The rest of the afternoon passed too quickly. We lazed on the beach, Nick read, I devoured everything Kekipi had put in the picnic basket and we silently agreed not to ask each other any more difficult questions. We also spent so long kissing that by the time we made it back to the cottages my lips were so chapped I thought they were falling off. When we parted ways on the beach, without so much as a goodbye, and trotted back to our respective homes, I paused by the door, looking back at him to see if he was looking back at me. He wasn’t. Without a second glance, Nick let himself into the cottage and closed the door behind him. My heart sank a little but my brain gave me a gentle slap and pushed me inside. I still couldn’t quite work out how things could be so insanely fabulous with someone I hardly knew, someone I barely liked and someone I would most likely never see again in four days’ time. Maybe Nick was right – maybe I did worry too much. But to be fair, I had quite a lot to worry about.
And the first thing on the list was the note I found from Paige scribbled on a piece of kitchen roll and stuck to my fridge. At first I smiled – writing on kitchen roll was such an Amy thing to do – but once I’d registered what the makeshift message actually said, I felt a little less warm and fuzzy and considerably more queasy.
‘I wish she would bloody stop letting herself in here,’ I muttered, casting my eyes over her scrawl.
The models had arrived.
There were models. On the same island as me. Not that there weren’t always models on the same island as me. I lived and worked in East London, for God’s sake – there were usually models on the same bus as me – but these were models I was going to take pictures of. And I was so scared that they would take one look at me, smell the fear and know. Models were like horses. I’d be holding the camera wrong or I’d ask them to smile instead of smize and the jig would be well and truly up. Whenever we did shoots at the ad agency, I always sent one of my team to deal with the models – they were altogether too intimidating and, hilariously, they always reminded me of Vanessa. We just didn’t see eye to eye. Literally, in some cases. The rest of the kitchen-towel message was no more reassuring. I read it a couple of times over, just to make sure I wasn’t missing anything.
– Models arrive at 6.00, staying in cottages next 2 u. Pls go and say hi.
– I have ‘plans’. Meet outside 2moro @ 7.00 a.m.
– We are shooting w/Artie NOT Bertie
Paige xx
P.S. bring camera
Next to the last bullet point was a huge winky face.
Oh good, it was supposed to be a joke.
So I was the model welcome wagon. What could Paige possibly be doing on the island of Oahu that was so important she would trust me to go and deal with the models on my own? On the upside, when I looked over at the sofa, I noticed the badly written message wasn’t the only thing Paige had left in my cottage. Thrown all over the settee was what looked like three suitcases’ worth of clothes and another note that read, ‘Your wardrobe made me sad.’ I was insulted. And a little bit giddy. Paige’s clothes were much nicer than Vanessa’s clothes. I held up a couple of the dresses and shirts that she’d tossed so carelessly and did the mental ‘will I get my boobs in them?’ test. For at least fifty percent of her offerings, the answer was no. But for the other fifty percent, with the right bra and a positive attitude, I could probably make them work. I recognized some of the designer names from the magazines I’d pored over obsessively on the plane and from the stiff paper carriers that Vanessa left lying around our flat.
Barely breathing, I pulled out a beautiful silk shift from 10 Crosby, all powder-blue background with a ridiculously pretty coral and white flower design. Very Hawaii. I gently laid it down on the armchair and worked my way through the rest of the pile. After twenty minutes of feeling like a kid in a very swanky sweet shop, I had a colourful collection of silk and satin and the softest cotton dresses I’d ever seen. My pile of borrowed ensembles made Vanessa’s wardrobe at home look like the floor of Primark at the end of a particularly brutal Saturday. Clothes had never really been high up on my agenda; I was always too busy worrying about everything else in the world. Mostly I just wanted to be taken seriously and not show stains. I spilled a lot. But while I was in character, I might as well be in costume. Selecting a pretty, soft-looking cornflower-blue Phillip Lim dress from the pile, I strode purposefully into the bathroom to wash away my perfect afternoon and prepare for my model evening.
After treating myself to a long, steamy shower and a good talking-to, I stood in front of my neighbour’s cottage and steeled myself. I was in a nice dress, I was wearing a lot of eyeliner. My camera didn’t exactly go with my outfit, but I figured it made a good prop and, if necessary, a decent weapon. What was the worst that could happen? So yeah, OK, they were models; but they were also girls on a jolly in Hawaii. Surely they would be as blown away as I was when I’d first arrived? Surely they would be happy and excited?
