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‘I do need to pay you. You’ve earned it fair and square, and I’ve done extremely well out of this wedding.’
‘Yes, but I did it as your friend. You’ve already given me a camera today; I don’t think I can accept this as well.’ I push the envelope back towards him.
‘Paul’s my friend too, but he’d expect a cut if he came on a job with me. It’s only fair, Madison. I charged the Beresford-Smiths a small fortune to shoot Sophie’s wedding, and your images form part of the package they’ve paid for. I wouldn’t be happy to use them if I didn’t pay you for them. Forget about me, imagine this is a payment from the Beresford-Smiths.’ He nudges the envelope back in my direction.
‘Are you sure?’
‘I am.’
Toby asks to use the bathroom before we leave, and I’m pleased to see he’s left the seat down when I go in after him. In fact, now I come to think about it, I don’t think he’s ever left the seat up. I suppose I’m only noticing it properly now because of the conversation we had earlier.
* * *
It’s past midnight by the time I return home after collecting my car. Even though it’s been a really long day, I’m still wide awake, so I pour myself a glass of wine and settle on the sofa to drink it. I expect the wedding is winding up now, with just a few diehards milking every drop out of the free bar. The envelope with the five hundred pounds in it is still on my dining table, and I mentally run through some ideas for things I could spend it on.
As I reflect on the day, a thought strikes me. Whenever I invite someone to my flat for the first time, I’m usually slightly on edge all the time they’re here, and secretly relieved when they leave. Apart from the anxiety I felt while Toby was reviewing my pictures, I felt completely comfortable with him. It reminds me a bit of how I used to feel when Charley popped round, in the days when she lived in the flat opposite with her then-boyfriend, Josh. I know she’ll be asleep, but I fish out my phone to send her a WhatsApp message.
Invited Toby to have fish and chips at my place on the way back from the wedding. It was nice, and he even left the loo seat down! Think I’ve lucked out on the GBF stakes…
I can feel my eyelids starting to droop, so I drain my glass and head off to bed.
22
DECEMBER
‘What are you doing on Saturday?’ Toby asks me when I drop him at his studio. We’ve just finished our sixth and final trip of the year, a marathon eight days in Cape Town. It was my first time in the city, and we’ve worked hard to take in all the places recommended in the famil packs, including Table Mountain, the Victoria and Alfred Waterfront, Camps Bay, as well as the various bars and restaurants on Long Street. We’ve toured the winelands, done a day safari to the Aquila Reserve (where my telephoto lens came into its own) and visited the Cape of Good Hope. On top of all of that we’ve stayed in four different hotels. It’s been exhausting and exhilarating at the same time, but now I’m just feeling tired and grimy from the eleven-hour overnight flight home.
‘I don’t think I’m doing anything, why?’
‘I’ve got a free day. I thought we could celebrate our first year of collaboration by doing something that’s neither travel nor photography related.’
‘What do you have in mind?’
‘I don’t know yet. Why don’t I surprise you?’
‘I’m not a great fan of surprises.’
‘Trust me, it’s not going to be anything bad.’
‘If it’s skydiving you may not survive the day.’
‘OK, no skydiving, I promise. Anything else?’
I think for a while. ‘I don’t want to be cold, wet or dirty. So, no assault courses or anything silly like that.’
‘No assault courses, got it. Shame, because an assault course is exactly what I thought you’d love most,’ he says, with a wink. ‘Anything else?’
‘Not that I can think of,’ I reply.
‘Good. I’ll collect you from your flat at nine in the morning. I’ll text you the day before to give you an idea of the dress code. OK?’
When I get home, I take a long, hot shower and wash my hair to get rid of the weird aroma that seems to cling to me after long-haul flights. It’s a mixture of the overall smell of the plane and a slight whiff of the breakfast they served us before we landed. I don’t sleep well on planes, so my bed looks particularly inviting, but I resolve to keep going rather than risk messing up my body clock. I can have an early night tonight if necessary.
Once I’ve restocked the fridge and put a load of washing on, I ring Charley.
‘Oh, hi, Mads,’ she answers, sounding slightly breathless. ‘Can you hang on a minute?’
‘I can call back if I’m interrupting,’ I tell her.
