by Isabel Wolff
He nodded. ‘She’s so over the top. I find women like that really hard work.’
‘So will I look “edgy” then?’ I asked.
‘You’ll look lovely. I’ll print them tomorrow.’
‘Where?’
‘Here. I’ve got my own dark room. They won’t take long.’
‘So how do you do it? I’ve never seen it.’
‘Really? Well, first you select the negs you want to develop out of all the shots that you took, and then what you do is—’ He suddenly put down his cup. ‘Do you want to see it?’ he said. ‘I could show you.’
‘What, now?’
‘Yes. I could print your photos while you’re here. Would you like that?’ he added.
‘Well, yes. Yes… I would. But how long will it take?’
‘About forty-five minutes. I’ll book a cab for eleven fifteen. Is that okay?’ I nodded. ‘All right then—come with me.’ He picked up the tray and we went back in. He phoned the cab company, and as he did so I peeped into his bedroom through the half-open door. He was fairly tidy; the white duvet was pulled neatly up, and there were no clothes lying around. I saw a hockey stick leaning in one corner.
‘Okay,’ he said ‘that’s all booked.’ He took off his jacket, threw it on a chair, and pushed on a door next to the kitchen. ‘It’s in here.’ As we entered the dark room, an alkaline smell filled my nostrils. ‘I love doing this,’ he said. ‘I love the development process.’ There were shiny strips of negatives hanging up, and four or five photos pegged on the line. There were bottles and boxes marked Ilford and Kodak. David topped up one of the trays, then fiddled with what looked like a big microscope. ‘This is the enlarger. I’ve just got to…that’s it. Okay. Right. Ready?’ He leaned across me, pulled the light cord, and we were suddenly plunged into dark.
‘You’ll be able to see in a moment,’ I heard him say softly. And sure enough, dim outlines now began to loom out of the velvety black, as a faint coral glow filled the room. I looked at David and saw his features materialize. ‘That’s the safe light we’re seeing by,’ he explained. ‘I’ve got the three negs I like best in this.’ In his hand I could just make out a slim black box, like a CD holder. He flipped it open, took out the first negative, blew on it with a can of compressed air, then he put it in the enlarger, and a small light came on.
‘There’s a safe filter,’ he explained. ‘To protect the paper from the light while you’re still focussing.’ As he did so, I recognized my own projected features, blurred, but becoming clearer now. ‘That’s it. I’m going to expose it… Okay.’ He pulled out the filter and looked at the clock on the shelf in front of us. We both remained silent as the luminous second hand ticked round twenty seconds. Then he turned the enlarger off, removed the paper and slid it into the developing tray. Now he was tipping the tray backwards and forwards, gently rocking it. I could hear the liquid slap against the sides.
‘This’ll take about three minutes or so.’ He put his hands in, and gently moved the paper about by its corners as grey smudges began to appear. ‘You’re supposed to use tongs,’ he said. ‘But I like to get my hands in. It’s a tactile thing with me. It’s not good for your skin but in my case that doesn’t really matter.’
There was another silence. ‘David.’ My heart was banging against my ribs.
‘Yes?’
‘There’s something I want to tell you…’
‘Really? What?’ I took a deep breath. He glanced sideways at me, then looked down at the tray again, rocking it. ‘What is it? You look so serious.’
‘Well…at dinner, I said that you’d told me that you were thirty-six. But you didn’t tell me that.’
‘No. I didn’t think I had.’
‘That’s not how I knew.’
‘So how did you know?’
‘Because…’ I looked at his profile as he tipped the tray this way and that. ‘Because…’
‘… I look thirty-six, I suppose.’
‘No, that’s not the reason. It’s because… I…’ My heart was pounding. ‘I…saw it on your website. It said that you were born in 1967. So…so that’s how I knew.’
‘Oh!’ he laughed. ‘I thought you were going to say something absolutely terrible! Is that all it is—that you looked at my website?’
‘Yes,’ I replied. ‘Yes, I did.’
‘Well,’ he laughed again. ‘I’m glad. In fact, I feel rather flattered. So is that the end of your “confession” then?’
