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Seven Years Before I Do
Audrey, waiting at the main exit of Baker Street tube station, checked her watch. Hillary was twenty minutes late. He had just started rehearsals on a new production, and Audrey suspected that if there was an opportunity to loiter and impress his new cast mates, then loiter he would.
If he didn’t show, she would spend the afternoon in the British Library. If she was serious about this new plan of hers, then she would need to study every chance she got. She didn’t relish the prospect of changing university courses again, of what people would say, but the truth was, she had always wanted to study Astronomy, she’d just never had the confidence to apply before.
The tube exit was getting busy, so she moved further inside the station to escape the throng of people. A photo booth stood in an overlooked corner of the tube station. The vintage-style machine had popped up a few weeks earlier. It had softly illuminated white walls, a mirror, and a single red panel with the words ‘4 photos, 3 minutes, 2 pounds’ printed in a stylish square font. On the opposite side, an advert detailed how you could hire an old-fashioned analogue booth like this for private events.
Away from the tide of people streaming from the ticket gates, Audrey paused to look at her reflection in the booth’s panelled mirror. She was wearing black tights beneath denim cut-offs and a white vest top under an open lumberjack shirt. She smiled at her reflection, pleased with her new fringe. Did she look like someone who could be an astronomy student? What did an astronomy student look like? Mind wandering, Audrey noticed a strip of colour photos sitting in the photo booth dispenser. She looked around, expecting to see someone waiting, but there was no one. She glanced beneath the blue curtain of the booth – it was empty.
After one more look around the station, she picked up the photos. The strip of four images showed a man, perhaps close to her age, twenty-one. He was blond, attractive, with an angular face and a slightly crooked smile. In the first photo, he was pointing to himself, in the next, he had pulled open his shirt and the word ‘WILL’ had been written on his bare chest in black ink. In the third picture, he held a heavy-handled magnifying glass up to one eye, miming searching for something. In the final picture, he pointed a finger directly at the lens, his face was captured in an enormous smile. ‘I will find you,’ Audrey muttered.
Audrey stared at the photos; she was intrigued by both the message and the man. His fair hair was styled into a messy quiff on one side, his face was narrow, his jawline and cheekbones sharp. He had a light smattering of freckles across his nose and a small, straight scar at the top of his left cheek. His eyes were piercing green and looked directly at the lens in all but one of the photographs. Though logic told her otherwise, Audrey felt that the message in the photos was meant for her.
She scanned the station again. Surely, he must be nearby. Effort had gone into these, getting the timing right for each pose, to convey the message in four unstoppable flashes of light. They were not something to be left behind, discarded. She felt an illogical stab of desperation – she wanted to see this man in real life, to see if his eyes were really that extraordinary shade of green, or if it was simply a trick of the light, or a fault in the outdated inking process. Her curiosity felt so intensely piqued that she couldn’t make herself walk away from the booth.
‘Audrey!’ A familiar voice cut across the station, pulling her out of her thoughts.
She looked up to see Hillary stepping off the escalator coming up from the Bakerloo line. He was dressed in a boxy white suit, a yellow cravat and a black beret, an outfit that was garnering him looks of both approval and bewilderment from people he passed.
‘I wasn’t sure you’d still be here,’ he said, greeting her with a kiss on each cheek. ‘Sorry, I got waylaid by a beautiful busker at Oxford Circus.’
‘What are you dressed as?’ Audrey asked.
‘An art critic. What are you dressed as – an urchin farmer?’ He raised an eyebrow as he eyed her outfit, then linked his arm through hers. ‘I suppose this is what geography students look like these days. I never ventured outside the Arts faculty myself.’
‘Actually, I’ve decided Geography is not for me. I think I’m going to switch courses.’
‘Again? Oh thank goodness. What are we doing now?’
‘Astronomy.’ Audrey bit her lip, her eyes growing wide as she waited to see his reaction.
‘I thought you needed maths for that?’ Hillary frowned.
‘I do – I’m going to go back and take my Maths A level. Is this an insane plan?’
‘Brilliantly insane,’ said Hillary squeezing her arm. ‘You’re still young. You can do anything you set your mind to, Audrey Lavery. Just don’t ask me to help you revise.’
Audrey hugged his arm in hers and, after looking around one last time for the green-eyed man, she slipped the strip of photos into her handbag.
As soon as they were outside on Baker Street, Hillary announced that he needed to stop at the newsagents to buy cigarettes. Still buzzing with confidence from his faith in her, Audrey latched onto the seed of an idea.
‘I just need to nip back for something,’ she said. ‘Will you buy me some Chipsticks? I’ll be back in two minutes.’
‘Crisps? You are such a heathen.’ Hillary shivered but then nodded and waved a hand to dismiss her.
The photo booth was still empty. Audrey pulled back the curtain and turned the swivelling stool until it was the right height for her. When she was satisfied that her eyeline was in the right place, she rummaged in her purse for two pound coins. She was going to leave a reply. She didn’t know why, exactly; it was unlikely the man would come back for his photos now, but she would feel better about taking them if she left something in their place.
She pulled her notebook from her backpack and tore off a clean sheet of paper, writing a word on either side in blue biro, then retracing the lettering to make it as bold as she could. When she was satisfied with her handiwork, she pushed the coins into the slot with a satisfying clunk. For the first photo, she pointed to herself. Flash. Then she held up the sign she had drawn, with the words ‘AM’ facing the camera. Flash. Next, she turned the paper over and displayed the second word, ‘HERE’. Flash. For the fourth photo she posed in a kiss, her lips puckered, eyes closed, arms outstretched. Flash.
She didn’t wait for the strip to develop – it would take several minutes, and Hillary was waiting. She heard the whirring of the machinery inside the booth and pressed her hand affectionately against the red panel. She was entrusting this machine with her message, with delivering it into a stranger’s hand. Perhaps he would return, find her reply, and it would begin a conversation that went on for months, played out entirely in photo strips. They’d finally meet one day at this same booth and fall in love. Of course it was a silly fantasy, but the idea made her smile.
‘There you are,’ said Hillary as she rejoined him outside the newsagents. ‘What were you doing?’
Audrey shrugged. ‘Just answering the universe’s call.’
Hillary rolled his eyes as he tore open his packet of cigarettes. ‘Well, I’m sure the bathrooms at the gallery would be cleaner,’ he said, handing her a packet of salt and vinegar Chipsticks. ‘I thought if I had taught you anything growing up, it was a little refinement. We don’t eat crisps, we don’t use public lavatories, and we never, ever wear trainers unless we are exercising.’
Audrey glanced down at her trainers and smiled.
As they walked down Baker Street, arms entwined, Audrey looked up at the sky and sent up a wish. She wished for the man in the photos to find her, as he’d promised.
