‘This is so exciting,’ Amy whispered in my ear. ‘When will they tell everyone else to sod off home because you’ve won?’
‘I’m not sure it works like that,’ I said, nursing my untouched glass of red wine. ‘I don’t think they announce the winners tonight. This is more like opening night, I think.’
‘Well, when will you find out?’ Kekipi asked, looking disappointed. ‘Why did we bother coming if there’s no fireworks and giant cheque?’
‘Free bar?’ I suggested, smoothing down the sleeve of the new black silk Alice and Olivia dress he had fortunately given me for Christmas. I looked good enough, even if I didn’t feel it. ‘And so we can meet the people who decide who wins the apprenticeship and butter them up.’
‘Point me in the right direction,’ Amy said. ‘You know I’ll do whatever it takes.’
‘And if he’s not interested in that, I can take one for the team,’ Kekipi promised. ‘Dom won’t be here for another hour or so, he’s picking up his suit for the wedding.’
‘You’re an inspiration,’ I told him. ‘Is Al still coming?’
‘Should be on his way,’ he said. ‘He knows it’s important to you.’
I nodded, clicking my fingernails against the stem of my glass. It was a classy affair. String quartet, passed hors d’oeuvres, nice red wine in real glasses. Most of the women were wearing high heels and expensive handbags and everyone seemed to know everyone. I didn’t know a soul other than the two reprobates I’d brought along with me.
‘Where’s your photo?’ Amy picked the olive out of her martini and munched, looking around the stark white walls. ‘I can’t see it.’
‘There are loads of different categories,’ I said, folding my programme awkwardly with one hand. ‘I’m entered in the New Image prize which should be in gallery number three.’
‘And which gallery is this?’ she asked.
‘I don’t know,’ I said. ‘I’m not psychic.’
‘Ooh.’ Amy raised her eyebrows. ‘All right, madam, just asking.’
‘I’m sorry,’ I muttered, looking around at the mass of New York’s tastefully dressed art lovers and then back at my best friend. More than three-quarters of the attendees were head to toe in black, myself and Kekipi included. Amy was as subtle as Amy was capable of being in a bright red, skintight AJB shift dress. Everyone looked at us as they passed by, putting me even more on edge. ‘I’m nervous, that’s all.’
‘You need more to drink,’ Amy advised. ‘Let me get you a cocktail.’
‘No, really.’ I waved at Angela and Jenny across the room. ‘I’m fine.’
‘That’s a matter of opinion,’ Kekipi replied. ‘I agree with Miss Amy. You need to relax and enjoy yourself. This is your first exhibition!’
‘I’m kind of amazed they accepted my photo,’ I admitted. ‘Do you think Al asked Delia to have a word?’
‘No, I don’t,’ he said, pinching a crostini from a passing waitress. ‘Because I asked him and he said he hadn’t.’
‘Oh.’ I ignored my grumbling stomach. I was too nervous to eat, I had been all day. I had been all week. Between the exhibition, Charlie’s declaration of love, Nick’s phone, email and every possible social media channel blocking my every attempt at communication, I’d barely managed more than a piece of toast in the last three days. ‘OK.’
‘That’s a good thing,’ Kekipi explained. ‘You’re here because your photo is good. Not because Al called in a favour. You can be happy now.’
‘I am happy,’ I said, rattling my fingers against my glass again and giving him a big, fake smile. ‘See?’
‘Ecstatic,’ he replied. ‘Well done.’
‘Ladies!’ Angela, wearing a black-and-white stripy jumper with a huge sequined red love heart on the front and perfectly fitting leather jeans, zoomed in on me with kisses and hugs and clinking glasses. For a moment I wondered whether or not I could pull off leather jeans and then I returned to reality. ‘And gentlemen.’
‘Where?’ Kekipi replied, throwing air kisses over her shoulders. ‘Is he hot?’