‘Well, I—’
‘Oh look,’ he said. ‘Here you come…’ I stared at the paper as it began to darken and pigment. There was the outline of my hair and my jaw, my lips and now my nose. ‘I love this part,’ he said. ‘The way the image fades up, from invisibility, in front of your eyes. It’s like turning up the radio and hearing music.’ It was one of the photos he’d taken in the house. I certainly did look ‘edgy’. Uncomfortable. Distracted. You could see it. In my eyes. You could see the guilt that I’d carried for so long. I felt as though I certainly had been—yes—exposed.
‘David—’
‘You look beautiful,’ he said suddenly. ‘And your expression’s fascinating. You look slightly troubled. As though there’s something rather complex going on in your head. Or maybe that’s still the aftermath of your break-up,’ he added softly. I didn’t reply. Then he lifted the photograph, as it now was, out of the developer, and slid it into the adjacent tray. ‘This is the stop bath,’ he explained, as he gently rocked it again. Then he lifted it out and slid it into the next one. ‘And this one’s the fix. I’ll leave it in here while I develop the second negative.’ He repeated the process, talking softly all the time, and now I saw myself emerge again, this time with Herman, walking down Primrose Hill; with kites high in the sky behind us, and, in the foreground, a dog just running out of shot. There was so much movement in the image, as though it was a moment frozen from some ongoing drama. ‘You look lovely,’ he said. ‘You look preoccupied,’ he added. ‘But that only makes it more interesting.’ Suddenly we heard the buzz of his door.
‘There’s your cab. Damn…he’s early.’ David rocked this second photo in the fixative, staring at it intently; I was aware of his gentle, regulated breathing as he worked. And I realized that I’d been with him for three and a half hours and hadn’t said what I’d wanted to say. I couldn’t do it now because the cab was here. So I’d have to see him again. Yes, that was it. I’d simply have to see him again, and then I’d tell him. I’d tell him, and it would be over…
‘I’d like to see you again,’ I heard him suddenly say. He was still looking at my photo—as though he was addressing that—not me—as he moved it from side to side. ‘I’d like to see you again,’ he repeated, still talking to my image. We heard the buzzing of the door again, more urgent now. ‘Because, you see,’ and now he turned his head and looked at me, ‘I think you’re rather nice. So would that be okay, Miranda?’
I felt as though I were falling, headlong, down a steep incline. ‘Yes,’ I whispered. ‘It would.’
David smiled, then he suddenly leaned towards me, and for a moment I thought he was going to kiss me. But then he pulled on the cord behind me and a white light flooded everything. He lifted out the photograph.
‘Good.’
CHAPTER 8
‘You went out to dinner with him?’ whispered Daisy on Sunday afternoon. Her eyes were as big as a bush-baby’s. ‘Dinner? As in, a date?’ We were sitting in the Primrose Patisserie, speaking very softly in order not to be overheard—or rather Daisy was. I was simply nodding, which was as much as I could manage communication-wise, given my delicate emotional state. ‘So you had a date with him?’ she repeated wonderingly. I nodded again. ‘But your message just said you were “seeing” him, so I assumed that you’d called him. But he’d actually asked you out?’ I nodded. She leaned back in her chair. ‘Wow!’ Then she put down her teacup and leaned forward again. ‘He fancies you,’ she mouthed. I shrugged. ‘He does. Otherwise he wouldn’t have done that
, would he?’ She drew in her breath. ‘My God. This rather complicates things, doesn’t it?’ she added, matter-of-factly. I nodded again. ‘On the other hand,’ she mused, her eyes narrowing as she assessed the situation, ‘it might actually make it all easier, given that he clearly likes you. So has he called you again yet?’ I shook my head. ‘But he said he wants to?’ I nodded. ‘Then I’m sure he will. He just doesn’t want to look too keen. Blimey,’ she breathed. Then she giggled. ‘What a turn-up.’ She had another sip of Earl Grey. ‘So, in those circumstances, I guess you didn’t say anything…’
‘No,’ I murmured, recovering the power of speech now. ‘I wanted to. Obviously. In fact, I tried to. But the restaurant was pretty crowded, so clearly I couldn’t do it there, and then he asked me back to his flat, and…’
‘You went back to his flat? What happened?’
‘Well…it was very nice. We just sat on his roof terrace looking at the lights of London, just chatting, or, rather, he did most of it. He said he’s never been a great conversationalist but that, for some reason, he likes talking to me. And I was more than happy to listen—he’s interesting—and of course I was preoccupied. But there were a couple of moments when we were sitting there when I might have said it, and I did want to,’ I sighed. ‘I really did…’
‘Then why didn’t you?’ she asked quietly. Why didn’t I?
