Tom called over the art director to show her his screen and she leaned in close, then stood farther back before clapping her hands together, the way he knew she would.
“God, you and Kiki together are just unstoppable,” she said, shaking her head. “The guys are going to besohappy.”
By guys she meant the owners of the company, no doubt already millionaires, who were now set to sell even more jackets because of Tom.
“Let’s see,” Kiki said, exhaling on her vape so that the sickly sweet scent of something like blueberry and vanilla filled the air, causing Tom to scrunch his nose up.
“These are fabulous, Tom,” she said. “Is it just me, or is he getting even better?” She turned to the art director who was already walking away, ready to prepare another set.
“He sure is,” she shouted without looking back.
“Well I definitely couldn’t do it without you,” he said, turning to smile at her. “It’s why I’m here.”
She turned to him. “What do you mean?”
“I owe you,” he said, shrugging.
“Oh God, are you saying that because of what I said at your exhibition?” She waved the hand holding her vape in his face. “I was only joking, Tom. You know you’re here because of you, right? You’re so fucking talented. I’ll be furious if you’re doing this bullshit because you feel like youoweme.”
He stared at her. Whywashe doing this bullshit? He’d thrown himself back into it because of Sophie. For the money. Because it’s what he was used to, but not because he was passionate about it. He thought of Stormy, pounding a fist against his chest.
“I don’t know why I’m doing this stuff,” he said honestly.
“Then don’t do it, babe, simple as that. I do it because Iloveit. Because there is nothing like the feeling of a camera on me. Of taking something off a hanger and making it come to life through my body. The fact that someone might want to wear something because they saw me look good in it. I don’t care if it’s shallow, I live for that stuff. But you,” she said, pointing at him. “I saw your exhibition. I think there might be more to you than that and I’m sort of jealous, if I’m honest. In fact...” She reached for her phone, pressing a button and holding it to her ear.
“Get me a job with PETA,” she said, when the person on the other end answered. Quite obviously her agent. “Or RSPCA. Me and a load of orphaned puppies. Or an orangutan. I want to do something meaningful amongst all this shit.” There was a pause. “I don’t give a fuck if I wear fur. Tell them it’s fake.”
She hung up and turned back to Tom, who shook his head, smiling.
She made it look so easy, but maybe it really was as simpleas just doing it. Saying yes to things you wanted, and no to the things you didn’t.
The art director reappeared.
“Tom, can we book you in for another shoot next month? There’s a denim thing we’re working on. I’ll send over the details.” She started walking away.
“Actually I’m really sorry,” he said and she half turned, not having time for his answer. “I can’t do it.” He was sure now. He’d made his decision. “I’ll be in South Korea.”
After the shoot, Tom was in a black cab heading back to his flat when his phone rang with a number he didn’t recognize. It was just after 2:00 p.m. and his head was filled with the excitement of the decision he’d made. How was it that someone like Kiki was responsible for both the making and the breaking of his career? The world moved in the most mysterious of ways.
“Is this Martha’s brother, Tom?” the man’s voice asked when he answered.
“Yes,” Tom said, leaning forward.
“Could you come to the school? It’s an emergency. Martha’s having an asthma attack. She’s in a bad way and we can’t get hold of her parents.”
“I’m coming. I’m coming now,” Tom said, hanging up and shouting new directions to the taxi driver, who did an immediate U-turn on the street.
It was amazing how quickly joy could turn to abject terror. There was nothing that caused Tom as much hurt as imagining his sister in any type of pain at all. He’d never witnessed one of her asthma attacks before, but he’d heard about them through Laura and his dad. In all honesty he always thought they were exaggerating, another example of their helicopter parenting. Martha, in his experience, was the picture of health. Robust. Unstoppable. But he’d done it again, hadn’t he? He loved Martha so much he hadn’t ever dared to consider the other parts of her. The more vulnerable parts that Laura was so focused on. He had, in a way, put Martha on a pedestal too.
As the cab pulled up outside the school, Tom tapped his card so fast the payment didn’t go through and he swore under his breath as the driver had to type it all in again.Come the fuck on, mate!Tom was muttering to himself, his left leg shaking.
“Receipt?” the driver shouted, and he needed one for his expenses but he didn’t have time. He didn’t have a second to lose.
“No,” he shouted, jumping out of the taxi. “Thank you,” he added as an afterthought. None of this was the driver’s fault. Tom didn’t need to be rude.
He burst through the double doors of the school and into reception.
“Martha?” he shouted through the window and the woman signaled out onto the road, to the ambulance he hadn’t even noticed. He left his bags in the middle of the floor and ran across the pavement, pounding on the doors before stopping and taking a deep breath. Martha didn’t need to see him like this. She needed calm Tom. If she picked up on his energy for even a second—which she would because somehow she saw him better and with more clarity than anyone else he’d ever met—it would panic her, and Tom was fairly sure the worst thing for asthma was panic.
