‘I doubt it. You’ve got raw talent, Jasmine. You don’t need a piece of paper from an art college to tell you that. Talent like yours comes from within, it can’t be learned. The shots you took of the sunset are good. Not perfect, obviously, but spend some more time with me and you’ll get even better.’
‘I will?’ I ask, blown away by his words.
‘You will. Want me to take your portrait?’
‘Me?’ I’m actually squeaking now. Famous photographer Dave has offered to take my picture. Holy shitballs, guys. He starts snapping but I’ve been seized by a case of the major cringe and I can feel my face twisting into awkward shapes.
‘Why d’you look so weird all of a sudden?’
‘Is this the way you talk to all your subjects?’
‘My subjects aren’t usually my assistants,’ he grins, setting his camera down. Relieved, I look back towards the disappearing sunset. The last time I watched the sun go down was with Mila and Ben ages ago. Ben had read something in a fitness mag about how great walking is for all-round health, so we packed into his car and drove up to the Lake District for a weekend of camping and hiking. On the first night we sat staring at the setting sun, clinking beer bottles and toasting marshmallows on a firepit. The memory makes me smile but my stomach also does that plummeting thing, like when you’re driving up and down a really hilly road.
IT’S BEN!Shouts my brain.
SHUT UP, BRAIN!I shout back. Then I take a sip of gin and turn to find Dave staring right into my eyeballs.
‘Argh!’
‘You’reprobably thinking about trying to kiss me, aren’t you?’
Needless to say that the gin comes spluttering right back out of my mouth.
‘Um, no?’
‘Are you sure? Most women think I’m hot.’
I inch back a little. ‘Well I think you’ve got a really big head. Plus, you’ve had three beers and I’m your temporary assistant, so we should keep this professional. Not only because I want to work with you again and I’ve learned so much great stuff today, but also because you’re blatantly a big old shagger and you were chatting up an intern just a couple of hours ago.’
Like water off a duck’s back, Dave shrugs his shoulders and looks at his camera kit.
‘Seeing as you’re so keen to keep this professional, you’d better start packing up my tripod,’ he laughs.
Mila is pulling snacks from a seemingly bottomless shopping bag and pushing every packet into the middle of Mum’s kitchen table like she’s making a snack volcano.
‘Ooh Cheesy Wotsits! Retro!’
‘I went big,’ she claps. ‘You sounded weird on the phone, what’s up?’
‘Yes, spill,’ says Mum, handing us both a cup of tea and helping herself to a packet of Frazzles.
‘Promise you won’t laugh at me?’
Mum and Mila nod solemnly.
‘Oh gaaaaaaaahhhd. It’s awkward. And embarrassing. I’ve been driving myself crazy recently thinking about a boy.’
‘Ooh!’ says Mum.
‘Excellent,’adds Mila. ‘A new potential!’
‘That’s the problem, he’s not really new. He’s, um. . .’
‘You’d better not be going back to James,’ Mila scowls. ‘Or Zach. Or Hot Tom, for that matter.’
‘No, no, nothing like that. Even handsy old Too Much Thierry was an improvement on those fools.’
Mila smiles in approval and hands me some Space Raiders. ‘So what’s up?’
