‘Amy, I can barely hear you, you’re breaking up,’ I said, trying to balance two brown paper bags full of groceries in my arms and open the door to my apartment at the same time. ‘Where are you?’
‘Milan but I’m in the car,’ she replied. ‘Get out the bloody road, you knobjockey!’
‘Tell me you’re not driving.’ I slammed the door shut behind me, my heart in my mouth as I heard a car horn honk down the line and sirens wailing in the background.
‘Of course not,’ she said with a sigh. ‘As if they’d let me drive. GET OUT OF THE ROAD. I’m meeting Edward Warren to go over spring–summer. Next spring–summer. I’m knackered. Anyway, how’s you?’
‘Good,’ I replied, dropping my shopping on the counter and immediately positioning myself in front of the air conditioner, putting Amy on speakerphone and holding up my arms. ‘It’s so hot, I think I’m going to die.’
‘That’s how you know you’re not in England anymore,’ she said, laughing. ‘Milan is hot as balls as well.’
‘It’s so humid,’ I told her, turning in a circle and waiting for the frigid air to cool me down. Even though my studio apartment was tiny, it was impossible to keep more than ten square feet of it bearable and it was still only June. I didn’t know if I was going to survive July and August. ‘But I seem to remember Al’s palazzo is fairly well air conditioned.’
‘When I settle in one spot, I’ll get my own place,’ she replied, acknowledging the slightly accusatory tone in my voice. ‘You could have moved in with Delia, she offered.’
‘I know,’ I admitted, dropping down onto one of the little wooden chairs by my kitchen table-slash-work-space. ‘But it didn’t feel right, I don’t even know her. And I’m coming and going at all hours.’
‘And you’re scared of Genevieve,’ Amy added.
‘And I’m scared of Genevieve,’ I agreed. ‘This place isn’t so bad. Apart from the heat. And how the hot water is really, really hot. And how you can smell the rubbish in the street when they don’t pick it up until the evening. And I thought I saw a mouse the other day but I’m sure it was just a cockroach.’
‘Oh, that’s much better,’ Amy said. ‘Just a mouse-sized cockroach.’
‘I’ve got to go,’ I told her, opening my laptop and rubbing smeared mascara away from underneath my eye. Make-up was utterly pointless in this weather but I didn’t want David to think I’d stopped trying already. Things were going well at work: my month-long apprenticeship at the David Sanders Gallery had turned into a three-month trial run, which had become a six-month assistant job with two different photographers. ‘I’ve got some pictures to edit tonight and we’re breaking down the exhibition at the gallery tomorrow morning.’
‘I bet you’re totally diesel now,’ she said, over the sound of more honking horns. ‘Have you got guns? Are you super buff?’
‘Ripped,’ I said, flexing my puny arms. ‘Remind me, when are you back in New York?’
‘Two weeks,’ she replied happily. ‘Prepare thy liver.’
‘I will,’ I promised. ‘Have fun in Milan. And don’t kill anyone.’
‘I’ll try to try,’ she said. ‘Love you.’
Hanging up the phone, I turned on the tap until the water ran almost cold and filled up my glass before settling down in front of my computer. When I wasn’t slogging my guts out at the gallery or trailing around New York setting up studios and, as Agent Veronica had predicted, making an awful lot of coffee, I was starting to pick up my own jobs. I’d done more work for Gloss, a couple of shoots for Booker and even a few bits and pieces for Belle. I was busier than I’d ever been. I hadn’t left the apartment for anything other than work in days but I couldn’t remember a time when I’d felt so content.
‘Let’s get this done and then you can order Chinese,’ I bargained with myself, rubbing my eyes as my laptop flickered into life. ‘It’s just a few shots. It won’t take long.’
‘What won’t take long?’
I span around in my chair to see the front door open and felt all the cool air rush out as Nick walked in.
‘What are you doing here?’ I asked, jumping to my feet and crossing the tiny apartment in three strides. ‘I thought you were in London until the weekend?’
‘I wasn’t doing anything there that I couldn’t do here,’ he replied, carry-on suitcase at his heels as he hoisted me up off the floor and planted his lips on mine. ‘And I missed you.’
‘I missed you too,’ I said, peeling myself away from him, sticky skin against sticky skin. He’d been away for eight days and they were eight days too many. ‘You should have called, I would have made dinner or something?’
‘This isn’t dinner?’ he asked, rooting through my brown paper bags. ‘Pringles, Twizzlers, Diet Coke. You’ve got all the major food groups covered.’
‘You know I like to get my five a day.’ I fished around in the bottom to produce a banana. ‘Ta-da.’
‘You work too hard and you don’t look after yourself,’ Nick said, wiping a smudge of mascara I’d missed from my cheek. ‘Am I going to have to start making you a packed lunch every day?’
‘I wouldn’t hate that,’ I admitted, catching his hand in mine. ‘It’s been a busy day, I haven’t been eating this all the time, honest.’
It was true. I’d been eating Chinese takeaways, pizza, sushi, Thai food and everything else I could get my hands on. It was a good job I was working as hard as I was, otherwise I would have been the size of a house.
‘I wish you’d stop being so stubborn and move into my place,’ Nick said, frowning as he looked around my dark little studio. ‘How do you sleep in this heat?’
‘You want to go to sleep?’ I ran my hand playfully down the front of his shirt, toying with his buttons. ‘Is the jetlag that bad?’
‘Jetlag could never be that bad,’ he replied, kissing me again. ‘Plus, I’m starving.’
‘I really do have to finish off this edit.’ I pulled away and planted myself in my wooden chair. ‘It won’t take me more than an hour.’
Nick looked down at me, tired and proud and hungry and a million other emotions written on his face.
‘All right but I’m taking these,’ he said, snatching up the tube of Pringles and hurling himself onto the Ikea bed that butted up next to the table. It really was a small apartment. ‘And if you’re not done in an hour, I’ll be taking myself out to dinner.’
‘I promise,’ I said, downing my glass of water and grinning at my laptop. ‘Where do you want to go? I could do Italian or we could try that new Mexican place round the corner?’
I tapped and clicked at my computer, checking the time on the clock next to the window. The sun was already beginning to set and thankfully, the air outside was cooling off, even if the apartment was still stuffy and close.
‘Nick?’ I turned towards the bed, expecting to see his cheeks filled with Pringles and a guilty look in his eyes. Instead, I saw the man I loved, stretched out on top of the covers, still wearing his button-down shirt and travel-rumpled jeans, fast asleep.
Smiling, I stepped away from the computer and picked up my camera, snapping a picture of his peaceful face.
‘Stop it,’ he said as I sat down on the bed beside him. ‘I’m just resting my eyes.’
‘Go to sleep,’ I said, kissing the top of his head the way he always kissed mine. ‘I’m glad you’re here.’
‘I need your freezing feet to cool me down before I can go to sleep,’ he muttered, smiling even though his eyes were closed. ‘I missed you, Tess.’
‘I missed you too,’ I said, brushing the hair back off his face. ‘Now let me finish off these photos.’
‘My very own Annie Leibovitz,’ he whispered into a yawn. ‘I can’t wait until you’re incredibly successful and I can retire a kept man.’
‘One day,’ I promised, settling back down in front of the computer as Nick rolled over onto his side, reaching out to rest his hand on my leg. ‘One day.’