’
Irish family meals are officially my new favourite thing. In fact, after becoming a hugely successful photographer and taking Mum and Mila on a yoga trip to Bali, marrying into an Irish family is now third on my goals list. There are, count them, THREE different types of potato in front of me. Three! Roasted. Mashed. New, boiled and covered in butter. Oh and did I mention the two types of meat Erin’s mum cooked for us? Lamb and chicken! What the eff, everybody? I’m in heaven.
I’m dousing a second helping of errythang in rich gravy and listening to Erin’s grandad sing old Irish songs from the far end of the room. The entire O’Gara clan turned up for Sunday lunch, as they do every week, with little ones jostling for a place at the children’s table in the corner while the adults squeeze themselves around the big table. You’d think that the dining room of this terraced house might fit about eight people in it, at a push? Erin’s family laugh in the face of that. There must be sixteen of us, at least. Once I’d got as many shots as I could I finally caved in to Grandma O’Gara’s not entirely accurate pleas – ‘you need some meat on your bones!’ – and tucked in.
The table is heaving with food, each dish presented on top of some white lacy placemats. Frazer’s busy charming Mrs O’Gara, much to Erin’s dad’s amusement. Erin and her uncle are fighting over who gets the last of the marrowfat peas. Some second cousins twice removed are arguing over who’s turn it is to do the washing up. It’s noisy, frenetic and quite simply, bliss.
‘Are you okay?’ Erin asks, now triumphantly clutching a bowl of peas. ‘You’ve gone quiet.’
‘I’m just soaking it all up. Your family are so nice.’
‘Nice in a crazy way, right? Uncle Kevin will start talking about politics any minute now and then we’ll be lost forever. Like, you might never escape.’
‘I don’t think I want to! I haven’t been to a huge family gathering like this in forever. It’s just lovely seeing everyone chipping in and chatting away.’
‘Do you not come from a big family?’ Erin asks.
I smile as two little O’Garas launch an enthusiastic campaign to go find the ice cream van. Erin hands them some change from her purse and they look thrilled.
‘I’m an only child and it’s been just me and Mum for years now. There’s usually five or six of us at Christmas but nothing like this. . .’
‘Chaos?’ she offers.
‘It’s perfect.’
Erin laughs. ‘It’s definitely not perfect. Someone usually falls out with someone else, or there’ll be squabbles over who gets to take the leftover trifle, but that’s just families, isn’t it? They’re never going to be perfect but they make you feel loved, and I guess that’s the main thing.’
Erin’s words sink in as I watch the little ones march back into the room with fists full of ice cream cones, fingers sticky with red sauce. A young girl with a halo of curly red hair bashfully hands me one and I’m struck with an emotion so strong that my voice cracks when I thank her for it. Here I am, feeling so lovely and warm in the kind company of a family I’ve never met before, while one side of my own family remains basically vetoed. They’re never going to be perfect.
After saying my goodbyes and happily accepting a Tupperware full of yet more potato ‘for later’ from Erin’s grandma, I head back to my hotel feeling clearer and more positive than I have in ages. When I get back to London, I’m going to go and see my dad.
It’
s my last full day in Dublin and I’m feeling nervous. And not just because I ate so much at lunch yesterday that my Danish trousers are a bit tight. Today is the day Frazer gives my photos the once over. I was up late last night going through all the shots on my hotel bed and I’ve whittled them down to what I hope is a really strong edit. I believe they’re good. But will he agree?
‘Come on in,’ Frazer says. We’re back at his headquarters, which is full of media types in impossibly chic yet relaxed outfits, and he leads me into his office. Frazer’s wearing suit trousers and white shirt rolled up to his elbows.
I open up my computer and get down to business. ‘These few I love, there’s that soft lighting and Erin’s expression is just beautiful,’ I say as I scroll.
