‘Sure.’ A man in a very conservative grey suit and a bright pink tie with one very large orange fish on it (head down) and matching orange (suede) shoes takes my phone.
‘This might sound weird,’ I tell him, ‘but can we just turn round – we have this thing with our friends where we all post photos of ourselves with our backs to the camera.’
‘Each to their own,’ the man says. ‘Sure.’
I put my arm round Nadia’s shoulders and she leans into me, and after a moment, the man says, ‘Done,’ and we turn back round.
‘Sure you don’t want any of yourfaces?’ he asks. ‘Are you on the run or something?’
‘Ha, ha,’ says Nadia. ‘Yes, please that would be great, actually.’
So I put my arm back round her shoulders and she leans against me again (we’re getting good at it; it’s like a jigsaw piece going into place now), and the photo’s taken.
We have quite a long chat with the fish-tie guest (who turns out to be an ex-colleague of Ruth’s) and then end up in a wider group (all very nice people), before everyone’s called for a big, final entire guestlist photo, so we don’t immediately get the opportunity to look at the photos.
‘Want to check the results of our photo shoot?’ Nadia asks me when we’re all told that we’re very free to use the hotel facilities for a couple of hours while the brides rest and get changed, before the reception proper starts.
‘Sometimes I amaze myself with my own genius,’ I say on sight of the photos of us with our backs to the camera. We could totally pass for a happy couple. I have my arm round Nadia and she’s leaning into me just like a girlfriend would.
‘You know, I did fall for your near-genius for a moment, but couldn’t we just beanyonein that photo? As in, any two people with their backs to the cameras? As in, I could just have sentanyphoto ofanytwo people?’
I shake my head. ‘No-one else has hair like yours. And also, I don’t think anyonewouldsend a photo of two other people and pretend it was them?’
‘Would anyone fake-date though?’
‘I think you’d more fake-date than you would do a completely fake photo?’
Nadia scrunches her face at me. ‘Very true. You know what, fake datersshouldjust do fake photos.’
I laugh and we look back at the phone. And the last ones, where there was no pressure on either of us, are perfect for our purposes. They make me feel a little queasy, though. Like… weird again.
We really do look as though we’re in a happy, early-days relationship. We must have only just turned round from the behind photo. Nadia’s laughing, looking straight ahead into the camera, and I’ve removed my arm from her shoulder and stuck both my hands in my pockets – I think for somewhere to put them that isn’t touching her – and I’m looking at her and wearing what would definitely pass for a very fond, if not besotted, smile if you didn’t know better.
We’re both silent for a tiny bit longer than is comfortable, and then simultaneously, I say, ‘Wow, I am agoodactor,’ as Nadia swipes to the next photo.
‘Youare.’ She nudges me. ‘Finally.’
‘Ha, yes,’ I say.
‘So are you happy for me to use that one and maybe one of us from behind?’
‘What, are you not going to use any of the ones where we look like people who’ve never smiled before?’
Nadia grins at me and I think to myself howthat, right there, is a gorgeous smile, and then she says, ‘Okay, I’m going to post them now. Thank you very much. That’s going to keep people off my back for weeks to come.’
I watch the concentration on her face as she adds them to her work chat, and I wonder againwhy– if she wants to meet someone so much – she hasn’t managed yet. When she does find the right person, she’ll be an amazing partner for them.
11
NADIA
My fingers are fumbling like nobody’s business as I post the two photos to my work chat, accompanying them with heart and smiley emojis, and I know why. It’s because I’m just stupidly flustered by that last photo. Well, all the photos actually. In fact, the whole photo-taking experience unnerved me, and, to my shame, while we chatted to those other guests I very much enjoyed their evident assumption that Tom and I are together.
Basically, since we started taking the selfies, I’ve had this incredibly stupid, foolish, idiotic, ridiculous feeling that it would be very, very nice if weweretogether, because what’s not to like about Tom? I mean, not just what’s not to like but what’s not tolustabout Tom. And, kind of, if you weren’t very careful,loveabout him.
And seeing that photo, with the way he was looking at me, I mean, Iknowthat he was only acting, Iknowthat he’s in love with Lola, Iknowthat we don’t have that much in common (although really who cares about that; I don’t think I do actually) and Iknowthat I should not and do not want to allow myself to fall into the trap of putting myself in a position where I’ll get hurt again,but… it’s really difficult not to feel a little bit… well, flustered.
‘Done,’ I say. I’m already gettingAwwcomments and hearts in response to my message and I have to say I’m enjoying them. It is alotmore fun being the object of ‘OMG you have a boyfriend and he ishot’ envy than ‘Shh, yes, she’s the one who got dumped in the middle of the work canteen’ pity. (My last proper boyfriend was a colleague – thankfully he recently left the company – who dumped me very publicly at work, which was why I embarked on my series of disastrous first dates.)
