In Her Image

Chapter 6

6

As expected, the quick couple of drinks turned into a pretty heavy night. Kieran and his friends moved on to another bar about half an hour after he came over to speak to us, and I figured it was going to make my life a lot easier with Mandy if we just stayed put at Zizi’s. Unfortunately, Zizi’s is a cocktail bar, and not a particularly expensive one at that. A few 2-for-1 margaritas later, and I was starting to realise it would be heavier than planned.

I’m just glad I didn’t have much planned for today. A lazy Sunday in front of the TV is about all I can manage.

I roll over and pick up my mobile phone from the bedside table, as I always do when I wake up. Part of me worries that it’s a little sad that this is the first thing on my daily routine, but that’s modern life.

I got to bed pretty late, so the only thing showing on the screen is a text from Mandy letting me know she got home safe. Oops. I probably should have stayed up until that came through, but it’s a bit late now.

I put my phone back on the bedside table and think about going downstairs and getting coffee. Again, it’s part of my daily routine, but coffee’s the last thing I want when I wake up with a raging hangover. Water and sleep is all I want right now. Having said that, a massive fry-up dripping with fat wouldn’t go amiss.

My phone vibrates on the beside table and I pick it up again. It’s an email from Gavin. The subject line is Early shots. I open the email. There’s no text; just a succession of photos from yesterday. I reckon there must be a dozen in total. I open the first one. It looks pretty good, actually. It’s a shot of me sitting backwards on a chair, leaning on the back of it with my hand under my chin, propping my head up. Nothing original in the slightest — and I remember groaning inwardly when he asked me to do it — but it actually looks fantastic. I swipe the screen to move on to the next photo, and the one after. They’re both shots of me in the red and white polka dot dress, one where I’m standing face-on, my hands spread and up to the sides of my head as if in despair, and another of me looking down at the camera. I remember Gavin lying on the floor while he took that.

I carry on swiping through the photos, smiling at the quality of them. He’s actually made me look pretty natural. After swiping through a few more, one shot in particular catches my eye. Anyone else might think it was a lovely naturally-posed shot. But I know for sure that I didn’t pose for this one.

It’s an arty black-and-white shot of me behind the changing screen, standing in my bra and knickers, holding the bottom hem of my red and white polka dot dress, which is on a hanger, hooked over the top of the screen. I’m holding it out, as if checking for marks. I don’t remember doing it, but it’s definitely me.

But how did he take this photo? He never came behind the screen. There’s no way I would’ve let him anywhere near me while I was changing.

My mind starts racing ten to the dozen. Was it some sort of CCTV shot? I doubt it. The quality of the photo is far too good. It looks perfectly set up, just like his other photos. Except there was no camera there. Just a bare brick wall. I’m sure of it.

My head’s pounding from last night’s excesses as it is, and I can’t quite figure out what this is all about. I tell myself I’m just being daft. I went to get some photos taken and I got some photos taken. Yes, he took one of me when I didn’t realise, but was that the whole point? Was he trying to get some natural shots too? Even so, taking candid photos of women in their underwear isn’t right, surely? It certainly doesn’t feel right to me.

Maybe he’s just having a joke around. Caught you! Or perhaps it’s all about nudging me towards something else. Have you ever considered being an underwear model? Either way, I don’t feel comfortable with it.

I decide not to bother replying to his email. My head’s not in the right place at the moment and I don’t want to say something I’ll regret. I’m not the sort of person who thrives on confrontation. I prefer to take a step back, pretend it never happened and move on.

Sometimes that’s easier said than done, though. Seeing Kieran last night proved that point. Then again, there’s nothing wrong with needing a bit of time and space to catch your breath and move on properly, is there? I don’t think anyone could have expected me to instantly not give a s**t.

My head’s pounding and that big greasy fry-up is starting to feel even more appealing. I pull myself out of bed and get dressed, trying desperately to shake the feeling that — hangover aside — something feels very, very wrong.