‘The hottest,’ Jenny replied before giving me a quick hug, her black leather mini dress clinging to every curve. I wondered whether or not she and Angela had coordinated on purpose or if there was a cool leather dress code I’d missed. ‘So, where’s the photo? Are you excited?’
‘Ye-e-es,’ I said, still not sure. ‘I haven’t seen my picture yet.’
‘Then let’s go find it.’ Jenny grabbed my wrist and dragged me along behind her, barging through the assembled crowds. ‘Excuse me, coming through.’
‘She’s amazing,’ Amy breathed. ‘Where did you find her?’
‘You don’t find her, she finds you,’ Angela replied. ‘And then you hold on for dear life.’
The five of us stalked through the gallery, until I spotted a tiny plaque by the entrance to an almost empty room.
‘That’s it,’ I pointed. ‘New Image prize. It’ll be in there.’
‘Tess, look!’ Amy ran ahead of us and right up to my picture. ‘This is amazing. Your name is on the wall next to it and everything!’
She pulled out her phone, ignoring every sign that asked her not to, and snapped a photo of my photo.
‘It looks great,’ Angela said. ‘You must be really pleased with it.’
The framing shop had done a beautiful job. The black wooden frame and stark white mount set off the bold image of James and Sadie. The colours were clear and bright and the lighting was perfect. It popped right off the wall. Very Ess.
‘I couldn’t have done it without you,’ I said to Angela, looking around at my competition. Nothing else was as bright or colourful as mine and I couldn’t work out if that was a good thing or not. ‘Really, I literally would not have this photo if it weren’t for you.’
‘The issue is out on the first.’ She smiled and squeezed my arm. ‘I’ll make sure you get one. I really was pleased with the photos.’
‘Thanks,’ I said, squinting at my photo. The more I looked at it, the less I liked it. I’d already found half a dozen things I wanted to change. It was weird; I was never insecure like this before and I didn’t like it one little bit. ‘Shall we go and have a look at the other galleries?’
‘No,’ Amy refused, taking a selfie of herself and Jenny throwing up gang signs next to my picture. ‘I want to look at every other photo in your category and tell you why it’s crap.’
‘You should be proud,’ Jenny said, raising a perfect eyebrow. ‘This is kickass.’
‘I am proud,’ I said. And I was. I just didn’t need to stare at my own photo all night. ‘But we should meet some people, shouldn’t we? Network?’
‘Oh, Angie!’ Jenny pressed a hand to her heart and smiled. ‘Look at my baby, she wants to network.’
Angela rolled her eyes and looked down at her phone. ‘Another successful project,’ she told her friend. ‘I’ll be right back, I need to call Alex.’
‘I’m dry,’ Amy announced, turning her empty glass upside down. ‘Who wants a drink?’
‘I do,’ I said, quickly hiding my almost full glass on a little shelf behind me. What I really wanted was a minute to myself. ‘White wine if they’ve got any left.’
‘I’ll get something wet and in a glass,’ she called. ‘You diva, you.’
As my friends drifted away, I turned back to my picture and stared. Maybe the colours were too bright. Maybe the focus was too sharp. And was it me, or did James look like he was faking that smile? Before I could leave, a crowd of people entered the gallery, swarming me into a corner. Trying my best to look casual, I stared intently at my neighbour’s entry, a black-and-white study of a glass-encased carousel, and gave them a polite, tight-lipped smile.
‘Tess Brookes?’
I tensed at the sound of my name, looking around to see who was talking to me but there was no one. Instead, I saw two men peering at my photograph, one of them squinting at my name, printed on the wall beside my photo.
‘Represented by Veronica Wright,’ one said. ‘Have I met her?’
‘If you had met Veronica Wright, you’d know about it,’ the other replied. ‘Trust me.’
Both of the men were older than me, one taller and one shorter. I held my breath and raised my empty glass to my lips, pretending to drink. There was no way they could know who I was but I suddenly felt as though I had a giant neon sign flashing above my head, screaming, ‘I Am Tess! Judge me!’ because that, I realized as soon as I saw their blue name badges, was exactly who they were. They were judging the Spencer prize.
