I pull a teal outfit on, the high waisted pants with fluffy edging making me feel like a fifties’ pinup girl. “How about this?” I flick a glance over my shoulder and bat my non-existent lashes.
“Excellent work.”
She fires off another few shots, then gets busy cramming herself into her newest second-hand outfit. The corset with her jeans looks so extraordinarily good that I’m jealous.
“Is this a private party,” Rosa calls from the door, “or can anyone join?”
“You’re on toy duty,” Finley squeals, throwing a new contraption in her direction. “What’s this one good for?”
“Nothing,” she says, tossing it onto the bed. “It’s a wand. You don’t want that. You want a nice clit sucker.”
“Is there one of those here?” I ask, waving my arm across the wreckage. “If there is, you’re welcome to it.”
“Yeah, like I don’t have my own.” Rosa sneaks a few more steps inside, a light frown marring her otherwise smooth forehead. “Why are we holding sex parties at home?”
“It’s a photography session,” Finley unhelpfully calls out. “Any tips from an expert?”
“Never get caught on film?”
“I already passed that one by her, but Lily boycotted the suggestion.”
“Did she now?” Rosa shoulders Finley out of the way and flicks back through the gallery. “These are fantastic.”
“Thank you,” both Finley and I chorus.
“Make sure you store them in a secure location with two-step verification access only. Lovely as these might be, you don’t want them falling into the wrong hands.”
The caution is welcome, but also drains some of the fun out of the room. “You’ve had a turn in everything,” Finley says, smoothing down the sides of her new corset with a satisfied hum. “If you ever need a volunteer camera woman again…”
“You’ll be my first port of call,” I assure her, folding up the blanket she donated and wrestling the phone off her tripod. “Thanks for everything. I couldn’t have done it without you.”
“I’ll remind you of that when you’re famous.”
Alone again, I change into my jeans and t-shirt, then steel myself to sort through the images on the phone.
The first few are so awkward I wince, but the farther along in the gallery I swipe, the more they improve. I select a half dozen favourites from each outfit, saving them into separate folders labelled with innocuous colour codes. From there, I select the best from each, chewing my bottom lip while I’m sorting through until it’s sore to the touch.
Done. The selected images go to Zach’s number, and I curl on my side on the bed; shame wars with pride, my outlook tinged with regret.
At least being backed into a corner means the responsibility doesn’t belong to me. And it’s not like the images show anything more than a beach shot in a bikini. Some even display significantly less than that.
Sitting up, I remove my SIM from the phone, tossing it into my bag while I stuff the card back into my crappy old mobile. On Monday, I’ll return the new phone to Zach. Keeping something so valuable—even if he can easily afford it—makes me feel worthless. A weird seesaw that makes little sense but is also impossible to deny.
When Rosa taps on my door to ask if I’m going to eat the leftovers stored in the fridge or if they can help themselves, I groan and get off the bed.
Like hell anyone’s eating my day-old chicken fried rice without me. That’s when it tastes the best.
CHAPTERELEVEN
LILAC
Saturday morning.I wake feeling energised. Even when I remember the images I sent to Zach’s phone, my mood remains elevated. Visiting days always start this way, full of hope and energy.
By midday, I’m sitting in a room with little plastic tables and chairs along one wall and a playpen in the corner. It’s built for young kids, not nine-year-olds like my sister. Or nearly ten-year-olds, to be perfectly correct.
Although I’m early, bus timetables not lending themselves to great time management scenarios, the social worker still arrived before me. I don’t know what she thinks I might do if left to my own devices, but her eyes never leave me in the fifteen minutes I wait for Sierra to arrive.
Finally, a car pulls up outside and I stand to watch through the window as Carla Maxwell steps out. She holds the door for Sierra, speaking to her for a full minute before she gives her a hug and settles back in the car to wait.
