Chapter Thirty Tom
Chapter Thirty
Tom
Should Tom worry that he didn’t even remember turning up at the studio that morning? That this job was now so underwhelming
to him that a paid taxi into the heart of Soho at one of the most sought-after photography spaces in London made such little
impact, it was almost as though he only surfaced once his camera was pressed to his face.
“Tilt your chin slightly,” Tom said, finally in the flow of it.
Kiki responded immediately, her right cheekbone catching the light just as he hoped it would. He pressed down on his camera.
“Perfect,” he said. “Keep it right there.”
He pressed a few more times, twisting his lens until she came sharply into focus, and pressing down on the shutter again.
He pulled his camera away from his face, staring at the mini version of Kiki on his screen, head upward, in a long beige mac,
wide open, revealing a white crop top and pants underneath. It was for a famous jacket brand and while he wasn’t convinced
that anyone would wear their garment in this way, he had to agree that the image worked. It was striking. It was striking and yet it wasn’t going to change anything at all.
“We got it,” Tom said, and Kiki immediately walked off the set and away from the lights that were shining on her, searching for her vape.
Tom moved to his laptop and took the SD card out of his camera, transferring the images so he could take a closer look. He
missed the feeling he got when he captured a moment he really cared about, and he was fairly sure his exhibition had helped
with that. The exhibition that had come about because of Daisy. He wondered if she’d known what she was doing when she told
him about the gallery, or if it was just a coincidence. Maybe that was just who she was as a person—someone who thought of
others and wanted their lives to be better, in the same way he had wanted for her. He’d just gone about it all wrong, and
now he wasn’t even sure if she wanted him at her wedding, or whether she never wanted to see him again. The only way he could
answer that was to imagine her now, and what she’d say. He believed she would understand and that she’d forgive him, but perhaps
that was just wishful thinking.
Tom called over the art director to show her his screen and she leaned in close, then stood farther back before clapping her
hands together, the way he knew she would.
“God, you and Kiki together are just unstoppable,” she said, shaking her head. “The guys are going to be so happy.”
By guys she meant the owners of the company, no doubt already millionaires, who were now set to sell even more jackets because
of Tom.
“Let’s see,” Kiki said, exhaling on her vape so that the sickly sweet scent of something like blueberry and vanilla filled
the air, causing Tom to scrunch his nose up.
“These are fabulous, Tom,” she said. “Is it just me, or is he getting even better?” She turned to the art director who was
already walking away, ready to prepare another set.
“He sure is,” she shouted without looking back.
“Well I definitely couldn’t do it without you,” he said, turning to smile at her. “It’s why I’m here.”
She turned to him. “What do you mean?”
“I owe you,” he said, shrugging.
“Oh God, are you saying that because of what I said at your exhibition?” She waved the hand holding her vape in his face.
“I was only joking, Tom. You know you’re here because of you, right? You’re so fucking talented. I’ll be furious if you’re
doing this bullshit because you feel like you owe me.”
He stared at her. Why was he doing this bullshit? He’d thrown himself back into it because of Sophie. For the money. Because it’s what he was used
to, but not because he was passionate about it. He thought of Stormy, pounding a fist against his chest.
“I don’t know why I’m doing this stuff,” he said honestly.
“Then don’t do it, babe, simple as that. I do it because I love it. Because there is nothing like the feeling of a camera on me. Of taking something off a hanger and making it come to life
through my body. The fact that someone might want to wear something because they saw me look good in it. I don’t care if it’s
shallow, I live for that stuff. But you,” she said, pointing at him. “I saw your exhibition. I think there might be more to
you than that and I’m sort of jealous, if I’m honest. In fact . . .” She reached for her phone, pressing a button and holding
it to her ear.
“Get me a job with PETA,” she said, when the person on the other end answered. Quite obviously her agent. “Or RSPCA. Me and
a load of orphaned puppies. Or an orangutan. I want to do something meaningful amongst all this shit.” There was a pause.
“I don’t give a fuck if I wear fur. Tell them it’s fake.”
She hung up and turned back to Tom, who shook his head, smiling.
She made it look so easy, but maybe it really was as simple as just doing it. Saying yes to things you wanted, and no to the things you didn’t.
