Baby Blues and Wedding Shoes (5 page)

“You look pale, you okay?”
Helen looked up to see Ben; his eye’s deep blue with concern.

“Fine, I’m fine.” Inhaling
deeply, she managed a wavering smile. She was feeling emotional
again. She wanted to win the competition so much, to see
her
image on the magazine, to know that she was worth something in her
own right.

“You don’t look fine. Come on,
we’re all going to grab a quick coffee before we get started.” He
gently took her camera from her lifeless hands and packed it away
in her rucksack. Shouldering Helen’s bag alongside his, Ben hooked
his arm through hers and led her gently on to catch up with the
others.

“Goodness me but that was the
most daunting thing I have ever been required to do,” Dawn declared
as they sat around quietly discussing the events of the
morning.

“Too bloody right!” Ben
chuckled.

“You two seemed to be getting
on real cosy,” Sharni teased Ben, laughing even harder as his face
flushed beetroot.

“She rather liked you,” Helen
confirmed, thinking about the lascivious look on Rosa’s face. “You
might be in luck!”

“Don’t talk bollocks, Helen.”
Ben blushed deeper. “Even if I were interested she’s way out of my
league.”

“She’s just a normal person,”
Helen said.

“Course she is,” Sharni
laughed, “cos all normal girls have their face plastered over
t’Tube.”

“Does anyone think they managed
a winning image?” Dawn looked around.

They all shook their heads but
Helen knew that secretly everyone thought they had at least one
perfect shot. It was the disappointment when you saw the images on
screen and hope was crushed which was the hardest part. She
suspected that was why they were still in the coffee shop despite
the deadline.

Remembering that her deadline
was shorter than most, Helen sat up straight. “I’ve got to go,
Daniel’s expecting me home by two.”

Sharni rolled her eyes but kept
her mouth firmly closed.

“Where are you going to work?”
Ben cut through the silence.

“I thought I’d head to the
British Library. I’ve got my laptop in my bag.”

“You’re going to attempt to
work in there on a Saturday? It’ll be wall-to-wall tourists.” It
was the first comment from Stuart, who had maintained his usual
aloof silence.

“I’ll have to,” Helen said, “I
can’t work at the apartment.”

There was a pause; then Ben
spoke again, his voice light. “You can come back to mine, if you
want?” He covered her hand with his in mute support.

“No, I need to work fast, I’ll
do that best alone. But thanks.”

She collected her bag from the
heap in the corner and shouldered it before turning back to the
group.

“Good luck, guys, may the best
shot win!”

Helen’s stomach churned like a
box of maggots as she fired up her laptop in as quiet a corner of
the British Library as was available at the weekend. It was one of
her favourite places to work, well worth the trip across town. She
had often come as a student when she fancied a change of scene from
the university library. Sometimes she came to be inspired, as if
being surrounded by so much learning and wonder would somehow rub
off.

Please let it rub off
today
, she thought as she fumbled with the memory card, getting
it in the slot on the third attempt.
Please let there be
something here worth entering into Derek’s competition.
Helen
raised her eyes to the sunlight coming through the domed ceiling,
trying not to curse audibly at the laptop as it told her to wait.
She felt like she was waiting for the results of a job interview or
a pregnancy test. So much was riding on this.

Aside from the £500 prize money
the winner would also have the first credit to their name to put on
their CV. Getting a magazine cover shot was impressive enough, but
saying that you had taken pictures of Rosa, that was an extra boost
to anyone’s career.

And no one wants it more
than I do
.
Of course everyone probably thinks that, but all
the others already have careers to focus on. Well, maybe not Dawn,
but at least she has done something with her life. Raising four
kids is impressive by anyone’s standards.

Helen considered her life
helping Daniel build his career as a consultant. Even though he had
a full-time PA in the office, Helen still managed much of his
social diary as well as hosting his various events.

It’s not like I do it for
free.

