By the Time You Read This (21 page)

And as I continued, the lady with an abundance of teeth had no idea that she was my first paying customer. That any mistake made with her booking would be a learning curve. That I would work doubly hard to give her the very best service I could.

Two days later, she returned for the shoot. The test shots were awful, as were the ten after that, but slowly I began to develop my own rhythm. Learned her best angles and the right things to say to make her smile. And hours later we sat at the laptop picking the best shots. Far from being a fussy customer, she just had one stipulation: “Can you do something about my teeth?”

By the end of my third day in business, I had five orders pending.

C
arla had an idea to put a small placard outside the indoor market, displaying my work, which seemed to entice passing trade, and within one week my orders doubled. My three star models (Abbi, Carla and the lady with the now airbrushed teeth) took pride of place in the studio. Abbi in a pink fluffy dress munching on an ice lolly, all doe-eyed and innocent, and the earlier shot of her riding the bike with the yellow tassels. On the far side, Carla looking rather sexual, mouth slightly open, her gorgeous face slightly shrouded by shadows. It was an absolutely stunning shot that hadn’t needed much of a touch up anyway.
And then the toothy lady with her foot on a stool, smiling at the camera. I hadn’t felt this good, this alive and full of purpose in ages.

I put together a makeshift website, displaying a show-reel of my photos, and even though I had yet to receive any inquiries via email, a presence in cyberspace somehow legitimized the business for me. Deep down I still couldn’t believe I HAD a business, let alone believe I was actually any
good
at photography. I’d never once questioned my ability in IT, but something as creative as this uncovered new sets of insecurities that had been lurking deep within. Yet despite all of this, I felt alive.

My camera was now a part of me, and I was unable (or unwilling) to go anywhere without the black case and strap swinging from my shoulders. It wasn’t easy without a car, but it was manageable.

I arrived at Carla’s mom’s feeling slightly nervous and uncertain if I’d bump into Corey. I was going to take some shots of Calvin with Carla’s mom to add to my portfolio of couple photographs. So while strangely excited about depicting the love and passion they still shared for one another despite their difference in age, I was relieved to know that Corey was out house-hunting in Greenwich with his bride-to-be.

I took various shots of the happy couple in a variety of poses around the house. Still astounded as to how much Carla’s mom and Calvin were so obviously very much in love, when contrasted to the staleness of Mom and the Bingo Caller’s relationship next door.

“You look great!” enthused Calvin as Carla’s mom reappeared in her fourth outfit of the day—a red off-the-shoulder dress so short I could probably wear it as a bikini top.

“Thanks, babe!” she trilled, draping long, shapely legs around her husband and perhaps totally forgetting my existence as she proceeded to stick her tongue down his throat.

I cleared my own throat loudly, before reluctantly shooting them in near pornographic poses, relieved to hear the front door open and the couple relax their positions somewhat.

Corey, minus the Blonde Bombshell Mark Two, appeared.

“Hi,” he said solemnly, eyes facing the laminated floor.

My heart stopped.

“What’s wrong, Corey?” asked Carla’s mom, pulling the hem of her dress downward.

“Nothing, Mom,” he replied, throwing himself onto the armchair. Something was wrong and I suddenly felt like an intruder.

“Let’s go and make something to drink, Lois!” said Calvin, ushering me out of the lounge and into the kitchen. It seemed clear that mother and son needed to be alone.

“Do you think Corey’s okay?” I asked as Calvin fixed himself a straight rum on the rocks and mine with coke.

“I suppose we’ll find out sooner or later. Probably that girlfriend of his.”

“Oh?” I sipped at the drink, the sharpness of the rum gripping my taste buds.

“I really shouldn’t say this but they’ve been arguing a lot lately, you know…”

I didn’t know. Carla hadn’t mentioned it. Not that I’d asked.

Calvin took a large slurp of his drink and flinched a little. “It’s not until you live with someone that you know what they are really like. That’s why I’m so lucky with my wife. We’re just meant to be together. You know what I mean?”

I didn’t, but I nodded regardless.

“You should have brought your record round to play.”

“With Stars On’?”

“Yeah, that corny one. I’d like to hear it again”

I playfully pinched him on the arm. “It’s not corny! Besides, carrying my camera equipment AND an old vinyl record on the bus? Too much.

“Why don’t we download it!”

“Can you believe, I just never got round to doing that?”

“You’ve had a lot on your mind. No problem, we can do it right now. Might take a bit of time to find it on the Net and downloading it will take at least half an hour,” he said.

“You mean you haven’t got broadband?”

“Nope.”

“Sorry, I forgot to mention that this creative photographer thing is merely a disguise, there’s always going to be a nerd fighting to get out!”

Half an hour later, Calvin had located Dad’s song and sent the MP3 file to my email box ready to download. A bloodshot-eyed Corey and his mom soon appeared.

“Can we finish this another time?” asked Carla’s mom.

