His face lightens briefly, his eyes turning warm. “He’s okay as far as I know.”
“As far as you know?”
He shrugs. “You know he retired, yes?”
I nod. “To paint pictures.”
His full mouth twists. “And to reconnect with old loves.”
I wince. Max has been in love with his old partner, Ivo, for years. It’s an open secret in our community. I have my own thoughts about that. I think he’s in love with an ideal rather than the reality, and someday he’s going to realise that. I hope it’s not too late when he does.
“So, what are you doing these days?” I ask.
He shrugs. “I retired too, but you know?—”
His words drift away, and I nod slowly. “It’s not so easy.”
He stares at me. “Yes, you know about that. It’s hard to tell people who aren’t in the game.”
“And what form is your retirement going to take?” I pause and then say deliberately, “Apart from staying away from the old job.”
He shrugs. “I don’t know. It’s funny because I always used to think of what I’d do when I retired. It’s what kept me going when—” He swallows the words, but I know he’s talking about being held hostage. The risk of being captured and held is one all journalists and photojournalists face but it had actually happened to Ivo and Max. “Anyway, I had all these ideas, but I can’t remember what they were now.”
“You will,” I say gently.
“Maybe I’ll go back. Lightning can’t strike in the same place, can it?”
“Maybe not, but it can still do it a few yards away from the previous spot,” I say, alarmed. I search for a solution…something that will keep him away from the job. “Why don’t you write your memoirs?”
He blinks. “Pardon?”
“You’re a wordsmith, and you’ve had one hell of a life. Write it down, for fuck’s sake.”
“Maybe.”
I clap him on the shoulder. “Do it. Who knows where that journey will lead you, eh?” I have an uneasy feeling that he’lltry to go back. Nothing good ever comes from treading old, dangerous paths.
“Maybe.” His eyes sharpen, taking me in. “Enough of me. How are you doing?”
I shrug. “We’re going back in, you know?”
“I’d heard.”
There’s a maelstrom of emotions in his eyes. Relief that he’s not going, mingled with envy, because this job gets its talons into you. Even if you want to leave, it holds on so you can never truly get away.
He catches my hand. “Be careful.”
“I will. You know me.”
“I know you and—” He breaks off as Jez walks up to us.
Max’s expression closes up slightly. I know Max well enough to discern the shift, and I also know that he can’t stand Jez. It’s always been incredibly mutual. Jez views him as competition. Max? I’m not sure what’s at the root of his dislike.
“Max,” Jez says coolly. He’s as soaked as the rest of us, his hair plastered to his skull. “How are you?”
He doesn’t so much as look at me, and I stiffen, my earlier misgivings resurfacing. What the hell is the matter with him? He’s been in a funny mood all morning, alternating between being affectionate and standoffish.
“Fine,” Max says shortly and directs a warmer smile at me. “Good luck.” He nods at us and walks away, a lonely, too-thin figure.
