‘Guilty as charged.’
They exchanged a smile, but Sophie immediately felt a prickle of guilt herself. Reaching up a practised hand, she picked up her locket from where it lay warm against her chest, and ran the chain through her fingers.
‘How do you know Ollie?’ he asked her now, unaware of just how difficult a question that was for her to answer.
‘We met in Prague, actually,’ she mumbled, sipping her drink.
There was a pause, and Sophie watched his face, registering first recognition, then immediate pity.
‘Are you Sophie?’ he guessed.
She nodded, again using her glass to hide behind.
He pulled his mouth into a line. ‘I’m dreadfully sorry about your fiancé. Ollie and me, we’re quite good mates. I hope you don’t mind that he told me?’
She shook her head. ‘Of course not. What he did for me … He’s just … Well, he’s amazing.’
The man looked again at the photo. ‘Looks like you’re not the only one who thinks so,’ he said. ‘I’m Adam, by the way. Adam Clarke.’
They shook hands, Sophie not needing to tell him who she was, then moved on to the next photo. This one had been taken on Petrin Hill, she recognised, and Ollie was running towards the camera, his face covered in dripping snow.
‘What a great photo,’ she exclaimed. The more she looked at it, the more she found she could almost hear Ollie and Megan’s excited shrieks and feel the cold of that Prague winter wind on her cheeks. It was so alive, so bursting with vitality and with love. Ollie was on every wall of this exhibition – it was like one giant, visual love letter.
‘Is Ollie coming today?’ she asked Adam, who looked down at his wine glass and twisted it around in his hand.
‘I’m not sure,’ he admitted. ‘He didn’t seem very keen when I spoke to him about it, but that was a few days ago. Maybe he’s changed his mind since then.’
‘I hope so,’ she said, stepping sideways to examine the next photo, this time of Ollie on the Charles Bridge, ducking to avoid the attentions of a seagull that was trying to steal his pretzel. ‘It would be a real shame for him to miss seeing this.’
They continued making their way around the room, eventually being joined by a thoroughly overexcited Hope, who’d made good on her vow to take full advantage of the free bar. She was also far less shy about making conversation with Adam than Sophie was, and by the time they’d completed one circuit of the exhibition, they had learned that Adam was thirty-two, single, a keen tennis player and a closet Céline Dion fan.
‘Have you travelled much?’ Sophie eventually managed to ask. Hope was busy going into ecstasies over a photo of some children chasing bubbles in St Wenceslas Square.
Adam pulled a face. ‘Not as much as I would have liked to – but it’s funny you should ask. I’m actually going away this summer, to India.’
‘Oh?’ Sophie gave him her full attention. India had been on her mind lately, too.
‘There’s this charity over there that sponsors children from the most impoverished areas and helps them get a decent education. They’re always looking for extra teachers, so I thought it would be a good thing to do.’
‘That sounds amazing.’ Sophie beamed at him. ‘Really amazing.’
Adam was blushing now, and seemed to be momentarily lost for words.
‘Can I get you another drink?’ he asked, quickly draining what was left in his own glass.
She resisted the temptation to laugh, instead nodding at him. ‘That would be nice. And go on, I’ll have a white wine.’
She watched him lope across the room, easily a head taller than anyone else. It felt strange talking to a man she’d never met before, but there was no real reason not to. Sophie knew she was still a very long way away from feeling ready to even consider a date with someone new, but it was nice to be reminded that if and when she felt like taking that step, there were some perfectly acceptable candidates.
‘You met Adam, then?’
It was Megan, looking slightly more flushed than she had an hour ago, her lipstick long ago transferred off her lips and on to the cheeks of all her guests as they arrived.
Sophie nodded. ‘He seems nice.’
‘He is. In fact, he’s the only one of Ollie’s friends who messaged me after we got back from Prague to see if I was okay. Not even my own mother did that.’
‘Is she here?’ Hope asked, joining them.
Megan pointed across the room to where a slim, Bohemian-looking woman was laughing with a handsome male companion.