The art director reappeared.
“Tom, can we book you in for another shoot next month? There’s a denim thing we’re working on. I’ll send over the details.”
She started walking away.
“Actually I’m really sorry,” he said and she half turned, not having time for his answer. “I can’t do it.” He was sure now.
He’d made his decision. “I’ll be in South Korea.”
After the shoot, Tom was in a black cab heading back to his flat when his phone rang with a number he didn’t recognize. It
was just after 2:00 p.m. and his head was filled with the excitement of the decision he’d made. How was it that someone like
Kiki was responsible for both the making and the breaking of his career? The world moved in the most mysterious of ways.
“Is this Martha’s brother, Tom?” the man’s voice asked when he answered.
“Yes,” Tom said, leaning forward.
“Could you come to the school? It’s an emergency. Martha’s having an asthma attack. She’s in a bad way and we can’t get hold
of her parents.”
“I’m coming. I’m coming now,” Tom said, hanging up and shouting new directions to the taxi driver, who did an immediate U-turn
on the street.
It was amazing how quickly joy could turn to abject terror.
There was nothing that caused Tom as much hurt as imagining his sister in any type of pain at all.
He’d never witnessed one of her asthma attacks before, but he’d heard about them through Laura and his dad.
In all honesty he always thought they were exaggerating, another example of their helicopter parenting.
Martha, in his experience, was the picture of health.
Robust. Unstoppable. But he’d done it again, hadn’t he?
He loved Martha so much he hadn’t ever dared to consider the other parts of her.
The more vulnerable parts that Laura was so focused on.
He had, in a way, put Martha on a pedestal too.
As the cab pulled up outside the school, Tom tapped his card so fast the payment didn’t go through and he swore under his
breath as the driver had to type it all in again. Come the fuck on, mate! Tom was muttering to himself, his left leg shaking.
“Receipt?” the driver shouted, and he needed one for his expenses but he didn’t have time. He didn’t have a second to lose.
“No,” he shouted, jumping out of the taxi. “Thank you,” he added as an afterthought. None of this was the driver’s fault.
Tom didn’t need to be rude.
He burst through the double doors of the school and into reception.
“Martha?” he shouted through the window and the woman signaled out onto the road, to the ambulance he hadn’t even noticed.
He left his bags in the middle of the floor and ran across the pavement, pounding on the doors before stopping and taking
a deep breath. Martha didn’t need to see him like this. She needed calm Tom. If she picked up on his energy for even a second—which
she would because somehow she saw him better and with more clarity than anyone else he’d ever met—it would panic her, and
Tom was fairly sure the worst thing for asthma was panic.
The door opened as Tom’s heart was thrust into his throat. It turned out he needn’t have worried about how he presented himself
to Martha, because she couldn’t see him.
He jumped into the back of the ambulance, taking in his little sister lying down on a bed with a mask over her face and machines
beeping around her as she wheezed, her chest rising up and down faster than it normally would. Tom looked quickly between
the machines and the medical staff and Martha.
“It’s under control,” one of the two paramedics said. She had Martha’s hand in hers and she nodded toward it, inviting Tom over. He swallowed, biting hard on his top lip. “Come on,” he muttered, moving his shoulders about. He had to shake the panic out of his body before he could sit.
“Martha, it’s Tom,” he said, taking her hand and sandwiching it between his. He made himself look at her, because he knew
that if he didn’t, it might upset her. Her dark brown curly hair was in waves around her head and the mask she was wearing
was filling with steam and then disappearing again, her shoulders lifting up and down with each breath. Her eyes were open
wide and she was staring straight at him. “You’re okay,” he said, nodding. “I’m here. We’re in this together, okay?”
Martha nodded and he felt her fingers move within his hand.
“I’ve never seen you have one of these before,” Tom said. “But I imagine it was quite frightening. But now you don’t have
to be afraid, because everyone is helping you.” Tom looked around to have that confirmed. “And I would never let anything
happen to you because—and I think you know this but I’m going to tell you anyway, just in case—you are my absolute favorite
person in the whole world.” Tom wasn’t sure, but he thought he saw her roll her eyes. “The day that Dad called me and told
me that I had a little sister was the best day of my life. I came to the hospital and you were this balled up angry little