Frazer flicks his attention between me to the computer screen. We pull together a shorter edit and print off a sheet of the best ones. Now I’ve got a red pen in my hand and I’m circling the very best ones, in my humble opinion, as Frazer occasionally shouts out things like ‘nailed it’ and ‘killing it’ and ‘knocked it out of the park.’ He may be annoying but I’m thrilled that he’s happy with my stuff.
We spend the day working on the images, picking ones for the website and some for this exclusive newspaper deal he’s been busy brokering. Frazer’s also taken the chance to grill me about my old job with Violet. . . what shots got the most likes, what posts got the most hits etc. He’s nothing if not thorough. Eventually I lean back in my chair and stretch.
‘Are you okay?’ he asks.
‘Fine, thanks. I’m just not used to being sat down for so long. I’m normally on my feet all day.’
‘Wow, yeah, it’s getting late,’ he says, pointing towards the expensive watch on his tanned wrist. ‘I was going to order some food in for us but I think we’re done. Why don’t you come out for dinner with me instead. Let’s call it a little farewell date.’
I take a long, slow look at Frazer. He is absolutely everything I once went for in a guy. I mean, hell, he didn’t even turn those last two sentences into questions, such is he self-belief. The old me would have been bitten his hand off at that invite. But what about the right now me? This would be my seventh date of the summer and I repeat the article title in my head. ‘Seven Dates to Find The One’.
I shut down my laptop with a smile.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Date Seven: The One
Nothing beats a long, hot shower in a hotel room. You don’t have to sniff your towel to check if it needs changing, or pause the washing machine so you’re not showering under a tiny trickle. I kicked off my hotel slippers and stepped in, using up all the complimentary toiletries. Now my hair smells deliciously of new shampoo and I’m perched on the end of my bed, applying make-up. I’ve decided to go all out for tonight’s date – shimmering eyes, plenty of mascara, bronzer and a nude lip stain. Finally, I walk over to the wardrobe and pull out a dress. Or should I say, THE dress? It’s the one I bought many moons ago for that wedding I was meant to be going to with James. The one that I spent too much money on. It’s been stuffed into a corner of my wardrobe at home ever since and for a while, I’d wondered about putting it on eBay. Something stopped me and now, in this moment, I know what it was.
I slip into the dress and whisper a little ‘thanks’ to Jasmine from four days ago for packing it. It was a last-minute addition to my suitcase and I remember laughing at myself like, ‘AS IF you’re going to find an occasion to wear this thing of beauty. On a work trip. To Dublin.’ Thank goodness I did. I feel like so many millions of dollars as I grab my bag, shut the door to my hotel room and head out for my date.
This restaurant is so cool, though the fact that I just called it cool means I probably shouldn’t be here. But deal with it baby, because I am! I’m sat at a corner table next to tropical print wallpaper, all palm trees and pink flowers. The entire ceiling is taken over with deep green vines, the chairs are wicker and I swear they’re playing one of those tropical rainforest soundtracks that are meant to help you sleep in the background. Either that or there actually are parrots and a waterfall in here somewhere. Ooh, I hope it’s the latter! I love a parrot.
I look down and give my dress a little stroke.
‘I’m so happy to be wearing you!’ I whisper. ‘It finally felt like the right time.’
A waiter clears his throat, because obviously I chose the moment when he was approaching to talk to my outfit.
‘May I get you a drink?’
I look back at the drinks menu. Initially I was planning on champagne but then I remembered that one successful work trip hasn’t suddenly turned me into a millionaire.
‘A glass of prosecco, please.’
‘And anything for your date?’ He gestures towards the empty seat opposite me.
I shake my head. ‘I’m on a date with myself tonight.’
‘An excellent choice,’ he says, clearing away the cutlery on the other side of the table.
I used to hate standing in a queue for a Maccy D’s by myself, let along eating food solo. Even waiting for Mila to turn up at our local was an excruciating affair of me pretending to be obsessed with my phone, but there are only so many times a girl can refresh Instagram before she gets bored. Then again, I used to hate a lot of things. Like being at a party with no one I knew. Or continually taking a load of shit from Violet even though I knew deep down that I should ruddy well stand up for myself.
