In Her Image

Chapter 3

3

Mandy and I try to meet once a week if we can, usually after work and usually in one of the cocktail bars in town. We’ve been pretty good at keeping in touch regularly since school, and I think there’s an unspoken truth that we both try our best to keep it that way.

We’ve always been pretty close, but I think it’s one of those friendships that’s matured in recent years. I’ve found myself feeling comfortable telling her almost anything. She knew I was going to break up with Kieran even before he did. To be perfectly honest, I think she probably saw the warning signs earlier than me. She’s good like that. She always knows the right thing to say or do. And that’s why I plan to ask her about that weird encounter with the photographer guy earlier this morning — Gavin Armitage, according to his business card — and whether she thinks I should take him up on his offer.

I’ve been thinking about it all day. On the face of it, it seems a bit weird to go up to a random woman on the street and ask her if she’d like to become a model. But then isn’t that how these things are done? After all, the people working in the industry know what sort of look they’re after. If they see someone who they think would be a good fit, why not? Headhunting’s done in almost all industries — it’s a large part of my job, after all — and where else would you find potential models than out in public, where there’ll be a greater number of people?

Having said that, it still doesn’t feel right. It’s not me. Men have always considered me attractive, I guess, but I’ve never even thought about using my looks to my advantage. I’ve always seen that as a bit demeaning. After all, there’s far more to me. The thought of posing in a seedy photography studio for some guy I don’t even know doesn’t really appeal to me all that much. But then again, neither does spending the rest of my life in HR, struggling to deal with management’s constant reshuffling and ‘restructuring’ of departments. Being paid to tell people they’re being made redundant is never nice, particularly with Christmas just round the corner, and I don’t want the job to desensitise me to people’s real lives.

I make a promise with myself that I’m going to turn my thoughts to happier subject matter, and I enter Zizi’s Bar with a smile on my face. I spot Mandy sitting on the other side of the room — she always tries to grab one of the booths — and wave to her, gesturing to ask her if she’s got a drink. She holds up two glasses — margaritas from what I can tell — and beckons me over.

‘We actually got here in time for happy hour,’ she says as she hugs me and hands me one of the glasses. ‘Two for the price of one.’

‘Bonus,’ I reply, shrugging off my coat and scarf. ‘So, how’ve you been?’

‘All good here,’ she says, as she does every week. ‘And you?’

Some people might see that as dismissive, even nosy. You don’t give, you don’t get. But I know Mandy. This is her way of saying Don’t worry about me. I’m more worried about you.

‘Yeah, I’m alright,’ I reply. ‘Well, y’know. Getting there anyway.’ Even though I had plenty of time to come to terms with the breakup of the relationship, I still feel bad knowing that Kieran saw it as a bolt from the blue. I feel bad for him. ‘I’m keeping busy with work. That all helps.’

We chat for a little while longer, and soon find ourselves on our third cocktail. I feel my stomach rumbling and think about heading home for dinner. But there’s something I need to speak to Mandy about first.

‘I meant to say. I had a bit of a weird experience earlier,’ I say, before recounting what happened.

Mandy raises an eyebrow. ‘Seriously? People still do that?’

‘Well yeah, I guess so. I dunno. It just seemed a bit odd. I wasn’t expecting it.’

‘Isn’t that just one of those things to make money? I mean, they charge you two hundred quid or whatever for the photos, then do nothing with them?’

‘Apparently not. He doesn’t charge a penny. He gets his money from his clients whenever they take on one of his models.’

‘Weird. Must just be a perv then,’ Mandy says.

I force a smile and flick my eyebrows upwards before taking a sip of my drink.

Mandy’s silent for a few moments before she speaks again.

‘You’re thinking about it, aren’t you?’

‘About what?’

‘About going down to this bloke’s studio and having photos done.’

‘Nah. Like you said, he’s probably a pervert or something. And even if he isn’t, I doubt anything would come of it.’

I look out across the bar and do a bit of people-watching for a moment or two. Out of the corner of my eye, I can sense Mandy looking at me. She doesn’t say anything for a little while, but I can tell she wants to. I also know it won’t be long before she does say something. She’s never been particularly good at keeping her mouth shut when she’s got something on her mind.

‘Why don’t you give it a go anyway?’ she says. It wasn’t what I was expecting.

‘What do you mean?’

‘The photos. Why not go down and get some done? What’s the worst that can happen?’

‘Christ knows.’

‘I could come with you if you want. If you’re worried.’

Yeah, that’s all I need — Mandy flipping out and attacking the poor guy because he dares to shake my hand when I turn up. She’s never been the most forgiving or patient person I know. Don’t get me wrong, she’s got a heart of gold. But there’s no stopping her when she’s got a bee in her bonnet about something. She’s protective, and that’s a good thing, but I do worry sometimes that she could take it too far.

‘Nah, it’s fine,’ I say. ‘I’m not worried. I just don’t see the point.’

She considers this for a moment. ‘The point is it might do you good. Let’s face it. You’ve been pretty grumpy since breaking up with Kieran.’

Mandy’s Honesty Dart hits the bullseye once again.

‘No I haven’t,’ I say, perhaps a little too defensively.

‘Trust me, you have. I’m not saying you did the wrong thing, not at all, but I’m saying you might want to have a backup plan if you catch my drift. It might make you feel better about yourself.’

I don’t know whether I should feel affronted or not, but I think I do. ‘I don’t need to feel better about myself,’ I say.

Mandy raises her eyebrows momentarily and puts the straw to her mouth before taking another mouthful of her cocktail. ‘Alright. If you say so.’

The most infuriating thing about Mandy isn’t her faultless honesty; it’s the fact that she’s always right.