‘Am I missing something?’ the tall man asked. ‘What am I looking at?’
‘I think it’s an advert for this dress,’ his colleague responded, tapping a pen on the photograph and showing flagrant disregard for the no touching rule and my ego. ‘Sadie Nixon is hot.’
Lifting his glasses to take a better close-up look, the tall man winced. ‘I’ve seen better pictures on Instagram. Did she take this on her phone?’
‘At least that would make it interesting,’ the other argued, shovelling crostini in his mouth while he hurled insults at my photograph. ‘The composition is nice. And the celebrity-friend angle almost distracted me from how derivative it is, which is impressive in its own way.’
Thank God I hadn’t eaten, I would have almost certainly thrown up.
‘I don’t understand why it’s in here.’ The tall man screwed up his face, still staring at the photo while I dissolved into nothing behind him. ‘It has absolutely no artistic value. What’s the message? What’s the theme? Why isn’t it in the commercial gallery?’
‘It’s a shame, really,’ the short man nodded in agreement. ‘She obviously had resources the other entrants didn’t. A studio, professional models – but there’s nothing here. No honesty in it, no authenticity; there’s no value. She’s not telling me anything other than pretty people look pretty.’
‘Then maybe she’s actually cleverer than we thought,’ the first one laughed. ‘Maybe she’s the only photographer in here who’s being honest.’
‘And now I’m depressed.’ The short man shook his head and walked away, leaving the tall critic alone to stare at my work. ‘Did you see the landscape gallery? I think Dan Fraser has something new.’
‘I’ll be there in a moment,’ the tall man said. ‘I should look at the others. Who do you like?’
‘None of them,’ his friend replied. ‘But we’ve got to choose one, right?’
The short man gave me a brief smile as he walked out, throwing a dirty napkin in the bin as he went. My feet felt like lead. It was one thing to think all those things about yourself but it was another to hear someone else say it out loud. Someone whose opinion really mattered. Was the photo really that bad?
‘Hello, there.’
I looked up to see the tall man smiling at me, as if there was anything to smile about.
‘Hello.’
It didn’t cost anything to be polite, even if you were dead inside.
‘Having a good time?’ he asked, nodding towards the crowds outside our gallery. ‘Busy night.’
‘Yes,’ I replied, staring at my apparently shitty photo. ‘It’s busy.’
‘You’re British,’ he said, seemingly delighted but thankfully failing to put two and two together. ‘Do you live in the US or are you just visiting us?’
‘Just visiting,’ I confirmed, trying to smile but only succeeding in looking something like a constipated otter. ‘I’m leaving the day after tomorrow.’
He was almost as tall as Charlie but with none of his charm. His slicked-back blond hair and flat blue eyes didn’t exactly scream creative genius but the cut of his suit and expensive tie did suggest endless pots of money. It was the strangest thing, the richer people were, the more alike they looked. Apparently that was true of Americans as well as English people.
‘I like this one,’ I said, pointing at my own photo, masochist that I am.
‘Really?’ He looked mildly surprised, turning back to my photo with new eyes, prepared to reconsider his opinion if it would get me to drop my knickers. ‘I suppose there is an energy there. A naïve charm.’
‘What’s wrong with it?’ I asked, trying to see what he saw. ‘What don’t you like about it?’
‘It doesn’t tell me anything,’ he replied, gesturing to James and Sadie with his wine glass. Now that he turned to face me, he was oddly familiar. But then I always struggled to differentiate men who earned over two hundred grand a year. You’d think with that much money, they would invest in some individualism and yet they seemed so determined to look identical.
‘I don’t know anything about these people. I don’t know anything about the artist. There’s no truth here, nothing is being revealed,’ he said. ‘I’ve forgotten it as soon as I look at the next image. It’s candy, no substance.’
With a reluctant nod, I scratched at the corner of my eye. I didn’t even disagree with him. I should never have entered the photo. Why hadn’t I chosen one of the other pictures? Something with more guts to it?
