‘Because I’d really like to take your photograph,’ I said. I could feel my cheeks flaming with embarrassment. It sounded like a truly sleazy chat-up line.
‘Are you a photographer?’ Nick asked. He ran his hand through his hair and there it was again, yet another image straight out of Amelia’s sketch pad.
I swallowed nervously. ‘No, I work in publishing. I’m an editor.’
Nick was still frowning, trying to put together a puzzle that clearly made no sense.
‘And what do you do?’ I asked, trying to spin the conversation back into something that would sound a little less bizarre.
‘I work with animals,’ he said evasively. It was the cue he needed to glance down at his watch. ‘And I’m probably going to be late if I don’t get going now.’
‘Please,’ I begged, aware that my voice was suddenly cracking in desperation. ‘Please don’t go. Can I just take one photograph of you? If I explain why, it’ll only sound crazy.’
‘Right,’ he said, a glimmer of a smile on his lips. ‘Because everything so far has been entirely normal.’
I laughed nervously. He hadn’t said yes, but at least he wasn’t slamming the door shut in my face. ‘I know this isn’t your problem, or anything to do with you, but if I could take just one photo it would really, really mean a lot to my sister.’ I paused, knowing it was probably going to sound like a lie, even though it was the truth. ‘She’s not very well right now. She’s in hospital.’
‘I’m sorry to hear that,’ he said, and there was enough compassion in his voice to give me hope. ‘And this photo you want to take… it would really help? It would mean that much to her?’
‘You have no idea,’ I said with feeling.
He glanced once more at his watch and then gave anI-can’t-believe-I’m-doing-thisshrug. ‘Okay then, let’s make this quick.’
*
The good thing about having studied Amelia’s drawing so closely was that I knew exactly the position Nick needed to be in for the photograph.
‘Can you just crouch down, with one knee on the sand?’ I asked, frantically fiddling with the filter settings on my phone’s camera.
‘Like this?’ Nick asked, laughing as Mabel took advantage of his proximity to sweep a long tongue across his cheek. ‘Do you want Mabel in the picture too?’ he asked, ruffling the dog’s ears.
‘No,’ I said, checking and double-checking the image on my phone screen. ‘Barney wasn’t in this one.’
He’d only just started looking at me as though I was relatively sane, and my comment had clearly set things back. Time and his patience were obviously both running out.
‘If you could just move a little to your left so that the sun falls—’
He did as I asked and suddenly there on my phone screen was the picture I needed. The money shot, or so a real photographer would call it.
‘And if you could turn your head this way and smile as though you’re looking at someone whodoesn’tscare the shit out of you.’
He laughed at that, and that was the moment when I took the photograph.
I knew without even checking that it would be perfect. And it was.
*
I’d always been good at making tough decisions, but lately I seemed to have lost the knack. It was bad enough being indecisive about the job promotion, but now I had an even more pressing issue to deal with concerning the locket. And somehow it felt harder than deciding to relocate to London for my career, or taking a gamble that the six-month dream job in New York would lead to something permanent. Although my instincts had never let me down in the past, my inner moral compass was spinning wildly on this one.
At least three times during my shower, I made up my mind to give Amelia her locket with the stranger’s photograph in it, only to change it back again. My cornflakes grew soggy in their bowl as I sat at the kitchen table, flipping from one course of action to the other like a mental gymnast.
It would have been so much easier to decide if I knew the answer to one crucial question: would this make things better for Amelia, or worse? I could understand why we’d been asked to play along with her delusion, but this was different. This wasenabling. This was helping to build a foundation for a fantasy.
In tricky situations, my knee-jerk reaction was always to ask my sister for advice. I’d never felt more lost or cast adrift as I realised this time I was truly on my own.
But there was one thing of which Iwascertain. If Amelia was to be in hospital for longer than we’d initially thought, I needed to do more to help Mum. It terrified me that I could practically see her ageing a little more each day, and it was only going to get worse. I’d never stop her from worrying about her elder daughter, but Icouldlift some of the burden from her shoulders. When Amelia was eventually discharged, she’d need someone to look after her until she got back on her feet. And – whether she’d admit it or not – Mum wasn’t going to be able to do that on her own. My employers were expecting me to catch a plane back to New York in ten days but, as hard as I tried, I couldn’t see that happening.
One thing Mumhadhappily agreed to, however, was splitting the extended hospital visiting hours between us.