No, I won’t sit in an office.
No, I won’t follow a plan made by two men behind my back.
No, I won’t become someone I’m not.
When the last ball of paper hits the bin, I let out a long breath and a bolt of clarity hits me. Somewhere between Jackson’s understanding and his warm hand on my arm and Greg’s cold practicality where I’m supposed to be grateful to him for organising my life, I’ve realised something. Something that’s been staring me in the face for a while now. It’s not just the jobs that aren’t right for me, it’s that Greg’s not right for me either.
I’ve spent most of the afternoon trying to tailor my CV to the jobs I am applying for, but right now my head is fried. I need a change of scene and I did say I’d call over to the Camper Café. I have no clue what Sophie’s idea might be, but I am curious. The bike ride along the coast road passes in a flash and I’m out of breath when I arrive at the library green. Jackson’s wiping down one of their small metal tables.
‘Hey. You look like a tomato. Was that hard work? There aren’t any hills, you know.’ His eyes glint with humour.
‘Ha ha. Very funny. I could do with a drink.’
‘Milkshake?’
I stand at the counter and he goes inside to conjure up his magic. There’s a new picture to the right of the illuminated pinkJAFFLESsign. It’s the blown-up photo of Daisy I gave him the other day. Seeing it up on public display hits me harder than I expected. He catches me looking at it.
‘I didn’t want to just shove it in a drawer.’
There’s something touching that he wants to share our special place with everyone, without anyone knowing that’s what he’s doing. I take the drink he hands me and we clink a cheers.
‘So, how’s Mr Suit and Tie?’
I shudder internally. ‘He’s OK. He didn’t see you, if that’s what you mean.’
‘Would it have been the end of the world if he had? No one should tell you who to be friends with.’
‘He doesn’t,’ I say quickly. ‘I need an easy life at the moment, that’s all.’ I want to tell him it’s over between Greg and me. He doesn’t set me alight the way I think he should and the way someone else does. But I’m scared, and I haven’t technically finished it, so I change the subject instead.
‘What’s this idea of Sophie and yours?’
His face lights up and he comes out from behind the counter and we sit down at one of the van’s small, round, black metal tables.
‘Mum was saying the other day how great your photos are and then it hit me. He gestures towards the Canon camera nestled in the front wicker basket of my bike. ‘What about holding some photography evenings? Teach people what you love.’
‘Who would want lessons from me?’
He gets up and brings the camera to us. ‘Can I?’
I nod. He switches the camera on and flicks through my pictures on the small square viewing screen. There’s a whole variety, anything from a seagull holding a vape in its beak and a crab waving its claws to dripping ice creams and the reflections of the waves in a pair of sunglasses.
‘These are stunning. Original. Funny. Thoughtful. Why wouldn’t anyone want to learn from you?’
I reach over and take the camera from him. ‘I wouldn’t even know where to start.’
‘I don’t take photos, so I don’t know the details. But use your café for the learning part and then take people down onto the beach for the practical. Tie it in with a barbecue and a glass of wine at the end of the evening.’
My mind whizzes around. He makes it sound so easy and very tempting.
‘But not everyone has a camera and if they do, they probably know how to use it. Do you think it could work?’
‘Why not? It wouldn’t cost much of an outlay. A bit of food and some wine from Aldi. The expertise and seating area are your own. And wandering along the beach is free. And everyone has a phone with a camera these days.’
‘What happens if nobody comes?’
‘Then you’ve not lost anything, but I think people would come. People love learning something new. The setting is breathtaking. And it’s not just about the camera. It’s about the way you see the world and translating that into something tangible.’
Before I can respond, Milo’s voice carries across the car park.
