‘Who says romance is dead, hey?’ Ben shrugged, his eyes sparkling intensely.
Fin
It hadn’t taken much to organize the shoot. In fairness, Nurse Clara had done the bulk of the work, liaising with Rudi and her husband to sort the outfits and timings. All Fin had to do was turn up. He felt strangely excited as he arrived at the home. There was always anticipation before a photoshoot, but over the years, Fin had found his love for the art slowly fading away. When money became the sole motivation for work, passion inevitably took a back seat. But this … this was entirely different.
‘Morning,’ Fin called to the man on reception. He only ever visited in the afternoons and so wasn’t used to being greeted by anyone other than Nurse Clara and her sharp eyes.
‘Fin, is it?’ the young man enquired.
‘What gave it away?’ He laughed. ‘The hair or the cameras?’
‘Neither.’ The receptionist pointed at the bag Fin had thrown across his shoulder. ‘It says your name on there.’
‘Oh.’ Fin smiled shyly, looking down at the brandedcamera bag with his name and business plastered across it. ‘Good catch.’
‘Nurse Clara is waiting for you with Rudi. Do you know the way?’
‘I do, thank you.’ Fin nodded appreciatively as the man opened the door and let him through to the main nursing home.
As he walked down the corridor, he felt his stomach flicker with nerves. What if, after all this, they didn’t like the pictures? What if there wasn’t time to reshoot if it went wrong? What if Rudi …
No.
Don’t think like that.
The sound of laughter grew louder as he neared the room. Knocking on the door, he heard the familiar voice of Nurse Clara calling him in.
‘Fin, you’re getting better at this whole arriving on time thing.’ Her birdlike face broke into a wide grin.
‘This is different.’ He dropped the bags to the floor, relieving himself of their heavy weight. ‘This is business.’
‘Ah, of course.’ She came over and stood by his side. ‘Rudi, you remember Fin from the other day, don’t you?’
The old lady hauled herself up a little higher in the bed. Fin noticed she was wearing the very same dress from the photograph she had shown him. ‘Just because most of my organs have given out, doesn’t mean my brain has stopped working too,’ she joked. Fin and Nurse Clara looked awkwardly at each other, thoughts of his own mother clawing at his heart.
‘And this,’ the nurse continued brightly, ‘is Rupert, Rudi’s husband.’ She gestured to an elderly man sitting by the window, dressed in a sharp, crisp suit.
‘Hi Fin, so lovely to meet you.’ He held out his hand forFin to shake. ‘This isn’t my usual attire, by the way.’ He adjusted his bow tie. ‘I’m surprised this old thing still fits me, but it must be all the weight I’ve lost worrying about this one.’ He jerked his head in his wife’s direction.
‘Give over. You’re losing weight because I’ve not been home to cook for you and all you can make is fish finger sandwiches!’ Rudi chastised. ‘You look bloody handsome though.’ She grinned, her eyes lighting up.
‘As do you, my darling,’ Rupert cooed. His eyes filled with adoration at the woman before him.
‘Nonsense,’ Rudi scoffed. ‘I look like a prune in fancy dress, but needs must, hey.’ She patted her thinning hair self-consciously. ‘Now, where do you want us, Mr Photographer?’
Fin glanced around the room. It was nice enough, but looking at the effort both Rudi and Rupert had made, it didn’t do them justice in the slightest. His eyes scanned around for any other options. He could move some of the hospital furniture, maybe focus in on their faces rather than the backdrop. Then something caught his attention.
He moved over to the window where Rupert was sitting and peered out. His brain sparked with excitement.
‘Rudi …’ Fin turned to face the old lady. ‘Would it be possible to move you?’
Nurse Clara cut in defensively. ‘What do you mean, move her?’
Fin turned back to look out at the garden. How had he not seen this before? It was huge! The neatly manicured lawn sprawled out like a thick carpet. Flower beds were bursting out of their borders with flashes of purples and pinks and yellows. In one corner stood an ornate water feature, happily gurgling away. In the other, a wrought-iron swing chair, laced delicately with creeping ivy and roses.
‘I mean, could we somehow get her into the garden?’
‘You want me to move her to the garden?’
