“Welcome to the Martha effect.”
“I loved her.” Daisy pulled out her phone to check Instagram.
“Not as much as she loved you, and believe me that’s harder than it might seem. She can be a real ice queen when she wants to be.”
Daisy choked on her pastry. “I refuse to believe it.”
She looked at Tom’s page, heat rushing to her cheeks at the photo he’d posted. He looked... amazing. Smart. Edgy, but also, somehow, warm and loveable.
“Nailed it.” Daisy scanned the comments, searching for the name she was now almost too familiar with.
“Nothing yet,” he said, knowing what she was looking for.
“It would be a weird one to comment on,” Daisy replied,pondering it. “Photos you’ve taken is one thing. She can sound objective. But one just of you would require more thought. Give her time.”
Tom’s eyes lit up as he shook his head. “You are a mastermind. Hey—any news on your brother?” He tapped her on the leg before going back to his pastry.
“No, but I haven’t followed up yet. I thought an email just saying PROVE THIS IS YOU sounded a bit aggressive.”
This is what their bus journeys had become. Here they were, side by side, catching up despite having spent the previous afternoon shopping together. It was as though Tom never ran out of things to say and that made Daisy comfortable. She worried about silences, and with him there never were any.
“I booked that gallery,” Tom said. “In December. I’d love you to come.”
“That’s so cool,” Daisy said, beaming. “Your photos really do deserve to be seen on a larger scale, and... a larger wall. And actually, I meant to say, it was on my list of things anyway.”
“Really?”
“Yes. But this one was less for Sophie, and more for you. I think inOrlandoit says...” Daisy thought about it, because she hadn’t brought the book with her today. Had woken up in a bit of a daze and left it on her bedside table. “It says ‘he who robs us of our dreams robs us of our life,’ or something, and it seems like your breakup maybe stopped you from seeing how good your work is or it distracted you from what you really want to do. I don’t know. I haven’t fully formed the idea yet.”
Daisy turned to look out the window, a bit embarrassed that she’d blurted this out. It was a thought she’d had about Tom while reading—she’d never intended to share it with him.
“It kind of did feel like that,” Tom said, his voice soft. “But it doesn’t anymore.” He lifted the camera around his neck as if to demonstrate his point. “Hey, what about that job you reallywant? The investigative journalist one? Speaking of dreams and all...”
Daisy sighed. “They’re actually advertising for one at the moment, but it’s the wrong time for us and, well, I’m not sure I’m ready.”
“What do you mean?”
“The wedding, future babies, skills required... It’s too risky to move into something else. Something new.”
Tom looked down at his hands. “I’ve been thinking a lot about that stuff while I edit these photos of that homeless guy, Stormy. He made me realize there’s never really a right time for anything. Like, fuck the fear, we should all just go for what we want the moment we can, because who knows what might happen? Where you might end up the next day, even.” He had a faraway look in his eyes for a moment, and then he laughed abruptly. “God, sorry! Turns out I have way more to say on a full stomach!” He leaned back, resting his hand on his very flat torso as if to emphasize the point.
“You really do. You’ve turned into one of those inspirational podcasts.” She caught his eye and smiled, brushing some hair away from her face.
“I don’t know, it’s just... if it’s your dream and you’ve got no idea when it might come up again, what have you really got to lose? You can always turn it down, but... no. I can’t say it. Can I?” He clenched his teeth. “I’m going to. I’m sorry. Here it goes.” Interlacing his fingers, he pushed his hands away from him, shaking out his shoulders. “You miss one hundred percent of the shots you don’t take.”
Daisy snorted, shoving him. “Who are you, and what have you done with my laid-back travel companion?”
When Daisy let herself into her flat after her shift, which she’d spent writing up copy on Kendall Kardashian’s facechange and Ariana Grande’s upcoming tour, the lights were still on. It wasn’t like Zack. He meticulously went through the flat turning off lights and switches before he left. She dropped her bag into the hallway and walked toward the sofa in the sitting room, leaping back startled to find Zack already there, still in his pajamas—a black Guns N’ Roses T-shirt and checkered trousers.
“What’s this?” he asked, holding upOrlando. He frowned, scanning through the pages. “Why are you highlighting bits and underlining them. Why have you written ‘buy a cloak?’ by this sentence? Is this for someone else? Who? What the fuck is going on?”
Daisy shrunk back, a thousand thoughts passing through her brain in quick succession, all ending in one place. That if she told Zack the truth, it was the end of everything. Her job. Her early starts. Her bus rides to work. Tom.
“It’s an idea I had for my wedding speech,” Daisy blurted out, squeezing her eyes shut as she tried to think through the lie. “It was going to be a surprise.”
Zack’s expression softened. “Why a cloak?”
“It... None of it is definite. I just had this idea and I... I’ve been trying to figure out if I can do it. Don’t get your hopes up,” she rushed. “I’m not sure if it’ll work, so...”
