Chapter 33
An hour later, when Gemma retrieved her phone from down the side of a sofa cushion, she realised Nick had messaged about the photo shoot.
Don’t worry about the high tides and chance of rain. We’ll work around them. You might have to stand on the tow path if there’s no foreshore left. And dusk and gloomy weather will give the photos an added aura of moodiness.
Gemma thought his reply was particularly descriptive, and she wondered if he’d been in the middle of writing his novel. He continued.
It won’t take long. Half an hour at most. We’ll come to you and if you can dress in your full mudlarking kit, rucksack and all, that’d be great. Really appreciate it.
Now, finding out it was going ahead (ideally in the next day or two, Nick had said), she didn’t feel panicky.
Rather, she felt buoyed. So buoyed! She’d show Adam that she could be successful, too.
Who cares if the feature was only a six-hundred-word story in a breakout box, she was still going to be in the newspaper.
What’s more, she’d be spending time with Nick, and he knew how to treat a woman with respect, even if her ex-husband didn’t.
On Thursday night, Gemma followed Nick’s instructions to the letter.
She cleaned her boots, bucket and trowel, and even contemplated putting on lipstick, which is what her mother would have told her to do.
But she never wore lipstick when mudlarking, and with her fuchsia-coloured wellington boots, she decided that was more than enough pink for one outfit.
Lastly, she got out her Thermos, and made a pot of tea, to keep things truly authentic.
When Nick arrived, he introduced her to Greg the photographer, and Gemma took them the quickest way to the river. When they got there, the tide was well and truly high and threatening to spill onto the footpath. The water was the colour of slate, and the sky was inky and most definitely moody.
‘So where do you want me?’ Gemma asked. ‘What do you want me to do?’ Suddenly nerves started getting the better of her. Who did she think she was, anyway, a model or something?
‘Let’s get some with you looking out to the river,’ Nick suggested. ‘But just be yourself,’ he added, as if he could tell she was feeling self-conscious.
She went to stand by the edge of the towpath, where weedy river plants formed a border.
‘This is going to be great,’ Greg said, assessing the scene. ‘The contrast of the colours with your boots and gloves against the landscape … Excellent. Let me just check the lighting. And, Nick, I might get you to hold the light reflector when we start shooting.’
‘Do I look okay?’ Gemma asked.
‘Of course, Gem,’ Nick said. ‘The only thing that would top it off is a headtorch.’
‘I’ve got one, but I wasn’t sure—’
‘Yes, stick it on!’ Nick said enthusiastically.
Gemma got the headtorch from her rucksack and pulled it over her head.
After a minute or two, Greg said, ‘Okay, great, we’re ready to go. Relax your shoulders and gaze out to the water as if imagining the treasures you’re going to find.’
Gemma nodded. But all she could think about was did she really look all right, and why was one leg starting to cramp?
Could she move it without having to look down and ending up dangerously close to the stinging nettles?
Or worse, falling into the water? Then she thought of Adam and the sort of confidence he would exude if someone was photographing him for the paper.
She needed to snap out of her self-doubt.
So she lifted her head, pulled her shoulders back and said, ‘Okay, I’m ready! ’
‘Hang on.’ Nick jogged over to her. ‘The headtorch is wonky.’
He stood in front of her and adjusted it.
He was so close Gemma could smell the minty gum he’d been chewing and the detergent he’d laundered his T-shirt in.
She studied his face and gingery whiskers, the faint redness across his cheeks from having been in the sun, and the curl at the top of his forehead.
He caught her eye and held it for a second. She was sure she stopped breathing. She realised it had been so long since she’d been this close to another man that her body didn’t know what to do with itself.
Nick glanced at her headtorch. ‘That looks better.’ He smiled and she wished he wouldn’t keep smiling at her. She wasn’t sure if he was sending her a cryptic message she needed to decipher or whether he was just happy with the additional accessory.
She was probably reading far too much into it and all he was doing was being friendly.
She’d no reason to assume that just because he was single he was looking for a date, let alone one with her.
Which was a good thing because she wasn’t ready to date.