‘She’s an artist,’ she told them, as if that explained everything. ‘I think she’s bemused by what I do. She thinks art must be painted or sculpted. I imagine she secretly thinks that using a camera is cheating, but she would never admit it to me.’
‘I’m sure she’s very proud of you,’ Hope argued.
Megan grinned. ‘Maybe.’
‘So …’ Sophie gave her a light dig with her elbow. ‘All these photos of Ollie – is there something you’re not telling us?’
Megan took a deep breath and looked around. There was Ollie with a cat sitting on his shoulder, a cup of coffee in one hand and a bemused expression on his face; there he was peering down from his perch atop the horrible bronze baby sculpture, the snow on the ground lending such a brightness to the scene; and there he was beside her in the Mirror Maze, both their faces ridiculously contorted, but not so much that you couldn’t almost hear their shared laughter leaking out through the glass frame.
‘Yes,’ she said finally, dropping her eyes. ‘I love Ollie. I bloody love him. I love him more than anyone and anything I’ve ever loved.’
Hope squealed and clapped her hands together.
‘But what does it matter?’ Megan groaned, swinging an arm round at all her assembled guests. ‘Now the whole world knows it except him.’
Sophie put up a hand to silence her.
‘I wouldn’t be so sure about that,’ she said.
50
Ollie had stopped just inside the entrance, his eyes scanning the room from behind his glasses and an expression of pure bewilderment on his face as he took in the endless photos of himself framed on every wall. He’d had his hair cut, Megan noted, and put on a shirt for the occasion. It was dark blue, with those crisp creases along the sleeves that suggested it had not long been out of a packet. Seeing him standing there, looking so completely and brilliantly like the man she had been dreaming of for months, made a huge smile break out across her face. He had come after all.
Hope was still beside her, and Megan heard her let out an audible gasp of pleasure as she realised who Ollie had brought with him. Charlie looked nervous, she thought, like the newest fish in a well-established tank, his eyes darting from face to face until he found the one he was looking for. When he did, Megan heard Hope murmur something unintelligible, something that sounded a lot like joy.
‘They came.’ This time it was Sophie who had spoken, and it was she who raised a hand in the direction of the new arrivals and beckoned them over. Megan, who had been watching the door like a cat next to a mouse hole all afternoon waiting for this exact moment, suddenly found herself overcome with shyness, and headed swiftly towards the bar.
‘Red wine, please,’ she told the barman, who was actually the eldest son of her boss at the gallery. She’d promised him thirty quid and an endless supply of pretty female guests if he gave up a few hours to help her out, and he’d jumped at the chance. But as he tried to make small talk with her now, Megan found herself unable to concentrate. She couldn’t take her eyes off Ollie, who had made his way across the room and was hugging Sophie, the pleasure on his face at the sight of her looking so well causing Megan’s insides to squidge together like a marshmallow sandwich.
Sophie said something to him and he laughed, so easily and with such affection, but when she gestured behind her to a photo on the wall of Ollie standing in front of the merry-go-round in the Old Town Square of Prague, the colours streaming out behind him, he seemed to freez
e. Megan watched as he pushed his glasses up on to his nose – something she knew he did when he was nervous or uncomfortable – and fiddled with the invitation he was holding in his hands. She wondered if he’d worked it out yet – what she’d meant by calling her event ‘Unlocked’. Would she be forced to explain it to him, and if she did, would he even want to hear it?
She was distracted from her thoughts by the arrival of a reporter from the Evening Standard, who was keen to interview her about the exhibition and take some photos for an upcoming piece on travel photography. Glad of the excuse to hide from Ollie for a while, she let herself be led away into the far corner of the room.
All the fears she’d had about the turnout for this event had proved to be unfounded, and loads of her old friends from the photography circuit had arrived en masse to support her. A huge stir had been caused by the arrival of Clara Flynn, a model that Megan had met on a shoot over ten years ago who was now one of the most famous catwalk stars on the planet. She had sashayed straight over to Megan as soon as she crossed the threshold, wrapping her long, slim arms around her back and telling her in that gorgeous Irish lilt just how proud she was of her. She was going to be an auntie, she told her, adding as she did so that Megan must make the Greek island of Zakynthos her next project. Her older brother lived there with his girlfriend, and Clara assured her there were no better tour guides than the two of them.