‘It’s fine for what it is. I guess the gallery chose it because they thought the subjects might attend,’ he laughed and finished off his wine in one quick swallow. ‘But it could be so much more. Would you like a drink?’
‘Tess, it’s been forever!’
Her perfume hit me before her hug and it was hard to say which was more nauseating. A cloud of heavy, woody notes, wrapped around a bright blonde blow-out, choked any reply out of my throat.
‘What are you doing in New York?’
‘What are you doing in New York?’ I asked, all the colour draining from my face.
‘Silly!’ Vanessa Kittler, my former flatmate and winner of my least-favourite-person-in-the-world award for the sixth year running, tightened her grip around my shoulders, her sharp-pointed fingernails digging into my flesh. ‘I always come to New York for New Year, you know that.’
I knew she visited New York all the time and I knew she always went somewhere for New Year but since Vanessa was a compulsive liar and had generally considered conversation an optional extra during the six years we had lived together, this was news to me.
‘Tess, I see you’ve met David.’ Vanessa waved her crystal-studded clutch bag at the tall judge. ‘David Sanders, this is my very good friend, Tess Brookes. I’m so glad you’ve already met. Tess, David owns a gallery in Chelsea and he’s bought lots of my pictures.’
‘Tess?’ David blanched and pulled at his collar as though his tie was trying to strangle him. Now I knew why I recognized him. He was one of Vanessa’s conquests. ‘Tess Brookes?’
‘See? He’s a fan already,’ Vanessa said. ‘My dearest old friend, famous!’
David loosened his tie and looked around for an escape route while I flirted with the idea of smashing Vanessa’s head through the wall. Perhaps that would improve the message of my picture.
‘I have to get another drink,’ he said, holding up his empty glass as evidence. ‘I’ll leave you two to catch up. Great to meet you, Tess.’
Vanessa took her arm from around my neck and gave me a full, beaming smile.
‘That was fun,’ she said, tossing her long, long hair over one shoulder. ‘Wasn’t that fun?’
‘Not really,’ I replied, looking over her shoulder for someone I recognized. Didn’t Kekipi say he was coming back? ‘Bye, Vanessa.’
‘Constructive feedback is part of the industry, Tess,’ she said in a disappointed voice. ‘I mean, it is for bad photographers anyway. You’re probably going to have to get used to that if you’re determined to stick it out.’
‘Probably,’ I agreed. I’d missed her backhanded compliments. Oh wait, no I hadn’t. ‘Good point.’
‘He’s right, of course, it’s a terrible photo.’ She wrinkled her surgically enhanced nose at my picture and shrugged. ‘And I’d heard such great things about you. Of course, you’re not to know. You’re brand new at this, you can’t expect to walk into the industry and compete with professionals like me.’
Like her? Vanessa was a photographer in the sense that she owned a camera, occasionally took pictures for her friends’ websites, and didn’t have a proper job. Her dad had been paying her share of the mortgage for the entire time we lived together, my share too, sometimes, but only when Vanessa lied and said I couldn’t make my rent so she could pocket the extra cash.
‘Honestly I’m surprised you’re still playing at the photographer thing,’ she went on. ‘I assumed you’d have given up by now. You might be shit but you’re not stupid, so I don’t know why you’re still wasting your time. I know I make this look easy but it isn’t.’
This probably wasn’t the time or place to mention I’d caught her passing half a dozen of my early photos off as her own for the first five years of her alleged career. Oh wait, yes it was.
‘Maybe you could lend me some of your fantastic photos and I’ll tell everyone I took them,’ I suggested. She didn’t even flinch. ‘Actually, now I come to think of it, your photos are all shite, so don’t bother.’
‘Not according to David Sanders,’ she pointed out. ‘He’s bought more than a dozen from me.’
‘And did the blow job come with the photos or was that a separate transaction?’ I asked. She blinked and I knew I was right.