“Sure,” I replied as Calvin handed his stepson a straight rum. Corey finally acknowledged my existence with a nod just as I was leaving.

“Good to see you, Lo Bag.”

“You too,” I said.

He followed me to the door and I faced him.

“What?” he asked in an ironic tone. I wanted to hold him, smooth over whatever was making him so sad.

“What is it?” I asked.

A pained expression followed and for a second there I
thought he would fall into my arms, rest his head and just
be.

Instead, with his hand on the doorknob, he said, “It’s nothing. I’ll be fine.”

C
arla never really did fill me in on what had happened, only that Corey and the Blonde Bombshell Mark Two parted soon after the very day I’d seen him, with Corey immediately taking a flight out to Barcelona, to his dad. Something that I totally understood he had to do. I ran a finger over
The Manual,
hoping to feel my own dad’s presence, but after reading a few past entries, I realized something:
The Manual
was almost coming to an end. Bookmarking where I had now reached meant the amount of pages on the right were so much less than those on the left-hand side. I gave out a sigh. No one, Corey included, would ever truly understand what
The Manual
meant to me—especially when all he had to do was take a two-hour plane trip to see his dad. I’d never see mine again.

I invested in a colorful portable MP3 player and the first song I loaded onto it was Dad’s song. So now it was as if I could hear his voice as I traveled on the bus into work or during the less busy moments in the shop. And that was nice.

I was soon able to break even with the bills and pay myself a tiny wage that would keep me in hot food. It was tough, but I found myself smiling more and more with each new day.

The cloud had lifted.

Thanks, Dad.

M
y best friend and I sat opposite one another, tucking into a selection of oriental starters at our favorite Chinese restaurant, just off Deptford High Street.

“It’s like I’ve just told you the worst news in the world, and not that I’m marrying Markus, the man I love. Sorry for thinking you’d be happy for me,” she said, crunching into a mini pancake roll.

“I want to be…but it’s him. He isn’t good enough for you,” I said fervently.

“And that’s your expert advice?”

“It’s not advice as such…just my opinion…”

“Just what have you got against him?”

“You have to ask? I don’t like the way he treats you, for a start.”

“He doesn’t hit me!” she said a bit too quickly.

My tummy muscles tensed as I watched her shift bits of pancake roll around her plate.

“I know you don’t agree with marriage and that but don’t try to ram it down my throat…”

“You know that isn’t it.”

“Then what is it then?”

“I have just told you.”

“Tell me again.”

“His jealousy…the way he talks down to you, Carla. I’ve seen it and he doesn’t care who he does it in front of.” Against the paper tablecloth, our fingers met, her engagement ring tinkling against the artificial lighting.

“Please, just think about it before you tie yourself down to this man.”

She drew her hand away and we ate in silence as I thought about just how much none of this made any sense. I’d
dumped boyfriends nowhere near as bad as Markus. And yet Carla was willing to forgo any feeling of self-worth to settle for a moron who lacked basic respect.

I was confused.

S
aturday was the busiest day at the shop, which meant I was unfortunately only able to spend an hour at Abbi’s birthday party.

“I don’t know why you can’t stay longer. Abbi loves seeing you!” complained Mom, transporting a fresh tray of jellies onto the kitchen table. Funny, the Bingo Caller—her own father—had hardly made an appearance and I was tempted to point this out.

“Mom, I’d love to stay among fifteen screaming little girls all day, but I have a shop to run and bills that won’t pay themselves!”

Abbi ran in looking cute in a pair of bell-bottomed jeans with pink stitching, hair up in a bun and curly tendrils on each side of her head. She was definitely growing up.

“Lois, can you come and take some pictures of me and my girls?”

“Your girls?” I said, surprised at how much of a teenager she was sounding.

“Yeah.”

“Are you eight or eighteen?”

“Lois, are we going to do this or not?” she replied haughtily, as I followed her to the lounge where I was instantly reminded of my own birthday parties. Of the last one, especially. Corey handing over that LL Cool J tape; which along with
The Manual
and Dad’s camera, has to be one of the best presents I had ever been given.

Abbi and her assortment of “girls” posed like mini Gwen Stefanis.

“Erm, you in the red…”

“My name’s Michaela!” snapped the girl.

“Could you move in a bit, I want to get you all in the shot!”

Michaela and the girl with large pigtails and a bit too much strawberry lip balm continuously giggled as I snapped away. The session took longer than an hour, of course, due to the incessant questions (“Have you really taken a picture of Kate Moss?) and the insistence they view (and argue over) every single shot.

“Thanks for that, Lois,” said the Bingo Caller, appearing at the doorway. He looked tired.

“That’s okay.”

“Kids can wear you out, right?” he said, perhaps reading my thoughts. I smiled a goodbye and as soon as I was out of the front door, found myself in the path of Corey.

“You look as bad as I feel, Lo Bag.”

“Cheers! Blame Abbi and her ‘girls’ demanding I take photos of them in every corner of the house!”