‘Because…then we went into his dark room while he developed the photos he’d taken of me and, yes, I did almost tell him then. I knew it would be easier there—just whispering it into the darkness, but…’
‘But what?’
I stared at her. ‘Somehow the words got stuck in my throat. And he’d ordered a cab for me, so I knew I didn’t have much time, and the point is, Daisy, that it’s not the kind of thing I could say quickly, is it? So no, I…didn’t actually do it, but…’
Daisy gave me a piercing look. ‘I know why you didn’t,’ she said. ‘It’s obvious. I’ve just realized. You didn’t tell him—because you like him—don’t you?’
I fiddled with the sugar bowl. ‘I don’t really…know.’ ‘You do,’ she insisted with another giggle. ‘I can tell. You can’t hide it from me, Miranda. I know you too well.’
‘Okay, then. Yes. I do like him. Or rather—I’m…drawn to him. And so, all right, I admit that I didn’t want to blurt it out and spoil a lovely evening—’
‘Or the possibility of seeing him again…?’ I looked at her. ‘That’s it, isn’t it, Miranda? Isn’t it?’
I shrugged, drew in a deep breath, then slowly nodded. ‘Yes,’ I said. ‘You’re right. That’s why I chickened out. Because I knew that if I told him, that would be it.’
Daisy was chewing her bottom lip. ‘Oh. Dear. You didn’t expect this when you went looking for David, did you?’
‘No. I didn’t.’ There was silence for a moment.
‘Well, I guess you’ll have to bite the bullet at some stage.’
‘Hmm. Grasp the nettle.’
‘Especially if you’re thinking you might…get involved with him.’ Involved with him. My heart rolled over. ‘So maybe next time, then?’
I felt suddenly happy, almost to the point of euphoria. ‘Yes. Maybe next time. That’s right.’ Let there be a next time. ‘Now, what about you?’ I thought of Daisy’s wedding dress, encased in its velvet bag like a butterfly in its cocoon. ‘Have you spoken to Nigel?’
‘Not…quite.’
‘By which, I presume, you mean “No”.’
‘Well, I had to work all day yesterday on a pitch we’re doing for this guy’s fiftieth—he wants an Arabian Nights theme with camels and belly-dancers—then Nige had a bridge tournament last night. Then this morning he went into work because he’s got a new head of department and he’s very keen to impress him because, as I say, he wants to get Equity Partnership, and so…’ her voice trailed away. ‘But I will,’ she said. ‘Soon.’ An awkward silence descended, in which I was aware of a distant yapping. Daisy looked past me, over my left shoulder.
‘There’s a man standing outside, gesticulating at you. He’s holding the most enormous bunch of flowers. Perhaps he’s going to act on impulse.’
I turned round. ‘That’s Marcus.’ I waved and he came in.
‘Hello, Miranda.’ He was holding a massive bouquet of stargazer lilies, while Twiglet was tucked into his jumper as usual, his paws hooked over the V-neck. ‘Twiggers spotted you first and started barking. He just wanted to say “hi” to his teacher.’ I stroked Twiglet and got a kiss on the nose, then he suddenly leaped into Daisy’s outstretched arms.
‘Oh look—Twiglet’s made a new friend.’
‘This is Daisy,’ I said, as she cuddled him. ‘Daisy, this is Marcus. Marcus and Twiglet come to the puppy parties. We saw you on Land Ahoy!’ I went on, as Twiglet gave Daisy a rapid ear wash. Daisy looked up.
‘Oh, you’re the guy who does the self-defence classes,’ she said. ‘I remember now. Miranda mentioned it to me.’
‘That’s right. They’re just short courses, aimed at anyone—of any age, sex, ethnic group or religious persuasion—it’s all very inclusive.’
‘Well we’d like to come. Wouldn’t we, Miranda?’ She was looking at me intently.
I sighed. ‘Okay, then. Just to please you.’
‘Well in that case—’ he reached into his bag, and pulled out one of his flyers, ‘—let me give you one of these. It’s just off Tottenham Court Road.’
‘That would be very easy for me to get to from work,’ Daisy said. ‘I work in Bedford Square.’
