“Yeah. I want to find out why you look so weird in a simple standing position.”
“Jamie! Can you take the picture so we can move on with our lives?”
“You were the one fussing about the poses, Freya. If you’re only concerned about getting the picture of the bell tower, then it’s already done,” he says, before lifting the phone up again and pointing the camera in my direction. “I’m intrigued to see what pose you’re going to pull for this.”
“I’ll do a selection.”
I start by pointing up at the bell tower with an excited expression, as though I’ve just stumbled upon this amazing landmark. He smiles at that one. Then I throw my hands above my head as though I’ve just finished a performance and I’m giddy taking the curtain call. Then I move into the one-hand-on-the-hip look, with a smoldering expression.
I decide that’s enough with the awful posing and start laughing, sauntering back over to him. “You get enough shots, Tarantino?”
He makes a face. “You know Tarantino is a film director, right? Not a photographer.”
“Oh, yeah,” I say, craning to look at my phone over his shoulder. “Who do I mean?”
Jamie looks pensive for a moment and then clicks his fingers. “Testino.”
“That’s the one! Well done.” I smile up at him. “Okay, so, did you get enough shots, Testino?”
“You look very glamorous in all of them,” he tells me, passing my phone over. “But I think my photography skills help to capture your emotion.”
I scroll through the pictures. Some of them are really quite funny and I should probably be more embarrassed at how goofy I look in front of Jamie, but if I’m honest, it felt good to just be silly. There’s one at the end that he’s taken, though, when I had finished my poses. I’m smiling naturally and looking down at the ground, tucking my hair behind my ear.
“That’s a good one,” he declares, and I can’t help but nod in agreement. “That’s the one you need to put up.”
“Put up where?”
“On Instagram or whatever. Unless you don’t use social media?” He seems surprised.
“I do have an Instagram account, but I haven’t posted on it since before the wedding,” I say before I can stop myself.
My words linger in the air and I find myself feeling uncomfortable, having not spoken to Jamie about any of that before. He doesn’t look confused, though. He doesn’t look awkward, either.
“Yours and Matthew’s?” he asks quietly.
“I’m guessing the others mentioned it.”
“Yeah, they did. I’m really sorry that happened.”
I shrug, looking back down at the picture. “I didn’t realize you knew. Though I suppose everyone knows. It’s the sort of thing that follows you round and sticks.”
“Only in the same way a breakup does,” Jamie says in thisgentle, comforting tone. “I know I can’t speak from experience, but I imagine it feels like this open wound that people talk about, but over time, it fades.”
“The wound? Or the gossiping?”
“Both, I reckon.”
I nod slowly, letting his words sink in. “That was quite a good way of putting it.”
“I write the copy for the Dancing Bear cans.”
“An established writer, then.”
“Oh, yes. You try describing the taste of a perfect craft beer in a few sentences.”
“Hoppy and foamy. There. I’ve done it in three words.”
He tries his best to suppress a smile. “I feel like we’re having quite a nice moment, so I’m not going to ruin it by telling you how insulting that was, but I intend to bring it up later.”