“Say no more.”

We walked together and the nerves appeared.

“How are things, Corey?”

“Could be better. It was good being at the old man’s. Spain was great, basically because I wasn’t here. No reminders, you know. Hey, let me carry that big ol’ thing,” he said, placing the strap of my heavy camera case over his own shoulder. “Where was I? Oh yeah. Space. Space to think about what I really want.”

We stood by the bus stop.

“And did you manage to figure that out, Corey?”

“You
are
kidding? What with Dad’s mad girlfriend Soli and all those sangrias? No way, Lo Bag.”

I smiled.

“Seriously, though, I did manage to think through a few things. And I even came to a couple of conclusions…”

“Two, huh? Clever boy!” I said, staying with the joviality, while Corey’s look became more serious.

“Care to know what one of those conclusions was?”

The familiar red blob came into view. “That’s my bus. You’d better tell me quickly!”

“Maybe another time,” he said, handing back the camera.

I stepped onto the bus, loaded with ambivalence. Wanting to go, but also wanting to stick around to listen to whatever Corey had to stay.

“See ya, Lo Bag!”

I turned back, but Corey was gone.

Twenty minutes later, I hopped off the bus in time to find a young woman peering through the window of K Pics while muttering on her cellphone. A paying customer, I hoped.

S
ome weeks were slow, on others I had too many pictures to take and not enough hours. It was never as simple as just taking a few snaps; they had to be airbrushed, at times with special effects (one lady wanted her eyes to literally sparkle, complete with mini stars floating from the eyelids!). Aware of how work obsessed I could become again, I was keen to adopt a sort of work/life balance, so agreed to a cinema trip with Carla.

However, she stood me up.

“I’m so sorry, babe. As I was about to leave, Markus came down with something. He’s quite sick. Sorry, babe, will make it up to you. Promise!” she said when she finally called three hours after we were supposed to meet. “He’s waking up, Lois. Got to go!”

It would be a lie to say I’d never thought of life without Carla. She had a selfish streak that grew with each new boyfriend. We wanted different things; we were so different. But somehow I’d gotten used to her ways, and that in itself was comforting. Plus, I hardly had a mass of best friends vying for my expert make-up tips.

True to form, when we met up again Carla asked if I’d photograph her wedding without mentioning her “no show” the other night.

And I agreed because she was my best friend.

T
wenty-nine; two nine; twenty add nine. Whichever way you pronounced the words, they still allowed me to imagine the sight of a great big bulldozer swiftly heading my way. Yes, I was officially twenty-nine years old, and while it stunk like fresh shite I still wasn’t as devastated as
Carla, who as always got there a few months before me, refusing to answer her phone for a week, surrounding herself with brochures about “face decreasers” and basically undergoing intense hibernation.

I
managed to drag Carla away from Markus and her duvet long enough to jump onto a bus to the West End.

“So, you’ve taken me out of my home, away from my fiancé, to do…what, exactly?”

“Get stupid!” I roared in the middle of Trafalgar Square like an unhinged woman. Scarily, no one gave me a second look. “I want to do all the things I missed out on when I was younger!”

Carla rolled her eyes. “Oh, like having sex, you mean?”

“No! I dunno, when’s the last time I got drunk?”

“Never. Even when we went to Spain you only drank about two cocktails.”

“There you go then. Let’s get drunk! It’s my birthday and I only have twelve months until I’m thirty! Come on!”

As I said it, I realized that in essence I did have a whole year to “get stupid” but I figured I should start now. Besides, I’d be expanding the business soon.

“Oh big deal. I’ve got drunk loads of times!”

“In a strip club?”

“Excuse me?” Carla stopped in her tracks like a car coming to an abrupt halt. “Did I hear correctly?”

“You did!”

“Ohmigosh, let’s go now, quick, before you change your mind!” She grabbed my hand excitedly. And all I knew at that silly, frivolous moment was that I had to live silly—if only for one night.

Tincurbelle’s opened the doors to women every last Thursday of the month according to their Internet site.

“I can’t believe we’re doing this!” I giggled as Carla explained to the macho bouncer why she wouldn’t be presenting him with her cellphone number any time soon. A huge neon light flashing the word “Tincurbelle’s” glowed before us.

“What are you waiting for then?” asked Carla as the rejected bouncer reluctantly opened the door for us. I knew that after reading Dad’s entry I had to do something out of the ordinary because I had never really let go of my inhibitions before.

Ladies’ night at Tincurbelle’s had a “no male customers before ten” rule that ensured any inhibitions regarding male strip joints were left behind, as women were free to scream, chuck (panties) and desire without fear of reprisals from hubbies and boyfriends riddled with low self-esteem (Markus, case in point). The venue remained dedicated to female pleasure and the odd hen night judging by the small group currently surrounding an overweight blonde dressed in a curtain veil and L plates. My mind drifted to Corey and his failed wedding and Carla’s impending one. Time for a drink, I decided.