In Her Image

Chapter 4

4

I wasn’t quite sure what to expect when I phoned Gavin this morning, but it was a bright — if chilly — Saturday dawn and I woke up feeling much more chipper than I’d any right to. I guess Mandy’s words had been playing on my mind all night, and sleeping on it had helped me realise that there was no use moping around. So what if nothing came of the photo shoot? So what if it turns out to be a wasted day? What else did I have planned for today other than sitting about the house watching TV programmes I’ve already seen on Netflix?

Before I called him, I decided it’d be a good idea to do a bit of research. It’s not that I don’t trust Mandy’s instincts, but it just seemed wise to find out a bit more about this guy before going down to his studio. I typed ‘Gavin Armitage photography’ into Google, and his website was the first result on the page. I clicked through to take a look at his website.

It looked professional to me, even though I don’t know much about websites. I navigated to the About page, which didn’t have much information about Gavin himself, but went into detail about his approach to photography and modelling in general. He seemed to use all the right words: professional, bespoke, holistic. Words that don’t really mean anything, but convey positive connotations to potential clients. And I had to admit, it worked on me too.

I browsed through the image gallery on his website for a while, looking at some of the photos he’d taken and was very impressed. He clearly had an artistic eye, and none of the shots were lewd or even provocative. They were classy. I spent another few minutes looking through his Flickr account, which contained most of the same photos plus a few more, then decided I would take the plunge and call him.

He told me he had a pretty free afternoon, and that I could pop down any time after lunch if I wanted. Nothing too formal — bring a few changes of clothes and send him a text before I leave. The casual nature of the whole thing appealed to me. Nothing formal, no pressure. Just pop in and get a few shots done, see how it goes. When you spend your life having days that are completely regimented and organised down to the last minute, that sort of sudden spontaneity can appeal quite a lot.

I wonder how long I’ve been secretly longing to break out of that disciplined and systematic routine and be a little more spontaneous. I imagine it might be longer than I think. Was that why I started to feel as though my relationship with Kieran was breaking down? Was it becoming a little too regular? Was my brain telling me that I needed to have at least *something* in my life to excite me? Something that didn’t consist of lists, schedules and appointments?

We even used to book our date nights a week or two in advance. If we wanted to spend time together we’d have to fit it around work, my kickboxing classes, his rugby socials. Perhaps it was all a little too clinical.

There’s nothing clinical about Gavin Armitage’s photographic studio, though. I look up at it as I reach the address he gave me on the phone earlier. 86b Reynolds Street. I’ve never even noticed this building before, even though I must have walked past the end of the road plenty of times. At first glance, it reminds me of a smaller-scale version of the building they use for the TV series Dragons’ Den. It’s all large leaded windows and exposed brickwork; an homage to the style of the old Victorian workhouses. I don’t know if it’s an original building or just built in that style. Architectural history was never my strong point. Either way, it looks pretty impressive.

I ring the only buzzer on the door. I don’t hear anything, but I imagine a buzzing noise going off somewhere deep in the depths of the building. A few seconds later, I hear a click as the door unlocks. I give it a push and step inside.

As I close the door behind me, Gavin appears at the top of the stairs with a beaming smile on his face, his shirt sleeves rolled up to reveal a chequered tartan pattern on the insides of the cuffs.

‘Sorry, I wasn’t being rude. The intercom doesn’t let me talk back for some reason. I can either unlock the door or not unlock the door.’ He shrugs. ‘Come on up. I’m just getting everything organised. Won’t be a few moments. Tea? Coffee?’

I follow him up the stairs as he disappears round the corner, telling him I’d love a cup of tea.

The studio itself looks smart, in the organised-chaos sort of way that I imagine all artistic workspaces look. You would expect even the most organised painter’s studio to be covered in blobs of colour and smears of oil paint, or a writer’s desk to be piled high with stacks of paper. Gavin’s studio is no different, except it’s filled with desks covered with assorted lenses and bits of kit I couldn’t even name.

There are huge white umbrellas erected in various places, as well as white, blue, green and black sheets stretched over frames. There are a number of huge black plastic cases in the shape of Smarties tubes. I have no idea what any of it’s for, but it looks impressive.

‘Don’t mind the mess,’ he says, as if reading my mind. ‘I promise there’s some sort of logical pattern to it all. If anyone tided it up I’d be lost.’ He smiles and hands me my mug of tea. ‘So, have you ever done anything like this before?’

‘No, nothing,’ I reply, fully expecting him to come out with something corny like I’m surprised. Good looking girl like you. But he doesn’t.

‘Well there’s nothing to worry about. The best advice I can give is to stay relaxed. All sorts of people will give you different tips and tricks, but everyone’s different. The only thing I’d say is relax and don’t think of the camera. If you do, like if you’ve got to look at it or whatever, pretend it’s a person. If we’re going for a sexy look, pretend it’s someone you really fancy. If it’s a more sullen look, pretend you’re talking to a funeral director and booking your nan’s cremation. You know the sort of thing.’

I laugh. I have absolutely no idea what he means, but at the same time it seems to make perfect sense. No-one likes an awkward photo.

I show him the clothes I brought with me, and he picks out a few he thinks would be good for the shoot: a short red and white polka-dot dress, a tiger-print maxi dress and a pair of jeans and a jumper.

‘You’d be surprised how many places are going for the casual look at the moment,’ he says. ‘I’m glad you brought these with you, actually. I meant to say don’t just bring smart and sexy stuff. Looks like you’ve got more of an eye for this than you think.’

I’m not quite sure what to make of that — I know Mandy would see some sort of insult hidden in Gavin’s comment — but I also know that he was actually giving me a compliment.

I spend the best part of an hour and a half at the studio. There are shots standing, sitting and lying down. Even lying down isn’t just lying down, apparently. There’s lying on my back with my head tilted sideways towards the camera, there’s lying on my front with my hands propping up my head from under my chin, there’s lying down flat on my back with him stood over me, shooting the camera downward, my hair sprayed out all around my head like a fan.

‘I think that’ll probably do,’ he says, as he finishes taking the last photo of me standing with my back flat against a mock lamppost, my head pointed sideways toward the camera with a sullen look on my face. ‘That should give us something for most of the big players anyway.’

‘So what do you need me to do? Anything? Or do I just wait to hear back from you?’ I say a few minutes later as I’m changing back into my usual clothes behind a screen.

‘Yeah, I’ll send a few of the best shots through to you over the next couple of days if you give me your email address. I should ask that people don’t use them for their social media profiles or whatever, but to be honest I don’t mind as long as you put my name down as a credit. Other than that, the hard work’s all mine now,’ he says, smiling.

I write down my email address on a piece of paper and hand it to him. Then, with a spring in my step, I leave.