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‘No. Tomorrow I’m off to Alnwick.’
‘Ah. Not the same as this, is it?’
The artist zipped up his fleece jacket. ‘No. Bamburgh is different to Alnwick. I have to go there next.’
Six
Kenilworth
‘Ican’t do it.’ I flopped onto the sofa. With Mum and Dad both out, I took the opportunity to call Yvette.
‘Why?’ Yvette asked.
I switched the phone from one ear to the other, curled into a ball, and propped my head against a cushion. ‘I’m not qualified. It’s that simple.’
‘You haven’t handed in your notice?’
‘No.’
‘Or told your mum and dad?’
The idea of it twisted my stomach into knots. ‘No,’ I said, painfully.
Yvette effortlessly directed me down the fraught path of indecision.
‘You’re running out of time, Robyn.’
I sighed. ‘I know.’
‘And you’ve not warned David that you’re having second thoughts?’ Yvette, of course, knew David. She had studied under him, one of many students.
‘He wants me to sign by Monday. He’s not harassing me. I think he knows that it’s a big ask: giving up a job for something this short-lived.’
The emails from David were business-like. The contract was in his name. He hadn’t declined any of my requests, and I couldn’t fault him for supporting me with the logistics. But he wasn’t a photographer and didn’t appreciate why I needed the extra equipment until I explained why.
‘It’s Saturday tomorrow, and you’re off. Take me somewhere that inspires you. Not Ashby. What’s that one near Warwick?’
I straightened up. ‘Kenilworth.’
‘Take me there. I’ll drive and bring sandwiches. The weather looks reasonable.’
I suspected this trip was the intention from the outset of the call: Yvette cajoling me into a state of motivation. The weeks had ticked by since the exhibition, and the half-hearted enquiries that I’d received about the exhibition photographs had dried up. I’d sold three prints.
‘Okay,’ I said slowly. ‘If you can’t convince me, I’ll tell David I’ve changed my mind.’
‘And if I do, you’ll tell your parents.’
I pictured Yvette’s confident, yet friendly smirk.
?
Yvette didn’t waste time. As soon as her foot landed on the accelerator, she launched her first question.
‘Why this… I was going to say obsession, but that sounds unfair.’ Yvette hesitated. I waited for her to adjust her language. ‘Why are you so interested in castles and seeing them in person?’
‘Why not?’ I fingered the outline of the glove compartment. ‘If I was a sports fan, nobody would question my desire to follow my team to every stadium. I like to see what’s left of history.’ I shrugged.
‘I do get that. I like looking at history through the lens of contemporaneous pictures. What I mean is, why castles in particular? What do you see in them?’ She was referring to something I didn’t like to discuss.