She thought back to when Daniel
had suggested she leave her Executive Assistant role to work for
him as his social secretary. She had agreed on the proviso that it
was in a formal capacity. She had even written a contract outlining
her main duties and time commitment which amounted to about a third
of the hours she had worked previously.

The look on his face when she
had suggested he pay her the same £40k salary pro-rata -- mingled
disbelief and respect -- had left her grinning for days.
Not for
nothing did I get a first class degree at Kings College,
Helen
thought to herself wryly.

Of course, working for Daniel
was rewarding and not just in the bedroom. His glory was her glory,
particularly when it was one of her social events that helped
clinch a deal.

But it isn’t the same as doing
it all for myself!

Helen was shocked by the
intensity of the thought. She shrugged off the feeling.
I’m
obviously still jaded after a night of no sleep.

Normally she loved being
Daniel’s right hand man, as it were. She generally found the dinner
parties entertaining, if only because it gave her a chance to see
Daniel in action.

Just as she was about to lose
herself in images of Daniel in action the night before, Helen’s
gaze was dragged back to her laptop. The photos had loaded and
there were now fifty or so thumbnails on the screen, tantalizingly
too small to see properly.

Emptying her mind of any
preconceptions, Helen selected
view slideshow
and sat back
to look at each shot individually, beginning to end, before making
any decision.

The first dozen shots were
good. Helen felt the corners of her mouth twitch and her pulse
began to quicken. She couldn’t really tell until she went into the
image, to see how sharp it was, whether the quality was up to
scratch. She was running through any editing the images might need,
in terms of tweaking the histogram or brushing out any errant
flies, when an image flashed up on her screen that truly cleared
her mind. Shaking off a shiver Helen hit pause, knowing that she
didn’t need to see the rest of the shots.

Helen studied the photograph.
Rosa’s eyes stared back into hers, the light from the laptop screen
enhancing their glow. All the other images were of Rosa looking
over her shoulder, as Helen had requested. She remembered, though,
that she had made some sassy comment to Rosa about Ben and Rosa had
glanced directly at the camera with the cheekiest expression. The
girls had connected down the camera lens and it was captured there
for the world to see. Rosa was stripped of her normal aloofness;
laid bare as a twenty-something girl having naughty thoughts about
her man. It was incredibly sexy but also fun and light-hearted.

Helen became aware of an aching
feeling in her face and realised she was grinning manically. She
glanced swiftly round to make sure no one was watching her,
although she felt so full of joy that she was surprised she wasn’t
flashing like a beacon.

It took no time at all to ready
the print for submission. There were no blemishes and Helen was
reluctant to play with the light or colour for fear of diminishing
the immediacy of the photo’s impact. In all the time since she’d
signed up for the photography course six months earlier Helen had
not taken a single photo of which she was so immensely proud. She
wanted to rush home immediately and show Daniel. She wondered if
today was the day to come clean about her new hobby, to confess
that she wasn’t always pounding the treadmill when he thought she
was. Surely the quality of the shot would show him that it wasn’t
just a frivolous hobby but something she could make real money
doing. Daniel would understand it from that angle. Then she
remembered the awards ceremony and thought better of it.

If I win - if this image is
going to be on a magazine - then I’ll tell him.

She penned a quick email and
attached the photo, wondering briefly whether she should use her
full three submissions. After a moment’s thought Helen decided to
be brave and go with just the one. She wanted the image to have
full impact and knew that it stood a better chance solo. Connecting
briefly to the internet, Helen sent the email, waited for the
confirmation that it had been received, and shut the laptop with a
click.

Floating on a euphoric cloud,
Helen wandered dreamily out of the library. A delicious smell
wafted from the food van parked up in the small courtyard and Helen
realised, even before the pleading gurgle from her tummy, that she
was ravenous.

She craved something greasy and
unhealthy rather than her usual salad wrap.