She certainly didn’t want to ruin a friendship by having a regrettable rebound kiss – or worse, regrettable rebound sex – and having to leave The Mudlarkers’ Club because it ended up being weird and awkward between them.
‘All good now, mate,’ Nick said, jogging back to fetch the reflector.
‘Let’s shoot off a few more,’ Greg said. ‘Then I reckon we can call it a night.’
After taking some more shots, Greg gave her a thumbs up and said, ‘Thanks, Gemma. Got it.’
Gemma took off the headtorch and rubbed her temples. It had been a little tight. The sky had now taken on a purple hue and the humidity had risen. The air felt thick with impending rain.
Greg packed up his gear, and Nick offered to carry the light reflector and Gemma’s bucket in which she’d dumped the headtorch, Thermos, knee pads and trowel. They headed back to her street.
‘When do you think the story’s going to be published?’ Gemma asked.
‘My editor assures me it’s coming out on Saturday, barring a presidential assassination or a royal scandal,’ Nick said.
‘Anything could happen between now and then.’ Greg laughed.
‘I’ll text you either way,’ Nick said.
‘Will it be online, too?’ she asked, thinking of how she could send it to Adam.
‘Yeah, I’ll send you the link.’
Although it was petty, she couldn’t deny the glee she felt at the idea of showing Adam what she’d done.
When they reached Greg’s scruffy red Honda parked three houses before Gemma’s, Nick said, ‘I’ll walk you to your house.’
‘You don’t have to. It’s just here,’ Gemma said.
‘I know.’
‘Nice to meet you, Gemma,’ Greg called out, flicking open his car boot.
‘You too, Greg. I look forward to seeing the chosen shot.’
She and Nick set off towards her house, Nick swinging the bucket so vigorously Gemma thought something might fly out. Her feet felt hot and puffy in the wellies and she couldn’t wait to take them off.
‘You were great, tonight, thanks,’ Nick said.
‘I don’t know about that but as long as you get one good picture where I don’t look completely daft—’
‘You didn’t look daft. On second thoughts, maybe when you nearly fell in …’ He glanced at her with a smile. ‘Just kidding,’ he said.
‘Ha-ha. Well, this is me.’ She stopped at the path leading to her house.
‘And here’s your bucket.’ He handed it to her but didn’t look about to go.
Instead, he scuffed the path like a kid wanting to ask for more cake but not knowing if he’d be allowed.
‘Hey, I was wondering,’ he finally said.
‘Have you mudlarked at the Vauxhall part of the river, near Lack’s Dock Slipway? ’
‘Isn’t it meant to be one of the more dangerous parts of the river?’
‘Yeah, I heard that. The tides can come up pretty quickly and the currents are strong. Do you want to go?’
‘You haven’t sold it very well.’
He laughed. ‘True.’
Then she had a thought. What if Nick thought that she’d been coming on to him and he was asking her on a date?
‘Are you asking me on a date?’ she said, not intending to sound quite so horrified.
‘No, not all.’ He batted the idea away as if it was quite outrageous. ‘I’m keen to go there and I wouldn’t mind the company.’
‘Right, of course. Me too.’ She let out a nervous laugh. ‘It’s just I’m not ready to date,’ she said.
‘Okay, sure,’ he said. Gemma thought he looked a little taken aback but couldn’t tell if it was because she’d disappointed him or because she was being presumptuous.
‘Not that there’s anything wrong with you, of course—’ she added.
‘Good to know …’ He nodded. ‘Nothing wrong with you either.’
She smiled but it suddenly felt uncomfortable between them. She kicked a stone, but her boots weren’t designed for kicking, and the most it did was slowly roll over.
‘You’re right, though, it is nice having company when you’re mudlarking.’ How funny that now she found it strangely quiet when she was down by the river on her own. ‘So, I guess it’s a yes, then.’
Nick’s eyes lit up. ‘Great! I’ll look up the tides and text you.’ He shot a glance back at Greg. ‘I’d better go,’ he said.
As the car drove away, she trundled to the front door, left her boots in the porch and flopped on the sofa. She felt tired but exhilarated. There was no denying that whatever she did with Nick, it was always easy, and he made it enjoyable. Even something as disagreeable as having her photo taken.