And why not? Megan had thought. Wasn’t exploring the world next on her to-do list? And Greece was as good a place to start as any. At least it would be warm there, after all. She still shivered when she thought about how cold it had been in Prague.
The exhibition was scheduled to close at six, and by the time Megan had talked the newspaper reporter through two thirds of her work, carefully avoiding his increasingly probing questions about her main human subject, the room was beginning to clear. She hadn’t seen Ollie for at least half an hour now, and was starting to panic that he’d already left. Perhaps she’d been a fool to include quite so many images of him – especially that candid shot she’d blown up to almost wall-size and hung in a prominent spot at the back of the studio. It was her favourite of all the photos, and it showed Ollie with his head bent at the top of the Observational Tower in Prague, talking to the old couple he’d met who had told them about the Mirror Maze.
She’d bleached out the colour to give the image added depth, and there was something so mesmerising about the scene – the frozen laughter caught on lips, the hand raised, mid-gesture, the faint dusting of snow on Ollie’s hat, left over from their snowball fight on Petrin Hill, and below them the city of Prague was spread out, a blur of spires and towers, of bridges and water. Megan loved it not only because it reminded her of such a nice moment, but also because it represented to her the very essence of Prague, of its different generations coming together, of its history and its beauty and, for her in particular, its magic. She hadn’t even known what it was she was wishing for when she arrived in the city, but Prague had shown her very clearly that all she really needed to inspire her was one thing. One person.
Megan made her way towards the door, thanking people as they left, kissing cheeks and shaking hands. Her pub quiz teammates Magda and Neil stopped to chat for a while, as she had suspected they would, given that they had also spotted Ollie, and she did her best to reassure them that yes, she did plan to talk to him. Her mum and dad promised to call in the morning and told her how proud they were, and Megan had to blink hard to mask ridiculous tears. Her mum had somehow resisted the temptation to mention the subject of Ollie, even though Megan knew it must have been burning the end of her tongue off, and she was grateful that her family knew her well enough to recognise what this exhibition meant.
People had left empty wine glasses on every available surface, and Megan began to wander around and collect them, inserting a finger into the top of each one so she could carry four in each hand. She’d just deposited a second lot on the bar when she spotted him. He had his back to her, but she could see that his arms were folded, his head to one side as he examined a collection of photos she’d taken of the John Lennon Wall. They were some of the few that didn’t feature him. Taking a deep breath, she walked over and stood behind him.
‘“Bob loves Bug – now and forever”,’ she read aloud. ‘It still makes me smile.’
‘Robin wrote it,’ Ollie said, his eyes never leaving the image of colourful graffiti in front of them. ‘Sophie just told me. He used to call her Bug because of her big eyes.’
‘Is that so?’ Megan was instantly captivated. ‘I had no idea.’
‘Some might say you just had an eye for this sort of thing,’ he went on, still not looking at her.
‘These photos are two hundred pounds each, if you’re interested?’ she said. ‘But I know the artist. I reckon I can get you a discount.’
Ollie turned a fraction then, but didn’t meet her eyes.
‘I should hope so, too,’ he said. ‘Given that I’m in most of them.’
‘That one over there.’ She pointed towards her favourite. ‘It isn’t for sale, I’m afraid.’
‘Oh?’
‘Yeah, sorry. The artist is too attached to it.’
She braved another step so she was standing right beside him. She could smell the familiar scent of his aftershave and the slightly cloying aroma of the gel he’d plastered into his hair.
‘Thank you for coming,’ she said. The room was still bustling with the sound of chatter, but there was nobody else within earshot. Megan imagined a bubble around them – an invisible force field that whispered a plea of Do Not Disturb.
Ollie shuffled his feet on the tiled floor. ‘I almost didn’t.’
Her heart dropped as if tugged like the string of a balloon.
