I scrape out a laugh. ‘You’re dulling my mood a little, actually.’
‘Sorry,’ he says brightly, not looking sorry at all.
We carry on searching around us without any success. It’s impossible to deny that this clue has slowed us down, and despair slowly starts to seep in at the fact we’re probably losing our lead. If we ever had one.
‘I think I’ve officially lost my patience,’ I tell him. My awe from earlier has considerably dulled.
‘We’re due to meet back at Rolo’s now anyway,’ Elliot says. ‘Happy to go?’
‘Please. Let’s get out of here.’
Very grateful for the small signs marking the grass strands that point to the exit, we follow them through the meadow for what feels like hours.
Elliot is stopped right by the entrance by a pretty girl in her teens, who asks sweetly if he could take a picture of her. He obliges and happily takes her phone to snap some pictures – even crouching low on the balls of his feet for a couple of shots to highlight the perspective of the meadow, much to her delight. When he passes her the phone back she jumps up and down with glee as she flicks through the photos.
She thanks him again profusely as we start to walk away and Elliot just nods with a polite smile. I simply can’t resist making a comment.
‘What a hero,’ I say with a suave smile.
‘You want some pictures of yourself, princess, all you have to do is ask.’
I splutter with a laugh. ‘Oh God, no, thank you. I detest pictures.’
His brows pinch together. ‘What do you mean?’
‘I just… don’t like them,’ I reply with a shrug. ‘I mean, I don’t like taking them.’
He tilts his head at me and reaches into his pocket to pull out his phone. I can see where this is going immediately.
‘Oh no – photos will not be necessary, thank you–’ I start, frantically waving my hands at his phone.
He shoots me a smug smile. ‘MaybeIwant to take a picture. Maybe I want to remember this moment. Will you not indulge me?’
‘Of all the moments this weekend, you want to rememberthatexperience? Searching through this endless field of giant grass? The pain in your arms alone will serve you that memory on a silver platter,’ I say, tapping his bicep.
Looking down at myself for a moment, I realise I just touched him. Again. The idea that he might think I’m trying to flirt with him makes me recoil.
Smiling more genuinely this time, he twirls his phone between his fingers.
‘I’m afraid I’m not leaving until I get my photo,’ he says.
Instead of screaming, I slowly breathe out through my nostrils.
‘Fucking hell,’ I hiss, stamping away from him to stand rigidly next to a blade of glass. My shoulders are probably up by my ears.
He lifts his phone and immediately laughs at my stormy glare.
‘You can do better than that,’ he calls.
Keeping my face completely impassive, I flourish my arms out next to me, stiffly gesturing towards the blade of grass to my left.
‘Nora, come on. Just a tiny smile. That’s all I’m looking for.’
‘Wanker,’ I mutter, awkwardly flashing a smile and dropping my arms back down to my sides. I silently wish for death. Owen’s photos are fine – they’re candid ‘in-the-moment’ photos – I don’t even know when he’s taking them. This exercise makes my insides squirm with discomfort.
‘There we go,’ he says happily. ‘Do you need to swear at me more to feel better? Maybe get a real smile going?’
‘Don’t get me started,’ I reply, a genuine smile finally reaching my lips. ‘Or I may never stop.’