I chew on a piece of delicious steak, feeling completely content sat by myself. Other diners smile when they catch my eye and I revel in feeling confident and self-assured. Frazer was surprised (obvs) but polite when I turned him down. I knew that I needed to do this. To go out on a date, by myself, and let the past few bonkers months sink in.
Who knew that James dumping me on the London Eye would be the catalyst for this whole shake up? ‘Date some different guys!’ Mila said. ‘Off you go!’ Some may say (everyone will say) that I was reluctant but looking back, I’ve learned something from every single one of those dates. Too Much Thierry was the perfect starter date, even though he was handsy and way too full on for me. He taught me that getting out there is a better option to sitting at home and feeling sorry for myself. Pie with My IT Guy was date number two and deeply unsexy. I mean, we talked about constipation for crying out loud! But though our pie and mash night didn’t sizzle, my friendship with Arnie has been one of the best things to come from this. He’s helped me so much with getting my website up and running, he’s always there if I need him and he has this innate way of giving me confidence when I could most do with it. Alessandro Al Fresco was, frankly, ridiculous and I will never forget the time I got papped dating Italian royalty. He was thoughtful, a true gentleman and made me realise that a breath of fresh air was exactly what I needed.
My mind moves on to date number four, Real Talk with Ralph, and I run my fingers around my glass of prosecco at the thought of his mysterious, smouldering demeanour and those cheekbones. Oof. It’s funny to think that a chance encounter in Switzerland could have had such an impact. Turns out I find a man with ambition hot. Not ambition to make lots of money like my old type, but ambition to follow in their passion. And secondly, that it is okay to open up about my past. I felt at ease with Ralph in a way that I wasn’t used to and that will definitely be something I look for in a future boyfriend.
Date five with Charlie the Courageous was a game-changer. That hot geek got me so hot under the collar. Thinking back, his stories gave me the push to take a chance on Ben and be brave enough to finally stand up to Violet. He was cute, shy, self-deprecating and unbelievably sexy with it. Long distance is a bitch though and the date taught me that work is my priority right now. So date number six, Hot DAMN, Harry!, was never going to be the start of a long-term thing, but I guess that just reflects how different I feel about things now. I’m not constantly planning for the future or wondering how long it’s going to be before I settle down, I’m ruddy well getting out there and enjoying life! And OH BOY, skinny dipping with naked Har
ry most definitely ticks that box! I think that date was possibly the sexiest thing that has ever happened to me.
Original date seven has been wiped from my notes, you guys. I take a sip of wine and giggle. A date with my best friend Ben! Even though kissing Ben was wildly awkward, the questions I had over our friendship were answered on that weekend in Oxford and now we’re back to normal. In fact, Ben’s been on a second date with Anita, the girl he met after Mila set us up on that cringe drinks date. I feel nothing but happiness for Ben and I really hope this works out for him.
When Mila came up with the idea of dating some new guys I couldn’t even see how I’d find the time, let alone get some dates. Skip forward to the end of the summer and I’ve travelled to six different places and had dates with six different guys, none of whom ticked too many things on my old list. Now I’m in Dublin on a date with myself. You can’t really rate yourself, can you? Oh what the heck, I’m getting a ten out of ten! I never thought I’d be brave enough to step out from Violet’s shadow and yet here I am, working for myself and trying my best to make a go of it. And suddenly it dawns on me. These dates weren’t really about finding The One. Soz for the cheese, but I think they were about finding me. I feel proud of myself for following my photography dreams and, for the first time in ages, I’m not stressing out about the guy I’m dating. What happened with Dad made me focus too much on finding my own ideal man. I wanted someone who would never do to me what he did to Mum. Only, Mila was right, I ended up becoming fussy AF and going for all the wrong guys. Now I’m calm, happy and best of all, not stressing about the future.