‘But then I got a call from Charlie. He’d come all the way down from Manchester and was too scared to come in on his own. I think Hope invited him, but they haven’t seen each other since Prague.’
‘Really?’ Megan was surprised.
‘I know.’ Ollie glanced across at her. ‘A grown man too scared to face a woman. Sounds ridiculous, doesn’t it?’
Realising as he said it that he’d clearly been scared to come today, too, Megan swallowed her next comment and coughed instead.
‘Not ridiculous at all,’ she said. ‘No more ridiculous than a grown woman being too scared to face a relationship with a man who is clearly the most amazing person in the world.’
Ollie nodded slowly, his focus never leaving the photos on the wall. She watched as his eyes roved over the prints, seeking out the phrases he recognised and the things they had laughed about together. There was the wolf pack’s message of ‘Don’t stop believing’ and the black-and-white face of John Lennon. And those words she had so loved: ‘May the best of your past be the worst of your future.’ Was it too much to hope that they might come true?
Finally, Ollie replied. ‘You’re right,’ he said. ‘That really is ridiculous.’
There was a pause as Megan tried in vain to pluck the right words out of the nest of mangled confusion that had inexplicably become her brain.
‘I’ve missed you,’ Ollie said, again not looking at her. ‘I thought it would be easier if I didn’t see you, but actually it’s been really tough. Every day things happen that I want to tell you, that I know would make you laugh. You’re with me all the time, Megs.’
He stopped, taking a deep breath. Beside him, Megan watched her hand move out towards his, so desperate to touch him but so afraid, even now, to assume he would want her to.
‘I miss you so much,’ she told him, feeling him shift. ‘All that time, I thought I couldn’t be inspired if I was with you. I thought you affected my ability to take photos, to create all this.’ She gestured at the walls. ‘I thought you were a distraction. I wanted to go out there and achieve my dreams without needing a man by my side.’
‘What changed?’ Ollie asked, his voice small.
‘When we were in Prague, it was you who was inspiri
ng me. The city was so beautiful and I knew I was capturing something special, but the most magical images I took were all of you. You were my inspiration.’ She stopped as her voice cracked, and Ollie finally turned around to face her.
‘Are you sure this is what you want?’ he asked, his eyes serious. ‘Us, I mean.’
‘I’m more sure than I ever have been about anything.’ She smiled. ‘I wanted to show you how much you mean to me, hence all this.’
‘This is certainly something.’ He raised an eyebrow and she laughed, relieved to see him relax. ‘But couldn’t you just have sent me an email?’
She pulled a face at him, but he wasn’t laughing.
‘I wanted to do something romantic,’ she mumbled, barely getting the words out through the humiliation chainmail.
‘I just worry that this whole thing …’ He gestured towards the photos again. ‘That it’s just part of some big show you’ve created in your mind. What if tomorrow, you wake up and realise that you don’t want me after all?’
Megan considered the question. ‘All I know is,’ she said, hearing the near-desperation in her voice, ‘I’ve woken up every day since we got back from Prague wanting you to be beside me, and feeling absolutely gutted when you’re not. I know I hurt you before when I rejected you, and believe me, I’ve been bitterly regretting it ever since. I was just scared and confused. I thought I had it all worked out, but of course I had no idea.’
‘I don’t know, Meg.’ He shook his head slowly. ‘I’m not sure I have it in me to be hurt by you.’
‘The padlock, on the invitation,’ she said suddenly. They both looked down at the card in his hands. ‘It’s supposed to signify—’ She stopped again.
‘Signify what?’ Ollie moved a step closer and put a single finger under her chin, raising her head up until she had no choice but to look into his eyes. It felt so nice to be touched by him.
‘All those locks we saw in Prague, the ones with initials on them,’ she said.
He nodded. ‘I remember.’
‘Well, they were all shut, just like I was. I had shut myself off from feeling anything for you. I had told myself that I didn’t want to be in love, that I couldn’t be if I wanted to achieve what I’d always tried to with my work. I thought I couldn’t have both – but I was so wrong and so bloody stupid.’
A Year and a Day Page 32