Chapter Ten Tom
Chapter Ten
Tom
When Tom arrived at the bus stop in Angel that Monday morning, the air seemed to have turned cooler overnight, the sky an
inky black except for the orbs of dusky yellow where it was lit up by the streetlamps below. A group of maintenance workers
in orange suits were chatting and laughing as they walked to where their truck was parked. Farther up toward the station,
a bin cart passed him by, rattling against the road, claiming to be Keeping Islington Clean. Every so often there was a whoosh
as a bus or car drove by, but otherwise the streets were empty. Tom had the familiar weight of his camera around his neck
and a backpack full of lenses, a spare battery and a flash.
He took a seat at the bus stop, doing a double take as he noticed the man next to him resting against the red plastic bench,
a black woolly hat pulled down over his face, clutching a single leek. The man moved the leek to rest under his armpit as
he pulled out his phone to check something, before returning it to his hand once he was done. London at four in the morning
was forever full of surprises.
Tom’s brain was so focused on where he’d go for today’s shoot that when the N73 arrived and he stepped onto the bus, he approached Daisy and sat down beside her without even waiting to be beckoned over.
She was wearing her pale blue shirt and dark blue jeans and she was hunched over her phone, her hair falling forward over
her face. She looked across, startled at the feeling of someone there, breaking into a smile when she saw it was Tom. He’d
gotten used to her sparkling eyes greeting him. Had even felt his breath catch slightly as he’d stepped onto the bus, if he
were really honest with himself.
She frowned as she took in the camera around his neck and the backpack he’d just placed at his feet.
“Got an early job?” she asked, and he couldn’t help but smirk because it was exactly what Martha would have said.
“I do,” he said. “Well, I have an actual job later, but this is one I’ve given myself. I sort of forgot how fun it was to take photos that aren’t staged. The ceilidh
reminded me of how much I used to love it, so I’m going for a wander this morning. Just me and Candy the Canon.” He tapped
the camera resting against his chest.
“Don’t ever do that again,” Daisy said, screwing her nose up, and they laughed.
“You have my word.”
“They were really incredible photos you took.” She had such a serious expression when she spoke that Tom didn’t try to laugh
away the compliment, the way he usually would.
“Thank you,” he said, fighting the heat in his cheeks.
“Have you thought about doing an exhibition?” she asked. “I’m only asking because a gallery has just opened up near work and
they’re advertising spaces. I just thought . . .” Her words faded as he watched her.
“I did one once before, for a work thing. It was my glossy stuff. I guess I hadn’t thought anyone would want to see a passion
project of mine.”
“Why not? People love anything beautiful, Tom.”
He kept his eyes on her, swallowing. “I guess they do,” he muttered.
She turned away, toward the window. “I’ll send you a photo of the advert when I walk past it in a minute.”
“Thanks.”
She turned back. “I’ve got something for you.” She reached into her own backpack and pulled out Orlando.
“Already?” He raised an eyebrow, impressed at the speed at which she was putting the work in for him. “Thank you.”
“Yup. I think the key is regularity and consistency. If we cover everything at a rapid rate, she’ll be back in no time,” Daisy
said, her voice official. “Especially after that comment she left on Saturday.”
His face lit up. “It’s her first,” he said, “since we broke up. You’ve already achieved more than I did in months.”
“I’m basically a professional.”
“You actually are!”
She shook her head, laughing, but Tom meant it. It already felt like having a tiny part of Sophie back.
“I’ll add it to my CV,” she said, breaking into the smile of hers that brought out her dimples and lit up her eyes. She reached
over and patted him on the leg, resting it there a second. He followed her hand with his gaze, holding his breath, before
she pulled it away and picked up the book. “Okay . . . In your relationship, were you good at being alone?”
He frowned and she immediately laughed. “I think that answers that.”
“Wait, what do you mean? Like being without her?”
“Yes, exactly. If she went away for a weekend or wanted to spend time alone or with friends. Or maybe encouraged you to do
it, did you?”
Tom bit down on his thumb, scanning back through his memories.
Was it weird that he would invite her on every job he got offered overseas?
He didn’t just do it because he wanted her there; he did it because it was a perk of his job.
An all-expenses-paid trip to Barbados, where all they had to fund themselves was Sophie’s flight, was hard to turn down.
