‘Got it.’
‘In terms of the image we’re after, the focus is on getting him to smile. Almost every Zack picture in existence has him pouting or brooding. He’s quite jolly in his YouTube vids, but it seems he channels Heathcliff for photos.’
‘Right. Maybe I’ll see if I can find a playlist he’d like – help him relax. There’s an Alexa over there that should connect to my phone.’
‘Great idea. Now, hop onto the stool in front of the camera, would you?’
‘Er – what?’
‘I need to test the light. See what I’m working with.’
‘Oh. Okay.’
Rachel shuffled into the centre of the studio area, treading softly on the roll of background paper that Tom had pulled into place. It was a pale, blueish off-white, and she hoped her well-worn boots wouldn’t leave prints on it.
She scrambled up to perch on the stool, which was slightly too tall for her.
‘Hang on,’ Tom said, ‘let me lower that a bit. We don’t want you falling off it; where there’s blame, there’s a claim.’
He helped her down, then fiddled with the underside of the seat until it had come down by a few inches. Satisfied, he held Rachel’s hand as she climbed back up.
‘Okaaaaay,’ Tom breathed, moving back a few paces to assess the set-up. He stared at her thoughtfully, pushing his hair off his forehead.
This wasstrange. It felt intense … And exposing. Rachel was surrounded by lights and reflectors, everything trained on her face. She fought the urge to pull her sweater over her head and hide, instead trying to remain as still as possible. Tom looked like he was considering something complicated; she didn’t want to put him off.
He came closer again and she instructed herself not to move, though the urge to run away was now stronger than ever. Tom reached up to faff with a huge boxy thing just behind her. As he arched his body around hers she could smell washing powder – presumably the stuff he used to keep that white T-shirt bright.
He retreated and stood directly in front of her. ‘May I?’
Rachel nodded, though she had no idea what she was agreeing to.
Tom placed two fingertips on the underside of her jaw and tilted her head up, tipping it to the left. Rachel felt her lips come apart to suck in a sharp breath that betrayed her surprise at being touched, but she stayed still.
‘Sorry,’ Tom whispered. ‘I know it’s weird.’
‘S’fine,’ Rachel whispered back. It was definitely weird. But weirdly, also fine.
‘Can I take this hairband out? It’ll help me see how the light hits different textures.’
‘Uh-huh,’ Rachel answered, trying not to shift her head.
Tom fiddled with the elastic until her hair came loose, then pushed his fingers into the waves at the nape of her neck, gently fanning them so they fell down her back.
‘Oops – didn’t mean to tickle you,’ he said softly, feeling her start at the contact. He fell back, putting himself a respectful distance away.
Tom fumbled in his pocket and pulled out something that looked like a calculator. It had a small white ball on top.
‘Light meter,’ he said, answering Rachel’s unspoken question. He extended his arm and let the thing hover a few millimetres from the right-hand side of her face, then pressed a button and waited.
Tom moved the meter until it was suspended above Rachel’s head, then fiddled again with the controls. After several more checks, he seemed happy.
‘Cool,’ he said, grinning at her. ‘Don’t move a muscle.’
He strode away, ducking behind a large square camera, then picked up a long, thin black wire with what looked like a silver trigger on its end. He held the metallic thing in his hand as he looked through the viewfinder.
‘Smile, Rach,’ Tom said, then fired the camera. It emitted a loud, rather pleasingsnap.
‘You blinked,’ he laughed. ‘And before that you just looked terrified. You know this is a camera and not a grenade launcher, right? Relax your shoulders a bit if you can … You look great, by the way.’