‘And they’re only people,’ I reminded myself under my breath. ‘They stand in front of cameras and pout for a living. I managed to convince half of the UK to start using a different kind of teabag by making up a singing teaspoon voiced by Barbara Windsor. This is nothing.’
With one last worry about my non-existent manicure, I rapped on the door and waited. And waited. And waited. One more deep breath and I knocked again. Harder and louder and longer. This time I heard a shuffling noise inside, an awkward rattling at the lock, and eventually the door swung open to reveal what was either some sort of demon or a very, very angry model.
‘What?’ she snapped, straw-blonde hair tied up in a topknot and a pair of absurdly big blue eyes red raw and narrowing right in on me. ‘Did I not tell you I was going to sleep?’
‘Um, aloha.’ I waved a hand in a futile gesture of friendliness. ‘I’m Vanessa?’
‘Yeah, definitely told you I was going to sleep,’ the model nodded, clinging to the door like she might fall down if I took it away. ‘Can you just fuck off?’
‘We haven’t actually met,’ I said hurriedly before she could shut the door on me. I pointed at my camera and tried a toothy smile, ‘I’m the photographer. For the shoot. Tomorrow.’
‘Whatever.’ She yawned without covering her mouth. ‘I’ve just got off a plane that I’ve been on for nearly twenty-four hours, so unless you want to take pictures of the crypt keeper tomorrow, I suggest you go away and let me sleep.’
And with that, she slammed the door.
‘Nice to meet you,’ I said, still holding my hand up in a wave. ‘Mahalo.’
So … that was one of the models. I turned to face the last cottage. No lights on. No sound coming through the windows. Maybe I’d just let that poor little lamb rest.
All dressed up with nowhere to go, I weighed up my options. I could go for a walk, discover a little bit more of the island. I could go back to my cottage and edit some of the photos I’d taken that afternoon. I could probably find Kekipi and ask him to reenact my favourite scenes from Joe Versus the Volcano. Or I could go to Nick’s cottage and look at how pretty he was. Life was full of tough choices.
‘Where are you taking me?’
I was just about to slink over to Nick’s when I heard Paige giggling. For no good reason I hid round the corner of the models’ cottage, pressing up against the wall and peeking out to see who she was talking to.
‘I thought we were just going to get dinner?’ She was still laughing. It gave her voice an infectious, attractive lilt, the kind of girly voice that made men melt. Something I’d never quite mastered. ‘Why do we have to go in the boat?’
‘I want to show you something,’ her dinner date replied. ‘So just be quiet and get in the boat.’
It was Nick. Paige was getting into the boat with Nick. Just like I had got into the boat with Nick. All at once my heart sank, my face burned and I felt sick to my stomach.
‘I’m not dressed for a boat,’ Paige mock whined as I watched her climb aboard in a tiny black strappy dress, her high, high heels in Nick’s hand as he helped her aboard with that half-smile I recognized so well on his face.
Oh my God, I was stupid. And in no position to be upset, I reminded myself, as I fought back angry tears. In fact, I was stupid to even be surprised. Of course he had moved on to Paige. Hadn’t he explained all of this to me this afternoon? Paige was a proper mountain. Paige was Snowdonia or something. I wasn’t even a hill. Maybe a hillock. Because it rhymed with pillock, and that was what I was. Nick had planted his flag and moved on to the next expedition.
I stayed exactly where I was until I heard the chug of the boat motor fade away. I didn’t want them to see me. I didn’t want Nick to know that, against all my better judgement, I gave a shit. Wiping black tears away from underneath my eyes, I briefly considered knocking on the cottage door again. Death by model might be better than having to look at the two of them across the breakfast table tomorrow. Paige all loved up, Nick all smugged up. What a clever man – he’d managed to bang both of the girls on the job before he’d even met the models. Get the amateurs out of the way before you move on to the professionals, presumably.
Without a plan, I stormed up the beach away from the cottages, away from the lights, away from the mess I’d got myself in. Perhaps I could just keep walking until I found a house and claim amnesia. It almost always worked on telly and when did telly ever lie? I frisked myself for my phone but I’d left it charging by the bed. I was distractionless. No phone, no music, no book, no nothing. Just my stupid brain thinking its stupid thoughts. Nick, Charlie. Charlie, Nick. I wished I had an ad campaign for loo roll to distract myself with. But all I had was my camera.
