Daisy had followed Tom on Instagram before they left last night. She’d said it might be good if he gets the odd like from a woman who was unknown to Sophie. Spark a little bit of jealousywhile they worked their way throughOrlando. When she checked just after 11:00 p.m., he’d posted eight photos. They were stunning. They’d captured how she felt but, somehow, they’d also enhanced it. Drowned out the noise and focused on the emotion. The sweat. The joy. The giddy movement. His photos had shown everything except—her. She’d swiped through them twice, just to be sure and was surprised by the wave of hurt that pulsed through her as Zack slept beside her. She even glanced across, so sure that how intensely she felt it could wake him.
Tom had taken photos of her. She knew he had. Had felt the lens on her as she danced with three girls who were as joyfully useless as she was. She had even seen him pull the camera away from him so he could look down at what he’d taken. He looked at the screen for what felt like minutes. She thought that had been a good sign, but clearly not. It didn’t bode well for the photos on their wedding day.
Daisy ignored all of that as she told Clara about the ceilidh and brought up Tom’s Instagram post to show her.
“Ooooh, Sophie’s commented!” Daisy said as she scanned it.
Clara took the phone from her.
“‘These are beautiful, Tom,’” Clara read out, making her voice high-pitched. “Oh, mate, your work here is done I reckon.”
“You think?” Daisy asked, taking her phone back. It couldn’t have been that easy, could it? She’d read some more ofOrlandoanyway, just in case.
“I wouldn’t comment on an ex’s photo like that, if I didn’t want them back.” She took the phone again to look through the photos. “God, he’s good, isn’t he? And he’s going to take your wedding photos? For free? That’s a very fair deal.”
Daisy had thought so too, but since her absence from his Instagram post, she wondered if it was a good deal or if she was, in fact, as unphotogenic as she thought, and even a talent like Tom couldn’t change it.
Chapter Ten
Tom
When Tom arrived at the bus stop in Angel that Monday morning, the air seemed to have turned cooler overnight, the sky an inky black except for the orbs of dusky yellow where it was lit up by the streetlamps below. A group of maintenance workers in orange suits were chatting and laughing as they walked to where their truck was parked. Farther up toward the station, a bin cart passed him by, rattling against the road, claiming to be Keeping Islington Clean. Every so often there was a whoosh as a bus or car drove by, but otherwise the streets were empty. Tom had the familiar weight of his camera around his neck and a backpack full of lenses, a spare battery and a flash.
He took a seat at the bus stop, doing a double take as he noticed the man next to him resting against the red plastic bench, a black woolly hat pulled down over his face, clutching a single leek. The man moved the leek to rest under his armpit as he pulled out his phone to check something, before returning it to his hand once he was done. London at four in the morning was forever full of surprises.
Tom’s brain was so focused on where he’d go for today’s shoot that when the N73 arrived and he stepped onto the bus,he approached Daisy and sat down beside her without even waiting to be beckoned over.
She was wearing her pale blue shirt and dark blue jeans and she was hunched over her phone, her hair falling forward over her face. She looked across, startled at the feeling of someone there, breaking into a smile when she saw it was Tom. He’d gotten used to her sparkling eyes greeting him. Had even felt his breath catch slightly as he’d stepped onto the bus, if he were really honest with himself.
She frowned as she took in the camera around his neck and the backpack he’d just placed at his feet.
“Got an early job?” she asked, and he couldn’t help but smirk because it was exactly what Martha would have said.
“I do,” he said. “Well, I have anactualjob later, but this is one I’ve given myself. I sort of forgot how fun it was to take photos that aren’t staged. The ceilidh reminded me of how much I used to love it, so I’m going for a wander this morning. Just me and Candy the Canon.” He tapped the camera resting against his chest.
“Don’t ever do that again,” Daisy said, screwing her nose up, and they laughed.
“You have my word.”
“They were really incredible photos you took.” She had such a serious expression when she spoke that Tom didn’t try to laugh away the compliment, the way he usually would.
“Thank you,” he said, fighting the heat in his cheeks.
“Have you thought about doing an exhibition?” she asked. “I’m only asking because a gallery has just opened up near work and they’re advertising spaces. I just thought...” Her words faded as he watched her.
“I did one once before, for a work thing. It was my glossy stuff. I guess I hadn’t thought anyone would want to see a passion project of mine.”
“Why not? People love anything beautiful, Tom.”
He kept his eyes on her, swallowing. “I guess they do,” he muttered.
She turned away, toward the window. “I’ll send you a photo of the advert when I walk past it in a minute.”
“Thanks.”
She turned back. “I’ve got something for you.” She reached into her own backpack and pulled outOrlando.
“Already?” He raised an eyebrow, impressed at the speed at which she was putting the work in for him. “Thank you.”