‘Sorry,’ I apologized, brushing my hair out of my face. ‘That’s not fair. You are totally entitled to blow whoever you want, whenever you want. But you really do need to stop being such a complete arsehole, Vanessa. Who you have sex with has absolutely zero bearing on you being a massive c—’
‘Vanessa!’ Amy came bounding across the room like a tiny black-haired terrier and I happily noted that Vanessa looked nervous. It was safe to say the two of them were not friends. ‘What are you doing here? I thought it was only going to be photographers and their friends tonight.’
She set her jaw and squared off her shoulders, shaking her hair down her back. ‘Your point being?’
‘You’re not a photographer and you’ve got no friends,’ Amy replied.
‘I’m not the one who just had her photograph ripped to pieces by two of the biggest art collectors I know,’ Vanessa spat. ‘At least my work isn’t naïve and pointless.’
‘You don’t have any work,’ Amy laughed, clapping a hand on my back. ‘You’re so funny. When did she get funny?’
‘Whatever,’ she said with a sniff. ‘It doesn’t matter. I’m sorry everyone hates your photo, Tess. I’d die if someone said those terrible things to me.’
‘What did they say?’ Amy asked. ‘I’m happy to oblige. Or I could just knock you on your arse again.’
‘You lay so much as a finger on me and I’ll have you arrested,’ Vanessa snapped, stepping back. The two of them never had got along. ‘You’re both pathetic.’
‘We learned everything we know from you,’ Amy replied, rolling up her silk sleeves. ‘Do I need to make a scene or are you going to leave?’
‘I was leaving anyway,’ Vanessa sniped. ‘Is it me or did both of you get really fat?’
‘Have a lovely evening,’ Amy shouted as she scarpered across the room, several well-groomed heads turning our way as she went. ‘Why do girls always call each other fat when they haven’t got a real argument? Are you all right?’
I nodded, looking sadly at my photo. Vanessa could insult my work and call me fat all the livelong day and it wouldn’t make a blind bit of difference. The fact was, the judges were right. Compared to the other images in the room, my work wasn’t the most impressive. Out of the context of the magazine, it didn’t make sense. It was bright and shiny and obvious but it wasn’t brilliant.
‘I think I want to go,’ I said softly.
‘Al just got here,’ she said, holding out a glass of white wine but I shook my head. ‘He really wants to see your picture.’
‘There were two judges in here before and they hated it,’ I whispered. ‘They tore me apart.’
‘Shit, Tess, I’m sorry,’ she said, sucking the air in through her teeth. ‘That was only two people though, wasn’t it? Someone must like it or they wouldn’t have accepted it.’
‘I don’t know,’ I said, wiping a stray, angry tear from the corner of my eye. ‘It doesn’t matter. When all this gets back to Veronica, she’ll definitely fire me. They send everyone who shows a critique. It’s supposed to be helpful.’
‘Fuck. Don’t worry about it, I’ll intercept all her mail, every single bit,’ Amy said. I looked across the gallery to see Vanessa laying a red-taloned hand on David Sanders’ chest and laughing at something that he evidently didn’t find very funny. ‘I can’t believe Vanessa turned up. Actually, I can. She’ll show up in our nursing home. She’d follow you onto the Titanic.’
‘Let’s go.’ I turned my back on James and Sadie’s smiling faces. ‘I don’t want to completely ruin our night.’
‘Well, there’s one other thing I want to show you,’ Amy said, a nervous smile on her face. ‘I’m slightly worried you’re going to break my kneecaps now, but still, you’re going to find out one way or another so I might as well be the one to show you.’
‘What have you done?’ I asked as she led me away from Vanessa and into the portrait gallery. I saw Kekipi, Jenny and Angela, all grouped around a photo with their backs to us, and in the middle of their gang was Al.
‘Hello,’ I sniffed, trying to muster some enthusiasm. It was so good of him to come; I couldn’t just slope off without saying hello. Sloping could wait five minutes. Sloping would come. ‘Thank you for coming.’