‘The first one’s this Thursday, at seven. It’s fifteen pounds a time and we work in pairs, so it’d work well if you two pitched up together.’
‘We will,’ said Daisy as she handed Twiglet back. ‘Put us down for it, will you?’ She tucked the flyer into her bag.
‘Would you like some tea?’ I asked him.
‘No thanks. I don’t have time. I’m just going to see my girlfriend. She lives in Princess Road.’
‘Hence the flowers?’ I said. He nodded. ‘She’ll love them.’
‘I hope so. So I’ll see you at the next puppy party then.’ He gave us a parting smile.
‘Christ, he must be smitten,’ said Daisy. Twiglet had left a few tiny white hairs on her cardigan. ‘That’s at least forty quid’s worth he’s holding there. Anyway, I must get going too,’ she added as she stood up. ‘I said I’d go and see Mum. See you soon, Miranda.’ She hugged me. ‘And don’t worry.’ I slowly finished my cup of tea and then left. And I was just about to cross the road when two youths came up to me. My heart started to race. I know it’s irrational, but I can’t help it.
‘Excuse me,’ one of them said. I braced myself. ‘Could you tell us how to get to the tube?’ I gave them directions, but felt resentful at being asked, because it happens to me all the time. Maybe because I’m small, and don’t look threatening—and what I hate most is that it’s usually men. Anyway, I went back into the house—smiling at the aromatherapist, who was just locking her front door—then looked at my e-mails. ‘My sheepdog chases the goldfish round the pond. Is he trying to catch them?’ No. He’s trying to herd them. ‘My guinea pig is very aloof.’
‘My rabbit shakes its head at me the whole time, as if stupefied.’ That’s canker—he needs to go to the vet. Suddenly, another e-mail popped in. It was from ‘DJW’. My heart did a somersault. ‘Hi Miranda. Just to say I’m in Barcelona for a few days, on a shoot, but I’ll be back Friday and wondered if I could book you for Saturday night? David x. P.S. I thought we might do something fun.’
The week passed agonizingly slowly. The first show in the new series of Animal Crackers went out on Tuesday—it looked good, though it was odd seeing the case histories that I’d done back in March. The possessive parrot; the demanding gerbil; the passive-aggressive potbellied pig. On Wednesday the puppy party came and went. It was all very friendly, as usual, and at the end Marcus reminded me about his self-defence class the following evening.
�
��It’s in St Luke’s Church Hall in Howland Street, off Tottenham Court Road. Wear loose clothing.’
‘Fine,’ I said. ‘I’ll be there.’
‘Why don’t you come along too, Lily?’ he added. ‘Self-defence is a very useful skill.’
‘No, it’s okay,’ she said airily. ‘I don’t need it.’
‘But being tall is no guarantee that you’ll never be picked on.’
‘Oh, it’s not my height.’ She gave him a meaningful smile, then lowered her voice to a whisper. ‘It’s the fact that I keep a small, but efficient, axe in my bag.’
‘Okay. Right. Well…anyway,’ he tucked Twiglet into his jumper. ‘I’d better be off. I’m going to see Natalie.’
‘Your girlfriend?’ I said.
‘That’s right,’ he said happily.
‘What about the flowers? She must have been thrilled.’
‘Well, yes… I think she was,’ he said thoughtfully. I looked at him. ‘The problem is stargazers make her sneeze. Well, there is a lot of pollen on them, isn’t there? So I’ve got her some chocolates this time.’ He waved a huge box of Bendicks at me.
‘Gosh—lucky her.’ He obviously had it bad.
‘So, see you tomorrow then, Miranda.’
‘Yes, see you then.’
But in the event, I didn’t go. I was all set to, and was actually rummaging in the drawer for my jogging trousers at five past seven when the phone rang. It was Dad.
‘I’m up in town,’ he said. ‘So I wondered whether I could take you out for a bite to eat?’
‘Oh. Erm…’
‘I meant to call you earlier, but I was seeing the club’s accountant, and then I had to go to a shareholders’ meeting. But I thought it would be lovely to see you before I drive back. If you’re not busy, that is.’
‘Yes. Of course. That would be fine.’ Missing one of the self-defence classes wouldn’t matter. I called Daisy on her mobile and explained.
‘I hope you don’t mind,’ I said. ‘It’s just that I haven’t seen my dad for ages, what with him being in the States.’