‘Calm down,’ I whispered to myself, closing my eyes and breathing deeply. ‘All that really matters is that you take a good photo tomorrow.’
I opened my eyes and felt a stillness that had been missing. Hands clamped onto my Canon, I looked around for a suitable subject. A little way down the bay, sitting next to an unlikely-looking surfboard, was Al. He was too far away to shout to but close enough to snap. He looked deep in thought, his tanned face creased into a dignified mask of lines and wrinkles. Underneath his big white beard, his profile was strong and regal – he looked like a lion of a man. I was sure he must have been ridiculously handsome when he was younger, but at that exact moment, caught on camera, he just looked so sad. I wondered if he was thinking about his wife. Or his job. Or if he was thinking about all of it at once, like me.
‘Aloha, Vanessa,’ he shouted, still staring out to sea. ‘Get any good pictures?’
‘Um, I did actually,’ I shouted back, walking as quickly as I could on sand to where Al was still settled. ‘Sorry. That was really rude of me.’
‘An artist finds her inspiration in many strange places,’ he said with a welcoming smile, patting the sand beside him. ‘And who am I to stand in the way of art?’
‘Thank you.’ I folded my legs underneath me, careful not to show my new old friend my knickers, and nodded towards his board. ‘Been surfing?’
‘I have,’ he nodded. ‘I think it keeps me young. My son thinks it will get him his inheritance sooner. So how is it all going? The photo shoot?’
Wincing, I stroked my camera and shrugged. ‘I haven’t actually taken any proper pictures yet. Lots of random stuff, but there’s been a bit of a cock-up with the job and so we’re waiting for everyone to sort it out. I’m supposed to do the shoot with some models tomorrow and I’m bricking it.’
‘You don’t like models?’ he asked. ‘That’s got to be hard for a fashion photographer?’
‘I have a confession.’ I rested my camera on my bare knees and wrapped my hands under my legs. ‘I haven’t actually ever worked with models before.’
‘Oh.’ Al had the decency to look concerned, but his eyes were still sparkling and I had a very strong feeling that he was about to laugh. ‘So you really haven’t been back in the photography game for long?’
‘Not that long, no.’ I looked at the screen on the back of the camera and flicked through the shots of Al. It was easier than looking him in the eye. ‘I was in advertising. And I lost my job. And now I’m here.’
He really didn’t need any more details than those.
‘You didn’t want to get another job in advertising?’
‘Um, this came up quite suddenly,’ I said, not strictly lying. ‘So I thought I’d give it a shot, no pun intended.’
‘Let me see those pictures of me.’ He held his hand out for the camera and, once again, I handed it over. He scrolled through quickly, umming and ahhing, occasionally shaking his head and then nodding. ‘Did you love your old job?’ he asked, passing the camera back to me. ‘Were you good at it?’
‘I loved it,’ I said. ‘And I was so good at it. But I got made redundant. No reasoning behind it. It didn’t make any sense.’
‘Well, that is hard,’ he replied with a thoughtful look. ‘I do understand how you must be feeling.’
‘It’s just shaken me a bit,’ I admitted. ‘I’ve always known what I’ve wanted. Or I thought I did. There was a plan. Now I don’t know.’
‘Perhaps it’s time for a new plan,’ Al suggested. ‘Maybe it was just time for a change and you didn’t realize. I know I said this yesterday, but your pictures really are very good. You’ve a talent, Vanessa – you’re a very bright girl.’
‘I don’t feel that bright at the moment.’ I took the camera back and nursed it in my lap.
Folding his arms and stretching out his legs, Al clucked and tutted. ‘I feel like that all the time – everyone does. You’d think things would get easier as you get older, but they don’t.’
‘Have you made a complete cock of yourself over a rubbish man as well?’ I asked, only wondering afterwards as to whether or not I should use the word ‘cock’ in front of my Hawaiian granddad.
‘Sort of. Probably not in the same way, though.’
‘It’s so embarrassing.’ I rested my head on my knees, unable to look directly at him. ‘I can’t believe I fell for it.’
