“I’m sorry. I had no idea,” he said. It put her outburst in the studio in perspective.
“Does it ever get better, Dave?” she asked, the defiance crumbling like a brittle mask.
“You’ve made me better,” he said.
Rose stared at him for a few moments, then she let out a sound that was in between a laugh and a sob and she turned away from him, hiding her face behind her hands.
What had he done? She had made him better.
“Rose?” he went to her, and when he touched her shoulders he could feel them tremble. “You have made me better.”
Rose groaned. When he turned her around tears were streaming down her cheeks and her face was flushed, her beautiful mouth curling grotesquely to form sobs.
“Rose?” he asked, scared. What had he done? Something he had said must have been wrong, but what it was he had no idea.
Rose braced herself against his chest with her hands. “Who’s looking after me, Dave?” she cried. “I’ve always been the strong one, the valiant child.”
“But no one ever asked you how you really felt,” Dave finished her thoughts. She hadn’t mourned the Doctor yet, not properly, at any rate. In all those years she’d never given up hope. How had she done it? Her love for the Doctor must have been... He shivered. She loved fiercely and unconditionally. Until then he had always thought of his love for Rita to be like that, but his own feelings paled in the face of Rose’s strength. He would never be able to love her as much as she loved him, no matter how hard he tried. Helpless, he drew her into his arms and held her close. To his relief Rose let him.
“I’ll look after you,” he whispered, dropping a kiss on her hair. “If you’ll let me.” Neither Rita nor Michelle had ever allowed him to do that; they had never trusted him to comfort them. They had never learned how to be weak around him.
He felt Rose nod against his shoulder, and suddenly he felt lighter than he had in a long time. Rose trusted him, and by admitting to him that she wasn’t as strong as she made everyone else believe, she had admitted her real strength. “I l...” He began, but stopped himself to kiss her again. “I’d love that,” he said instead. “I’ll always be there for you, Rose.”
When she withdrew and looked up at him, her make-up looked like one of Evie’s watercolours after she’d held it up for everyone to see before the colours had dried. The black eye-liner and mascara had run down Rose’s cheeks. “I’ve stained your shirt. Again,” she said, looking at the wet spot on his shirt.
“It’ll wash,” he said, cupping her cheek.
“I’ve bought the cheapest make-up I could find to make sure it smudges well and makes me look like an emo,” Rose said. “Let’s not waste that.”
He looked at her in surprise.
“Go on,” Rose said, sniffling, “tell me what to do.”
“I can’t possibly take your photo like this.”
“Please, Dave. This is about genuine feelings, right?”
She was right, of course, but still he was reluctant to catch her vulnerability in pixels. Nothing of what he had put down in his sketchbook could compare with what he saw before him. To hell with the sketchbook.
Dave guided her to the hall, where she posed for him in a series of shots in her runny make-up and loose clothes. They only spoke when he gave her instructions, and after he had taken the first few pictures his shyness dissolved and he forgot about Rose and he just looked, composed the images, and took the photo. She was beautiful in the gorgeous light.
“Let me try something,” Rose said eventually. “In the conservatory. I’ll join you in a bit.”
He moved to the conservatory, checking the light and making all the necessary preparations as he waited for her. He scattered the debris that had blown in through the damaged panes more evenly, measured the light and adjusted his camera accordingly. The light was perfect, and he could hear the birds and the wind through the holes in the windows. Creepers had wound their way inside, and the dried leaves scattered over the tiled floor broke up the rigidity of the geometric pattern of red, black and white.
“Dave?”
Startled, he turned around. Again, he wasn’t sure if he’d actually gasped as he saw Rose. Her hair cascaded down her shoulders in rich, golden waves. She was wearing a domino mask but she hadn’t cleaned up her smudged make-up and it looked as if the shadow of the mask bled into her pale skin. If it hadn’t been for the light catching the sparkle in her eyes they would have been a pair of empty, soulless pits. She had taken off her clothes from the battle and replaced them with a robe.
She was wearing a robe.
“Tell me what to do,” Rose said, her voice shaky.
He swallowed.
“Rose.”
He couldn’t believe she was doing this. Yet at the same time, his imagination ran wild, and he thought of the mirror upstairs; it was one of his very first ideas, but the light in here was so gorgeous, and she’d asked him for this setting. “I’d like to see your hair on the floor, among the leaves,” he explained haltingly.
Rose nodded. She curled up on the floor and after a beat or two he knelt beside her to fan her hair out on the floor. It looked beautiful both in the muted and in the sharp sunlight, on the cold tiles with all the leaves around it. Her hair felt silken and heavy beneath his fingers, and he’d never thought that catching its texture in a picture would be possible, but the light captured it perfectly. He reached for the collar of her robe and pulled it gently away as he wanted to expose her shoulder. There was no bra strap in the way. Dave’s mouth went dry.