‘Tess, when did you take this?’ he asked, turning around to reveal another photo I recognized.
Right there on the wall of the portrait gallery was the black-and-white picture I’d taken of Al on the roof of his house. Printed out and blown up, he looked raw and vulnerable and old, his knuckles knotted together in sadness and anger and a million other emotions all at once. The complete opposite of the bright, colourful photo of James and Sadie.
‘Oh God,’ I whispered, my heart in my throat. ‘How did this get here?’
‘I entered it,’ Amy said. ‘I thought it was your best picture and I was right. Everyone loves it, Tess.’
‘It’s incredible,’ Jenny agreed. ‘So powerful.’
‘Really intense,’ Angela said. ‘As soon as I saw it, it was like, bam!’
‘Why didn’t you show me?’ Al asked, his eyes still fixed on his own face. He looked shaken and I felt awful.
‘I didn’t think about it when I took it,’ I said slowly. ‘I never intended anyone else to see it. I’m sorry; it was such a personal moment, I should never have taken the picture.’
‘But Tess, it’s so great!’ Amy placed her hand on the small of my back. ‘Al doesn’t mind, do you Al?’
‘A little warning might have been nice …’ He looked around as a small crowd began to gather. ‘Oh dear. I wasn’t really anticipating this.’
‘I know you hate attention,’ I said, rubbing my forehead. ‘That’s why I would never have entered it.’
‘Can we all stop coming up with excuses why it shouldn’t be here and marvel at the fact that it is?’ Amy said. ‘Tess, you have two photos in this exhibition. Two. That’s bloody amazing.’
‘One I wish I hadn’t entered and one that shouldn’t have been here in the first place,’ I told her as Al held a hand up to his face, fending off the mobile phone paparazzi. ‘I’m sorry, Al.’
‘I think this is my cue to leave,’ he said, turning to me with a smile. ‘It’s a beautiful photo, Tess. I was right, you are very talented.’
He walked quickly out of the gallery, ignoring all the camera flashes and whispers of ‘Bertie Bennett’ as he went. Kekipi drew his eyebrows together and sighed, handing Amy his drink.
‘I’d better go after him,’ he said. ‘Don’t worry, he’s not angry, just surprised.’
‘Why is everyone overreacting?’ Amy asked. ‘It’s a great photo! And everyone is saying so.’
‘It really is good,’ Angela said, while I watched Kekipi dash to the door after Al.
‘I’m sorry,’ Amy said, hanging her head and looking up at me with her ridiculously big blue eyes. ‘I was trying to help.’
‘I know,’ I said, looking back at the photo and trying to see what everyone else saw. But all I could see was heartbreak. Heartbreak I knew Al was reliving right now. ‘I know. I just wish you’d warned me. How did you do it?’
‘I emailed it to myself while you were in the shower and had the gallery frame it while they were framing yours,’ she confessed. ‘One of our assistants had it biked down here. I couldn’t let you not enter it, Tess. It’s just so you.’
Was it? How come Amy knew exactly who I was when I wasn’t even sure?
‘I say we move on,’ Jenny announced. ‘The Standard is right around the corner. Le Bain anyone?’
‘I’m quite tired,’ I said, faking a yawn. ‘I might raincheck.’
‘Me too,’ Amy said, quickly adding her own overblown faux yawn to the mix. ‘I’m tired.’
‘Well, we’d better see you before you leave,’ Angela said, cutting Jenny’s protestations off with a hug. ‘And don’t stress about it, really. This is iconic. This photo is going to make you.’
‘Thank you.’ I hugged her back and thanked my lucky stars that our paths had crossed. ‘But we’re leaving the day after tomorrow. Kekipi said he invited you to the wedding. Are you coming?’
‘Can’t,’ she said with a smile. ‘Work. But I’m sure it’ll be fabulous and I’m sure you’ll be back in New York soon.’
‘I hope so,’ I took one more look at the photo of Al, filled with an unsettling mix of guilt and pride. ‘I really do.’