If I was honest, Charlie looked so tired that it had me concerned. I realised I’d only known him a short time, but I’d never seen him look this exhausted or strained in that time.
He didn’t protest and found a small clearing on the sofa that he could squish himself into. When I returned, I moved a few bits from around the floor near his feet so that he could stretch his long legs out. He took the hint and gave me a smile as I looked up from the floor.
‘So, what’s all this, then?’ He pointed at the pile to his right, encompassing Tilly, as he took the tea and sipped. His eyes closed as he did so, a brief smile of satisfaction on his face that made me happy to see. It was funny how something as simple as a good cup of tea could make you feel as if you were home.
‘We’ve got a bridal special running on the blog this month – as wedding season is upon us.’ I gave a wink to Tilly and she grinned.
‘Sam’s banned from looking at the blog at the moment. I mean, not that he does much, but, you know, just in case.’
Charlie looked confused.
I pulled a face. ‘One of the local boutiques saw us announce the feature and asked if we’d be able to include some of their dresses in the shoots. We talked it over and thought some reportage-style shots of the dresses would be best rather than just standard photos to make it feel less formal and a bit more fun.’
‘Sounds good. How’s that going to work? Are they going to send models?’ He waggled his eyebrows in mock anticipation.
I rolled my eyes and tossed a packet of chocolate Hobnobs at him. He pulled out a biscuit, dunked it and ate it in two bites.
‘So?’
‘That’s the catch. Neither I nor the shop have the money to cover professional models. If we want to do it, we sort of have to model the dresses ourselves.’
Tilly grinned at this. I didn’t.
Charlie gave me a look before returning to his tea. ‘You don’t seem thrilled at that prospect.’
‘I’m just not sure I can pull it off. This one has the glowing bride thing all set.’ I thumbed at Tilly. ‘Me, not so much.’
‘What’s so hard? You put on a dress. You look pretty. You take a photograph. It’s what you do all the time.’
‘Not in wedding dresses.’
Charlie looked at me. I looked away. The truth was, I wasn’t sure I could ever really see myself getting married. On that awful day Mum died, I’d seen the pain that enveloped my dad, the grief that had seeped from every fibre. Part of that still remained. I knew it would never entirely leave. I wasn’t averse to relationships but marriage? It was something I took seriously and, in my heart, I didn’t know if I would ever be able to take that final step.
Confusingly, I knew that my so-called reasoning was ridiculous. I mean, Matt and Marie had the most wonderful marriage. He’d lost his mum too, seen what I’d seen, but it hadn’t deterred him from seeking out love. And it wasn’t as if I didn’t want love. Of course, I did. Didn’t everyone? And the thought that I’d love someone less just because I hadn’t signed a piece of paper and put a band of metal on my finger was daft. I knew that too. But there was still something about it. Something more definite in my mind. And it was that that made me hesitant. Dressing up as a bride just didn’t seem right knowing that I might not ever do it for real. I felt, I suppose, a bit of a fraud.
‘Models do it all the time, for brochures and magazines, and catwalk shows,’ Charlie stated, sensibly. Of course, he did.
‘I’m not a model. I feel daft.’
Tilly looked over at Charlie and rolled her eyes.
‘I saw that.’
She and Charlie exchanged a smile and he said nothing more, returning to drinking his tea whilst we set up some more still shots of make-up, lotions and accessories.
‘What if we put this here, and that there? Do you think that looks better?’ I asked Tilly a short while later.
‘Oh, yes, and this…’ She leaned over and grabbed another product that made an ideal set-up. She really was good.
‘Where’s that rose we had earlier?’ I said, moving some of the netting and finding the remarkably lifelike silk rose I had in mind buried underneath. My glance drifted to Charlie, who had been exceptionally quiet, even for him, for the last ten minutes. His eyes were closed and the empty mug rested on his chest, slowly moving rhythmically up and down as he slept. I threw a look to Tilly and put my fingers to my lips. She frowned and stepped over to peer.
‘Aww,’ she whispered.
I carefully lifted the mug, halting suddenly as his hand moved and caught mine within it for a moment before slipping away. Putting the mug on the table, I cleared the rest of the sofa. He’d twisted his body in his sleep, sliding down the sofa so that his legs were now at an angle to the rest of him. Crouching down, I hooked my arms under his legs and heaved. My first attempt succeeded only in putting me on my bum with a bump. I altered my position and tried again, hefting Charlie’s long legs onto the sofa. They didn’t really fit and hung over the end, but at least they weren’t now at ninety degrees to his torso. He barely stirred. I leant over and delved under yet more fabric and grabbed the summer quilt I normally kept over the back of the other sofa. Laying it gently over his sleeping form, I went back to work.
When Charlie woke it was after seven and a warm, soft breeze was swishing the voiles at my balcony back and forth. Tilly had left and the room now resembled a living space once again, rather than the aftermath of a Bridezilla rampage. I was curled up on the other sofa, reading, when movement caught my eye.
‘You should have woken me,’ he said, squinting at his watch. His voice was rough from sleep, and his normally impeccable appearance was ruffled. It was a good look on him.
