Chapter Five Daisy #2
from the British Library, so . . . I could help, if you wanted?” She held the book back out to him and he took it, bringing
it toward his chest.
“You don’t owe me,” he said. “But I mean . . . I’d take any help I can get. I’m a bit lost without her, and that sounds so
stupid, I know.”
“It doesn’t,” she said, meaning it. She knew how it felt to be lost.
“But if you help me, I want to help you too.” He pulled at his lip and she winced as he flinched at the pain it must have
caused him. His eyes lit up. “Have you got a photographer?” There was a playful tone to his voice as he nodded toward her
left hand. “For your wedding? I could do that. If you help with this.” He raised Orlando again. “I could be your wedding photographer?”
Photographer! She hadn’t even thought about booking one yet.
She’d kept reassuring Zack she was “on it” with the planning, but really she had no idea what that meant and clearly she was dropping balls she wasn’t even aware she should be juggling.
Now here was Tom, offering his services for free, and there was no denying how helpful that would be.
Special too, somehow, that this truly bizarre morning that had brought them both together could have that ending.
She held her hand out toward him. He looked at it and then, reaching out, he rested his hand in hers. She shook it, hard,
laughing as his mouth fell open at her surprise strength.
“You’ve got yourself a deal,” she said. “If I help you win back . . .” She waited, realizing she didn’t know the name of the
woman who had dominated their conversation without even being present.
“Sophie.”
“Sophie, then you have to be my wedding photographer. And that’ll be no easy job. My best friend, Clara, is probably going
to meet her girlfriend of two years for the very first time on the day . . . and I’m pretty sure she’s a catfish, so that
would be a framer. My mum is refusing to take a plus-one because she claims my brother is all she needs, so you’ll have to
try and stop it from looking like they’re a couple, and the thought of that makes me want to vomit. My partner last night
sent me a link to a company who offer to release doves as you say your vows. Oh, and I’ve refused to be in every photo ever
taken since my late teens.”
He tilted his head, looking at her.
“I find that hard to believe,” he said, squinting slightly as he took her in. “In my humble opinion as a professional, you
have the perfect bone structure for any lens and a radiant smile. It would be my honor to pull you out of your modelling hibernation.”
She could feel a light blush forming on her cheeks and increased her pace so she was walking a step or two ahead of him.
She imagined telling all this to Zack. That there was a man who was always on her bus and today he helped her fight off some men and then they walked together to Goodge Street and now he’d be taking the photos at their wedding.
He’d tell her she was being too trusting, and perhaps she was.
Would probably suggest she take another bus for her own safety, or advise she switch shifts.
That’s how seriously he’d take it, and she loved her early starts.
Her journeys in, staring at the darkened world outside.
It would be easier to just tell him she found a photographer online instead.
“It’s just a bit farther down here,” she said when they reached Warren Street, the railings to the station closed, two men
waiting hopefully in front of them.
“I never asked you what you do,” Tom said, as they turned onto the top of Tottenham Court Road, past a couple of construction
workers who were setting up a barrier that in a few hours would cause mayhem. ‘You’ve mentioned it in a very intriguing way
a couple of times. Observant because of your job. Pulling apart texts . . .”
“I’m an entertainment news journalist,” she said, waiting for whatever derogatory remark might follow. It was fine. She was
used to it by now.
“How cool!” His face lit up. “My . . . dad’s wife . . .” He frowned. “Half sister’s mum . . . she’s one too.”
“You mean your . . . stepmum?”
“Nope.” He shook his head hard and she laughed.
“Okaaaay. I guess at least your dad moved on? My mum’s never had another boyfriend. Not even a date, I don’t think. Anyway,
your non-stepmum who is married to your dad is an entertainment news journalist?”
“She is. For a tabloid.”
“I’m radio,” Daisy said, pointing at herself.
“Way cooler,” he replied, nodding. “Not that it matters. You know . . . being cool. Being tough . . . all of that . . .” he
trailed off.
“It doesn’t, but for the record you do look quite tough now with that cheek,” she said, turning toward him. “I think it’s
turning purple. You should probably put some ice on it.”
He lifted his hand to it, fingers tentatively touching it. “I’ll get right on that,” he said.
“It isn’t what I want to be doing,” Daisy added. “The entertainment stuff. No disrespect to your non-stepmum. I took it as
a way in, but one day,” she said, recalling the reasons that one day wasn’t right now, “once I’m more experienced and I have
a bit more time, I want to do investigative work.”
Tom nodded. “Very cool. I can already tell you’d be amazing at that.” He didn’t look at her, and Daisy was glad because more
heat was rushing to her cheeks. It was nice to hear someone saying that to her, even if he was a near stranger.
They weren’t far from her office, and there was a question Daisy had that was burning a hole in her head. “You called it The
Worst Day,” she said. “What else happened?” She looked across at him, and even in the dusky sky she could see the color rise
in his face. “You don’t have to say,” she added.
He looked down at his feet. “It’s okay. I sort of fucked up at work and lost a massive client and then, on my way home, I
tripped over a dead pigeon and smashed my face on the pavement and got a giant nosebleed all over myself. I went to the flat to wash it and saw non-stepmum
leaving—she didn’t see me—then Sophie just broke up with me without looking up to see my bleeding nose.”
Daisy raised her hands to her face. “That’s awful.”
“That isn’t even the worst of it.”
“It has to be,” Daisy said.
“Nope.” He shook his head. “Amongst the turmoil of the dumping I forgot to cancel the main part of my proposal, so after Sophie
left and I sat on our bed trying to stop my nosebleed, this four-piece string quartet just started playing love songs from
beneath our balcony.”
“No!” Daisy gasped, her eyes widening.
“Afraid so.”
“I think that’s one of the worst stories I’ve ever heard.” Her eyes danced at the horror of it and he did a half bow, moving one arm behind his back as he bent down.
“You’re welcome.”
“And wait, why was non-stepmum there?”
“Exactly.”
“You’ve never asked her?”
He looked across at her, a sad smile on his face. “No,” he said. “She’s always kept that friendship really separate. I mentioned
Sophie’s name once and she shut me down, so I never asked again.” He slowed as they reached Goodge Street. “We made it,” he
said.
“Thank you,” Daisy said. “For walking me on what turned out to be a not creepy at all morning.”
“You’re welcome,” Tom said. “Thank you for the offer of help. It already feels a bit easier knowing a soon-to-be investigative journalist is on the case.” Butterflies
filled Daisy’s stomach at his description of her. It made her feel it was going to be possible one day.
“You’re welcome,” Daisy said. “I guess I’ll . . . see you on the bus?” she said, turning in the direction of work.
“Wait,” he shouted, a panic to his voice. She turned back. “Have you ever met Bill Nighy?” he asked.
She laughed, facing him. “Actually . . . yes. I interviewed him at a film festival last year.”
“And . . . ?”
“He was everything you could possibly dream of and more,” she said, smiling at the memory.
Tom’s face lit up at this, his pale blue eyes sparkling. She shook her head, smiling at the unexpectedness of it. How refreshing
it was to be asked about her job, when Zack rarely did.
“I fucking knew it,” he said, and he started walking away.