CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
I’mon a plane with approx zero room for my feet and the kind of hand luggage allowance that would only be okay for a troupe of travelling mice, though even they would have to sacrifice their largest chunks of cheese. I just paid a week’s worth of rent for a small bottle of water (might be exaggerating there) and the guy next to me is chowing down on a ham and cheese panini, so we all know that soon I’ll be ordering one too for £167. It’s not like I already ate a full English at the airport or anything *blushing face emoji*. In my defence, I got to Luton with hours to spare because I’m INCREDIBLY EXCITED about this trip. Travelling with Violet generally involved fancy airlines, business lounges, free drinks and all the legroom. Travelling for myself apparently involves not much personal space, using my suitcase as a chair because hi hello someone decided to travel in the middle of summer holiday season, and extortionately overpriced yet awful drinks. And guess what? IT’S THE BEST!
Dublin, you stone cold stunner, stop flirting with me. I can’t handle it! Musicians line the cobbled streets, bashing out jaunty ditties that turn my walk into a skip every time I hear a new beat. Quaint shops and pubs jostle for space and all the tea shops are making me wonder if I should develop a thing for tea.
I check my map and round one last corner, pulling up outside Byrne + O’Neill. Pushing open the glass door, I walk over to reception and take a deep breath.
‘Hi, I’m here to see Frazer. . . I’m Jasmine Hepworth, the photographer.’ Tingling all over. That felt good to say.
‘Good morning! I’ll let Frazer know, please grab a seat,’ says the receptionist in her lovely Irish lilt.
I perch on a comfy leather sofa and pretend to flick through a magazine until I hear my name called out again.
‘Jasmine, good to meet you.’ Frazer is striding over to me. Dazzling smile, olive skin and statuesque frame. Smiling green eyes. I let myself smile too, both back at Frazer and at myself. He is exactly, one hundred per cent, no messing around, my old type on paper. The kind of boy who would have had my heart pumping and my mind racing just a few months ago. I stand up to greet him, holding out my hand and maintaining eye contact.
‘Great to meet you too,’ I reply. ‘Shall we get to work?’
Dolly Parton’s ‘Nine to Five’ is on repeat in my head and I’m a) feeling so sassy right now and b) contemplating a huge beehive perm. Don’t think I can pull it off? In front of me stands the talent: a beautiful bird-like woman called Erin who is set for Big Things. Frazer must have said those exact words to me twenty times already. We had several phone conversations ahead of this trip where he told me all about the shoots and what he washoping for. Now that I’m here I can see why he has faith in Erin. She’s an actress and, at twenty, she’s already had roles in a TV adaptationanda movie. I mean. She’s got the biggest eyes I’ve ever seen and she looks gorgeous in every single photo I take. My job is to capture some shots of Erin going about her everyday life. Over the next few days we’ll be holing up in the café where she reads potential manuscripts, going to university where she’s still studying English Literature and, the shoot I’m most excited for, having Sunday lunch with her family.
‘It’s all about showing the real Erin, okay?’ Frazer says, nodding along in agreement with himself. ‘We’re launching her website soon and we already know that her fans love her down to earth nature. She’s going to be a superstar, but she’s also a Dublin girl, born and bred. Everybody needs a niche and Erin’s is that, sure, she’s stunning and talented and famous, but she’s also JUST LIKE YOU.’
Frazer actually points towards me when he says this.
Erin shoots me an apologetic look. We’ve had a little bond already and every time Frazer says something cocky slash stupid, our eyes flicker to meet each other’s. I bury a smile back at her. It’s all water off a duck’s back because I’m not here to be the star of the show. I’m here to #werk and I’m going to do the best job I chuffing well can. At the moment Erin’s doing a voiceover for a new TV ad, so we’re in the studio in Frazer’s building as she sits with a pair of headphones on. It’s dark and narrow, which isn’t making my job easy, but I’ve managed to gecko myself into a tight corner of this small room and if I try not to breathe, I can just about get a decent angle. Don’t nobody tell me that my job isn’t ALL glamour.
‘Brilliant, brilliant,’ Frazer is saying down the phone. ‘I’ll get my PA to send you the release as soon as we’ve wrapped. I’m offering you a world exclusive with these shots of Erin, mate. A world exclusive.’ He pauses for effect, the whole room ringing with silence now that Frazer’s booming voice has stopped. ‘It’s a huge deal. I want Erin’s name at the top of the list for every potential endorsement from now on, okay? And you’d better start dropping her name left, right, and centre. Believe me, these pics will be your story of the day. Most hits of the week! I can see it now. . . Of course the shots are going to be good. I’ve found an up and coming talent to take them, she’s called Jasmine. No you won’t have heard of her, she’s only just set up on her own but don’t panic. Dave Corrigan’s using her headshots for his new book. Yes THE Dave Corrigan. I tell you what, mate, stop asking questions and start trusting me. This is about to blow up and you’re getting ringside seats. I’ll be in touch when they’re ready.’
Frazer puts the phone down and shoots a self-satisfied smile around the table. Erin looks like she’d like to be swallowed up by her cup of tea.
‘How are we doing?’ Frazer asks, sidling over to me.
‘Iam doing just fine,’ I reply pointedly. All this testosterone tossing is giving me a headache. ‘There’s loads of great stuff here, I think we could wrap?’
‘Let me have a quick look through what you’ve got first,’ says Frazer, clearly not used to trusting anyone else’s judgement.
‘Sure,’ I reply, sliding my laptop across the café table to him. We’ve just completed day two and the shots are good, I just know it. Erin in a lightweight jumper, sleeves pulled down past her wrist as she sips tea in one hand, glasses perched on the end of her nose and a manuscript in the other. ‘Erin, do you fancy getting some fresh air in the meantime?’
Frazerlooks up at me, surprised. He’s used to calling the shots. But I’m not being rude and it’s obvious that we could all do with a break.
‘Thank you,’ Erin squeezes my hand as soon as we’re out of earshot, walking along the river. ‘I don’t know why but I never feel like I can stand up to Frazer. He’s so. . .’
‘Cock-sure?’ I offer.
‘Definitely. Don’t get me wrong, he’s amazing at his job. I’m so new to all of this and he’s already opening up some amazing opportunities for me. I just. . . I dunno. . .’
‘I get it. He’s been brilliant to me too, this job came at just the right time for me. But Jesus wept, Frazer, why don’t you stop swinging your big fucking balls around for two seconds and let the rest of us catch our breath?’
Erin starts laughing. ‘I know, right? I like that he takes charge during all that corporate stuff that I’m useless at but did he really need to boss Betty around today? She was doing us a favour by letting us shoot in her café. I’m going to have to apologise when I go in next week. I swear he’s trying to set me up with another one of his clients, too. He thinks a relationship could be just what I need to make me a “household star”.’ She winces.
‘Eww. Don’t let him pressure you into anything. . .’
‘No way,’ Erin shakes her head firmly. ‘I don’t have the time for a boyfriend, I’m way too busy focusing on my career right now.’
‘I wish I’d had my shit together at twenty like you do.’
‘Huh,’ she says, stopping at a bridge to look out over the water. ‘You seem pretty sorted to me.’
Irish family meals are officially my new favourite thing. In fact, after becoming a hugely successful photographer and taking Mum and Mila on a yoga trip to Bali, marrying into an Irish family is now third on my goals list. There are, count them, THREE different types of potato in front of me. Three! Roasted. Mashed. New, boiled and covered in butter. Oh and did I mention the two types of meat Erin’s mum cooked for us? Lambandchicken! What the eff, everybody? I’m in heaven.
