CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Adminday. The least favourite of days. But I’ve been so busy gadding about on dates to Scotland, squeezing in some extra work with Dave and doing my day job that I’ve simply got to get this stuff done. A quick online banking session has confirmed that I could do with a little salary boost. Just a casual £10,000 should do it. Do you think Violet will go for it? After rent, bills and a housewarming present for Mila and Mike, I’m in a beans-on-freezer-toast-until-the-next-pay-day kind of situation. My IT guy Arnie popped round this morning on his way to a ceramics class (!!!) and did what he called some ‘behind the scenes’ work to make sure the website is running at its best and I used up the last of my cafetière coffee as thanks. We had a good catch up over hot coffee before he left me to crack on.
So here I am pouring over the profile shots of Photographer Dave, leaning back on the rooftop, legs kicked out in front of him and the sun setting in the background. I scrutinise each photo. I like them. Should I email a couple over to him? Or am I a proper div for thinking he’d be interested in looking at some pictures taken by a lowly photographer’s assistant? I decide to be brave and do it anyway. They are of his face and Photographer Dave does have quite a high opinion of himself.
I press send and start deleting my way through junk emails when I spot one from a sender I’ve never seen before.
From:[emailprotected]
Subject:Jump shoot
Dear Jasmine
Myname is Mads and I work for Jump, the Danish knitwear brand you interviewed for recently.
We’ve had a last-minute situation with the photographer hired to shoot our social media campaign. Without going into details, they embellished their CV to the point of unprofessionalism. Jade from Buzz PR mentioned that she had also interviewed you and her company clearly rate you highly. I’ve since taken a look at your impressive website.
I appreciate that it’s now short notice, but would you still be free for this shoot? I’ve attached a call sheet with dates and details. . . the shoot’s taking place here in Denmark and we will pay competitive rates for your services.
I look forward to hearing from you.
De bedste ønsker
Mads
Shut. The. Front. Door.
HOW GREAT is this email? Jump like my website! We all know ‘embellishing’ a CV means making stuff up and while I might not have any training either, at least I didn’t lie about it! And now I’ve got the job! My fingers are dancing as I open the call sheet. Location: Copenhagen. A three-day shoot. They’ll pay my travel expenses and, wait, WTF? That day rate cannot be right. A quick bit of (admittedly shoddy) maths in my head confirms that one day with these guys is what I earnper weekwith Violet. Three days is nearly a month’s salary!
I type back an exuberant acceptance, setting aside fears of how I’ll actually get the time off. Violet’s already a bit peeved about the days with Dave and I’m going to need a fullfive for the new shoot. But she’s at a wedding with Chip this weekend and hopefully in a good mood so I fire off a quick email and keep everything crossed.
Fresh from a (thankfully clothed) yoga class, Mum bundles me into a cuddle while I marvel at her never-ending supply of athleisure. This woman has more pairs of leggings than a sport-loving millipede.
‘Are you staying?’ she asks when she spots my overnight bag.
‘If that’s okay? Sorry, I should have checked if you had plans. I was in a bit of a tizz earlier.’
Mum holds me at arm’s length and examines my face with concern.
‘Of course it’s okay! Areyouokay?’
‘I’m more than okay Mum! I’ve got so much to tell you.’
‘Sounds exciting. Let me shower off and then you can tell me all about it.’
I’m sat cross-legged on the floor by Mum’s newly sawn-off dining table. Apparently Tiger has been reading up about something called ‘re-wilding’, which seems to mean that chairs are out.
‘He says that we need to be getting back to our early human roots. Neanderthals didn’t have sofas, Jasmine! We’re slowly getting rid of lots of furniture. He cut the table legs off so we can eat from the floor.’
‘Sounds weird Mum,’ I say, readjusting the cross of my legs until it feels less like I’ve got wooden floorboards poking into my bones. Between big mouthfuls of my favourite ever Mum Meal (homemade lasagne with garlic bread YAAASSSS!) we chat about Tiger and then she raises a knowing eyebrow as I explain just how good the date with Charlie was. I hadliterally zero expectations for a date set up by my own mother and I realise now that I did her a massive disservice. There’s no one who knows me better. I can’t actually believe that I thought she’d hook me up with a guy who wasn’t my type. Or, I should say, my new type. Charlie would have scored a one (at a push) on my old type on paper and yet we had The Best time.
‘I’m so pleased,’ she grins, spooning some salad onto my almost empty plate and quietly muttering about my five-a-day. ‘And even more pleased to hear about a shoot in Copenhagen. I am just so proud of you.’
I spot the tears pooling at the bottom of her eyes and look away. If Mum starts to cry, I start to cry. It’s some kind of unwritten rule which I put down to our genes. You wouldn’t believe how hard I had to fight back my own tears when Mum was recovering from what happened with Dad. I’d hold her in my arms, shush her tears away and only let my own spill when I was by myself. It’s not that I couldn’t cry in front of her. On the contrary, she encouraged me to show my emotions to her. I just knew, at that time, that I had to be strong for the both of us.
‘And what about Ben?’ she asks.
‘Actually Charlie said some interesting stuff about his ex, they’d been friends before they got together. But I’m still not sure Mum. I think I need to see Ben again but it’s the weekend so obviously he’s got a busy shagging schedule to tend to.’ Blurgh.