She mostly said yes, especially at the beginning.
They traveled a lot together, with Tom’s camera providing the opportunities.
Sophie always said how lucky she felt. How much she loved it.
In the last few months before they broke up she’d turned down a few.
She’d been upset once, worrying that in traveling with Tom she was prioritizing his career instead of her own.
That when she was turning up for auditions, she wasn’t feeling prepared.
The same similar looking girl was getting the parts instead of her.
Tom had nodded and encouraged her to stay, though he had definitely sent messages when he got there, telling her he missed her and he wished she were there, but that was okay, wasn’t it?
That was being in a relationship with someone.
You always wished they were there, because it made life better.
“That’s complicated,” he replied, instead of giving Daisy the entire reel of memories he’d just worked his way through.
“Then I think we’re onto something.” She handed him the book with another single line highlighted, as someone pressed the
bell behind them and stood to get off the bus.
Orlando naturally loved solitary places, vast views and to feel himself for ever and ever and ever alone.
“So you think she could have read that and wished I were more like him?”
She shrugged. “It’s possible. I mean this whole book so far is basically about a man who chooses to endure loneliness so he
doesn’t have to be let down or betrayed by people. It’s a pretty significant theme.”
“Eugh,” he said. “I’m going to have to go on some solo holiday and then post about it, aren’t I? Some yoga retreat or spiritual
wellness weekend.”
Daisy’s eyes lit up, laughing. “It isn’t meant to be a punishment. You can do anything you want, you just need to do it . . . alone.”
“That is a punishment.”
“Then that’s all the more reason you need to do it.” The bus announced King’s Cross Station and a group of passengers, all
dressed in puffer jackets, gathered toward the doors.
“What would you do?” he asked.
She bit down on her lip. “If I had to do something entirely alone? Honestly, I do a lot of things alone. That’s the bit I’m
good at. It’s being with people that isn’t common for me. A holiday with a friend. Even a weekend. I’ve never done it.”
He squinted. “Why?”
Daisy thought about it. “I guess life is busy, and when I’m not working, Zack likes us to spend time together. Plus, money.
I have a budget for my lunch, that’s how tight things are.”
“Well now I feel bad for slagging off the opportunity of a wellness weekend.”
“You should! There are people out there saving up for one of those.”
“Exactly,” Tom said. “And those are the people I’d have to spend time with.” He shuddered. “People who want a wellness weekend
so badly that they’re saving for it.”
Daisy giggled, leaning forward. “Alright, grumpy. What would you do then?”
He pulled at his lip, staring out the window. They were getting close to the stop where Daisy got off, and his heart always
sunk a bit when he realized that.
“What would Sophie find appealing . . . ?” He mused, tapping his fingers against his bottom lip.
“Forget Sophie for a second,” Daisy interrupted. “Yes, you’re doing it for her but it can still be something you want.”
“Fine. Well if it was just for me, it would probably be something involving nature and my camera,” he replied. “Is that really sad?”
“Not one bit sad,” she said, reaching for her backpack. “Get planning.”
Tom got off the bus at Tottenham Court Road and walked, unsure what he was looking for. He took in Denmark Street with all
the famous guitar shops and wandered past The Ivy where editors often took him for dinner, a taxi driving slowly down the
road with its light on. He walked through the streams of theaters competing on opposite sides of Charing Cross Road and onward,
all the time looking out for someone or something to focus his camera on. Streetlights lit up the pavements and the dawn sky
filled the spaces between buildings and rooftops with a navy glow. A man ran past him, breathing heavily as though he’d spent
all night pounding the streets in his fluorescent yellow trainers.
Eventually Tom found himself at Trafalgar Square where he stopped for a minute, never having seen it so quiet before. London
at dawn truly was a place he was falling in love with. He scanned the giant statues of lions, which were normally covered
in tourists, lying empty as they stared out across the park. Tom’s eyes landed on the fountain in the center and his heart
jumped as he caught sight of a homeless man beneath it. His head was resting against the wall and as Tom moved closer he could
hear the man was singing a sea shanty about winds blowing and bows dipping. Tom slowed, listening to the gentle rumble of
the man’s voice as it filled the square. Every so often he would stop and laugh to himself, seemingly for no reason at all.
Tom reached for his camera.