Well, I am celebrating
,
she shrugged, tucking into a pasty with gusto.
Daniel would
probably disown me if he could see me now, perched on a wall,
eating a steaming hot pasty from a paper bag
.

Helen thought she’d never been
happier.

Chapter
Three

Marcio’s thoughts swirled with
the sway of the boat. He lay with his hands behind his head,
watching the horizon rise and fall, his view alternating between
sea and sky. Both were a deep and calming blue, the distinction
between the two made only by the glinting sun from one causing
diamonds to dance on the other.

Marcio closed his eyes and
turned his face to the sun, allowing the warmth to smooth the
creases from his face. Fire demons darted across the insides of his
eyelids until the colour intensified to a vibrant orange, as if
shining through a bottle of rosé.

Beneath the tranquillity Marcio
was conscious of a roiling sensation deep in his stomach, like the
beginnings of hunger, even though he’d grabbed lunch before leaving
the harbour. He concentrated on the feeling, trying to form words
around it. It felt like nerves but what was there to be nervous
about? He was floating in a sea of contentment, figuratively and
literally, and it was only going to get better from here.

Bringing his unruly mind and
body into focus, Marcio ran through his lines for the following
day. Mia had insisted he write his own, cautioning him to make them
genuine, rather than one of his many fictions. They had been easy
to write, his love was deep and sure, his heart clear. As he
thought about it now, Marcio wondered where the churning in his gut
was coming from.

“Just the normal jitters,” he
said out loud, causing a seagull roosting on the mast to flap its
wings in protest. The movement mirrored that in Marcio’s stomach.
Analysing the fluttering, and aware now of an alien taste in his
mouth, Marcio realised it was more like angst than nerves. He
wondered if it was the idea of living with someone after being by
himself for so long. He wished, not for the first time, that Mia’s
family weren’t quite so traditional.

“So archaic, not to have
shacked-up before the big day. What if we drive each other
bonkers?” He addressed the seagull who tipped his head in response
but said nothing.

Marcio thought about all the
times Mia had stayed with him in his tiny London flat and knew they
would have no problems living together. Mia was easy to be with.
She never argued, never had a cross word to say about anyone.

In fact the only time she ever
gets even vaguely cantankerous is when I spend too much time out
here.

As the words walked through his
mind he looked at the distant horizon and the butterflies in his
stomach reared up, all taking flight together. He knew then the
cause of his disquiet.

“Will I still be able to write,
if I can’t be alone in your company for days at a time?” He
addressed his thoughts to the boat, which creaked in response as if
to say, O
f course!

He stroked the deck gently,
feeling the smoothness his hours of labour had produced. It seemed
wrong to feel sad - childish even - when he knew the reality was
that it was mostly his job that kept him from sailing. If he
finished renovating the boat enough to run charters – his intention
once he and Mia were settled in a family home – he’d be aboard
significantly more.

“It won’t be the same.” He knew
his voice sounded mulish; a small boy facing an unacceptable
compromise.

“Too late now,” his adult-self
responded. “The wedding’s in,” he consulted his watch,
“twenty-three hours.”

A light breeze lifted his dark
hair and gently kissed his skin. Marcio tried to imagine what the
future would be like after tomorrow. It would be odd leaving London
more or less for good. He planned on keeping the apartment, at
least in the short term. Strangely, Mia was more understanding of
his need to go to London for work than she was of his desire to
hide away on his yacht. He suspected it was because she loved
visiting the city too, generally finding an excuse to accompany him
if her business allowed. Now her salon was established enough that
she had staff it was easier to get the time away.

Not that she’s come
recently
, he mused.
Must have been busy with the wedding
plans
. He thought guiltily that he’d pretty much left the
arrangements up to her apart from writing his own vows at her
request.

“Women like that sort of
thing,” he said to the seagull, knowing as he uttered the words
that it was an excuse and a poor one at that. The truth was, as
much as he loved Mia, the idea of wrestling with seating plans and
invitation lists filled him with horror.