“Is this okay?” he asked.
“Yes.”
He moved around her to take photos from various angles; he could tell, as he moved, that they would turn out well, and as the shutter snapped, he forgot that it was Rose. He had no idea if she was watching him or if her eyes were closed. The dark smudges peeping from the bottom edge of her mask looked great and while he tried to catch her surprisingly angular jawline, he also managed to find the lines that most flattered her.
Once he rocked back onto his heels, Rose sat up, blinking in the light. “Let’s try something,” she said, shrugging off the robe and hurling the heavy terry-cloth garment away from her. She had been naked beneath the robe.
Dave tried to see but not to look. However, he couldn’t, in that first moment of surprise, avoid looking at her smooth skin and the few moles scattered on her creamy skin — moles like the one nestling on the edge of her hairline, just behind her left ear, and the one sitting on the dome of her right shoulder. Her nipples had hardened in the cool air of the room, sunlit though it was, and he could see her ribs more prominently than he would have expected, just like her hipbones, and — oh heavens — the curls between them. He shifted uncomfortably as his pants began to become just that little bit tighter.
“If I turn like this, can you see my scars?” Rose asked, making his eyes snap up to hers. Her cheeks glowed slightly pink. He moved around, but the light was so bright on the right side of her body that he could see only a hint of her scars.
“Only a wee bit. I can always remove the rest with my computer programme,” he reassured her.
Rose smiled at him. “Go ahead then.”
He draped her hair over her left shoulder and found the perfect angle. The generous light worked magic on her body, hiding her scars in its glare while at the same time highlighting the dark moles scattered down her back and outlining her contours against the dark background. It pooled lusciously in the curved line of her spine, and made the muscles of her left side and her right arm glow as she propped herself up.
Dave moved silently, focused on what he saw rather than who he saw. He moved away from her to capture her fragility in the huge expanse of the conservatory, to get across the feeling of emptiness and loss.
For a few moments he stopped and looked, despite himself, at her scars. He watched her as she stood and moved towards the door. The right side of her back looked like a relief map with ridges and valleys, with sm
ooth plains in between. The webbing of her skin was brindled, the effect of it heightened in the dappled light, and he wondered what stories this map on her body held. He wanted to trail his fingers over it and listen to her stories.
The door to the conservatory squeaked on rusty hinges and he snapped back to reality. He stepped up towards the dirty panes so he could take her picture through the cobwebs and grime.
When they were done, he was so calm and sure of what he wanted that she granted his request that she stand before the clouded, full-length mirror in one of the upstairs rooms without comment. He took a couple of photos of her patchy reflection, then they moved on to the bathtub, and to the skeleton of a bed. It was almost painful to see how the springs dug into her skin, but Rose didn’t seem to mind. They worked in almost complete silence as Rose posed. Dave had never felt more comfortable during a shoot.
At the end, he captured her smudged face with and without her mask. At first it wasn’t easy to work with her mask off, but he soon overcame his reservations and took some beautiful pictures of her. “Clean your face up?” he asked her after a while. Rose did, and she looked even more vulnerable without any make-up on, particularly with the peeling wallpaper as a background.
When he finally lowered his camera, he smiled at her.
“How are you feeling?”
Rose pulled her robe on, tightening the knot. “Good,” she said, smiling. “It’s your turn now, Dave.”
He stared at her. “What?” he squeaked.
“Your turn,” Rose said, handing him her mask.
He gulped. “Can I just... I’d like to take another photo of you. In front of the mirror, with your clothes on.”
“All right,” Rose said.
He had her stand in the same position as she had when she’d stood there naked. He would need his computer to finish the picture, but in his head, it was all there.
“Can I see you now?” Rose asked as he was satisfied with what he’d gotten.
The Emptiness Folder had been about his feelings, but so far he had only portrayed Rose’s. He wasn’t sure he could do it. Rose’s tears had been real when they’d set out. “I’m not sure I’m ready to,” he said. “I don’t feel right. I’m far too excited by how great this has been.”
Although Rose smiled she couldn’t hide her disappointment. “I’ll just change then,” she said.
His heart constricted. “Aye.”
Instead of packing up his things, however, he looked at the shots he had taken on the screen of his camera, quite satisfied with what he saw. He couldn’t wait to see the pictures on the big screen of his computer.
“Are they any good?” Rose asked as she joined him where he was sitting on the stairs in the hall.
“I think so, yes. Thank you.”
“Are you sure you don’t want to have a go yourself?” she asked. “I know I’m useless with a camera, but...”
He switched off his camera with a sigh. “I think today ought to be just about you. How are you feeling?”
“Fine,” she said. “Actually, I feel a lot better than I have in ages.”