‘This is a man here on the island? Not someone back at home?’ he asked. I nodded. ‘Holiday romance, then?’
‘Something like that,’ I replied, still face first into my own knees. ‘I thought I could do the whole fling thing, but turns out I can’t. For some reason I keep on thinking I can do things and then it turns out I can’t.’
‘I’m probably not very good at giving young ladies advice on the modern man,’ Al said, patting my shoulder in an awkward dad way that was oddly reassuring. ‘I was married for a very long time and I wasn’t much of a cad before my Jane, but I can’t see what good it’s doing you walking up and down the beach at sunset crying over someone after three days.’
‘I know you’re right,’ I said, looking up and running a finger under each eye. Why was today the day I’d decided to experiment with eyeliner? ‘I’m just being stupid. Maybe I’m still jet-lagged or I have pineapple poisoning or something. It’s probably just that I’m stupid, though.’
‘Never call yourself stupid,’ he said, looking stern. Or as stern as it was possible for a man with a big white beard to look. ‘What would your dad tell you to do?’
‘I honestly don’t know,’ I shrugged. ‘We don’t really talk. Haven’t seen him in years.’
‘I didn’t talk to my son for a long time,’ Al said with a sympathetic smile. ‘He was always much closer to his mother.’
‘Are you close now?’ I asked, twisting my curls into a long ponytail and fluffing the ends. ‘With your son?’
‘I wouldn’t say close,’ he said. ‘After his mother died, we didn’t seem to have an awful lot to say to each other.’
‘It can’t be easy, being a parent.’ I was trying to be diplomatic, but really I couldn’t imagine someone not loving having Al for a dad. Mine had always been more interested in his football and Star Trek than me and my sisters, but then mine was a bit shit.
I watched as Al scooped up a handful of sand and let it run through his fingers. ‘It isn’t easy. But it’s not easy being the child sometimes either, is it?’
The powdery white sand filtered back onto the beach and I was sad for a moment that he would never be able to pick out exactly the same handful ever again. Rubbing my dry, sandy fingertips against my temples, I was starting to think I might be missing the bigger picture. My life had been so tiny and so utterly consumed by Charlie and my work that I’d let everything else slip past me without even noticing. I even used worrying about Amy as an excuse not to worry about myself. Now, sitting here on the beach with my stand-in granddad a million miles away from home, it was much easier to see that what had really changed in all of this was me.
‘Ahh, look at that,’ Al sighed as the sun finally tipped over the horizon, blending the pretty teal sea into the deep, dark blue sky. ‘Beautiful. How can we be sad when we’re looking at that? Now, let’s see if we can’t put a smile back on your face.’
‘I’m just being stupid.’ I looked up at the sky, already streaked with red and pink and dotted with stars starting to sparkle. My head was beginning to hurt from too much thinking and not enough mai tais. ‘Like you said, it’s only been a couple of days. How upset can I really be over someone I’ve known a couple of days?’
‘I asked Jane to marry me a week after we met,’ Al said, stroking his beard. I couldn’t say why but it really did seem to give his statement more gravitas. ‘I knew right away that she was the one for me.’
‘You proposed after a week?’ I blew a stray strand of hair away from my face and smiled. ‘That’s incredible. You just knew? Both of you?’
‘Well, she didn’t say yes right away.’ He laughed like Brian Blessed and it made me so happy. ‘It took me another three months to wear her down.’
‘What made her change her mind?’ I asked, trying to imagine a young Al courting his sweetheart. Nope, couldn’t do it. All I could see was Santa down on one knee in front of Mrs Claus.
‘She said she’d never met anyone who made her so angry and so happy at the same time,’ he said with a wistful smile. ‘And really, I didn’t give her a lot of choice. Once I set my mind to something, I don’t let it get away. Life’s too short for dilly-dallying.’
‘Isn’t it a bad thing when someone makes you angry?’ A memory of my mum and dad screaming at the kitchen table while I tried to eat my spaghetti hoops in peace popped into my mind. ‘I mean, aren’t you supposed to marry your best friend?’
‘She was my best friend,’ he replied with a firm nod. ‘Doesn’t mean we always agreed on everything. But we understood each other. She brought out the best in me, challenged me to keep going. You’ve got to have that spark, that little kick, otherwise it gets boring.’