He wanted to kiss her, but something held him back. It felt inappropriate, somehow, after she had bared herself to him like she had. He was in complete awe of her trust in him. At the same time, he felt giddy that she should have chosen him of all people. Those certainly weren’t feelings that belonged in the Emptiness Folder.
“Take off your clothes,” she said, standing.
“What?”
-:-
“Take off your clothes,” she repeated.
She saw that he wanted to tell her no. He had already opened his mouth when she covered his lips with her fingers. It was the first intimate touch since they had kissed a couple of hours earlier.
“Let’s just see what happens, yeah?”
She dropped her fingers from his lips as he nodded, lingering a little on his full bottom lip. For a moment Rose was tempted to kiss him, but then she saw the look in his eyes and she stopped herself. “I haven’t packed my robe yet. It might be a bit small for you, but it’s better than nothing. If you’d rather,” she offered.
“And the mask?” he asked, his eyes darkening.
“That too. If you want it.”
“It’s only fair, innit?”
Rose smiled, and the three words nearly rolled over her tongue. But they didn’t. It would be strange to see him naked while she was fully clothed, in her own clothes this time. What was more, she wasn’t a professional like him. She didn’t have much of an idea what to do with the camera. As he’d taken her photos she had either had her eyes closed or was watching him intently as he worked, fully focused on what he was doing. Not one of his glances had been unprofessional, except for maybe the first few moments when he’d seen her naked. Rose wasn’t sure she did have that kind of discipline in her, but she also knew that he needed these pictures of himself in the empty rooms badly.
“The bathtub,” he said, his voice coming from behind her.
Rose turned around and saw him in her robe, his toes digging in the rough floorboards. She raised the camera and pressed the shutter release. There was a satisfying click and his feet appeared in the small display. Rose nodded. Her robe wasn’t that small on him — she always bought over-sized men’s ones because she loved snuggling up in the soft white material after a bath.
“There’s something I need to get first,” he said, walking towards his props bag, from which he got a bottle of water and a neatly folded sheet of white linen.
“Do you mind if I take your photo through the conservatory window and in the mirror? In the hall, perhaps? I’d like to see what you saw when I was in the viewfinder,” Rose said.
“Only if you share your mascara with me.”
“What?” she asked in surprise.
“I liked the black bleeding into your skin,” he said. “I’d like to try that.”
Rose stared at him. Eventually, she nodded and went to get her cheap eye make-up and her favourite compact from her handbag. Biting her lip, she gestured for him to sit as she stood. She tilted his head up a bit and dusted his freckled skin with her compact. “Look up,” she said, uncapping the eye-liner. Dave twitched as she touched his lower lid with the pointy brush. Rose tutted. “Hold still. I’ve done this before.” His Adam’s apple bobbed nervously, but when she continued, he didn’t flinch. She applied the eye-liner and then told him to look down so she could coat his lashes with mascara. “Don’t close your eyes,” she instructed him. “You have beautiful lashes,” she said, brushing them with the mascara.
Dave grunted.
“There,” she said, stepping back. “Not half bad, I’d say.” She gave him her compact so he could look at himself in the mirror.
His eyes went wide as he looked at himself. “I’d be scared of me if I met me in a street at night,” he said.
“I think it makes your eyes even more beautiful. In a strange, sexy way.” She handed him the mask.
He slipped the mask on and ruffled his hair. “What now?” he asked nervously.
“The conservatory first, you won’t need to... cry for that.”
She saw him through the dirty glass, an indistinct shape in places, but other parts of his body were clearly visible. Like his navel and the dark line of hair beneath it; a nipple and his fingers; the curls at the base of his penis. She raised the camera, trying to see but not to look. Heaven knew how hard it was for him; it hadn’t been easy for her, but she trusted him. He was a professional.
They moved to the mirror, where she saw his backside; her eyes travelled down the long line of his spine and stopped at the pair of dimples nestled at its base. He had a perfect, bite-able arse, she thought, colouring. Her eyes caught his in the clouded mirror. He cocked his head a little.
“I just like what I see,” Rose mumbled, colouring even more. She cleared her throat and raised the camera to see him through the lens. At least, that helped.
She turned away as he slipped on the robe between
shoots.
They did the bathtub shots next, and she captured the black soles of his feet dangling over the edge, his knees poking over the rim, his head propped on the edge, the eye holes black and lifeless. They were getting there.
“I have an idea,” Rose said. “Meet me downstairs in a bit.”
She rushed down the stairs. If her memory served her right, she still had one of Tony’s toy cars and one of his smaller teddies in her bag. She’d meant to send them back to him, but she was glad that she had forgotten. She set the two items out on the floorboards in the room with the fireplace. Then she called Dave.
Bigger on the inside: Space, Time Travel, Alien Criminals (A Space Time Travel Mystery Book 1) Page 21