I wrinkled my nose and wondered whether or not he was right. Amy always said the reason she and Dave didn’t work out was because they were too alike, that she was bored; but that was what made me love Charlie so much. I loved that he could finish my sentences; I loved that he knew how I wanted my tea without having to ask. We never fought. He never made me sad. Well, not intentionally. Charlie always told me how clever I was, how he was so impressed by whatever I was doing. He knew everything about me and I knew everything about him. We were the perfect fit. But now, with Nick … I couldn’t think of anyone who made me so mad so easily. He clearly thought he was much more intelligent than I was, that he knew better than I did, that he was some sort of sexual superman. But I wanted him so badly. The idea of him and Paige together at the waterfall made my skin crawl. I could live with knowing he wasn’t mine, but the idea of him being with someone else, right now, was another thing altogether. I looked down at my hands, curled into tight little fists. All the better to punch him with.
‘Tell me about the photos you’ve been taking.’ Al interrupted my reverie with a cough and a question. ‘You must have got some beauties around the island?’
‘I have,’ I nodded. ‘This place is gorgeous. But I am not looking forward to tomorrow.’
‘Ah, the models.’ He pulled a thoughtful face. ‘Well, won’t that be interesting?’
‘It will be interesting,’ I confirmed. That was an understatement. ‘The art director has this ridiculous concept planned … I don’t know. It feels weird to me. But what do I know?’
‘You are the photographer,’ Al reminded me. ‘So I should imagine you know quite a bit?’
‘This is true,’ I said, taking a breath. ‘I am Vanessa the photographer. Good point.’
‘I do like you, Vanessa,’ he said, giving me another blast of his booming laugh. ‘You’re a little bit odd, like all the best people.’
‘Thank you.’ I laughed back and felt myself relax just a fraction. ‘Let’s hope the models feel the same. I’m starting to panic a bit. Pre-shoot nerves, I suppose.’
‘You’ll be fine. You know you will. You’re definitely someone who doesn’t walk away from something until it’s right, I can tell,’ he said. ‘Takes a perfectionist to know one.’
‘I guess.’ He would definitely have been right about me once upon a time. I bit my lip and looked him right in the sparkly old eye. ‘I just … I don’t know. I’ve had so much stuff go wrong lately. I really, really need this to go well. It’s like, if I can get this right, maybe everything else will be all right as well. If I can just make one thing perfect, I can get the rest of my life back on track.’
‘That’s a lot of pressure to put on one photograph,’ Al said. ‘I don’t want to worry you, but I’m not entirely sure that’s the way life goes.’
‘Well, in that case,’ I said, breathing in through gritted teeth, ‘let’s just hope the models don’t tear me to tiny little pieces.’
‘Models.’ He made a noise that sounded a bit like a cat throwing up. ‘I’ll never understand it. Such a funny thing. Women are odd creatures.’
‘Models?’ I asked. ‘I don’t think they actually count as women. They’re a different species. I honestly think it must say so on their passports.’
‘It just never made sense to me,’ he said with a chuckle. ‘Male models aren’t as rich as female models because men don’t want to look at a better version of themselves in a jumper they’re about to buy. And yet women insist on putting these perfect-looking creatures in clothes that have been pulled and pinched and altered beyond all recognition and then spend six months out of the year starving and crying because they don’t look like the model in the dress when they buy it. Of course they don’t look like the model! No one looks like a model. You’re all mad.’
‘No, I’m with you.’ I couldn’t really argue with the man – he was perfectly correct. ‘Fashion magazines are not my friends.’
‘Really?’ He looked at me and smiled. ‘I’d keep that to myself tomorrow if I were you.’
I blushed and nodded. I wished there was a Wisdom of Al app for my iPhone. If nothing else, maybe I could just record his laugh and play it whenever I got a bit down.
‘Now, I’ve got to go and see a man about a dog,’ he said, jumping up and yanking his surfboard out of the sand. I made a mental note to enroll in yoga classes when I got home and hoped he hadn’t heard my knees crack as I staggered to my feet. ‘And I imagine you have to go and do some fabulous fashiony photography things.’
‘Not really, but I could pretend I have if that would help?’
With a surfboard under one arm, he gave me a scouting salute with the other. ‘Have a lovely evening, Vanessa. I do believe this chat has given us both quite a lot to think about.’
He was not wrong.