A Story of Now

Robbie leads them inside. The crowd has thinned, and Claire can actually see photographs on the walls. Large, moody landscape shots of a fog-bound airfield hang in the front room.

“So, where’s your stuff?” Nina asks.

“In that room.” Robbie points to a doorway. “And that one.” He points to another.

The others head for the first room. Claire goes to follow them, but Robbie catches her wrist and pulls her back. “Hey, come in here for a sec.”

He pulls her along behind him and leads her into the second room. As soon as he turns the corner, he releases her wrist and takes her by the shoulders to position her a short distance from a large photo that occupies a narrow section of wall on its own.

It’s a photo of her.

Robbie rests his hands on her shoulders as she takes it in. It’s a black and white shot of her working at the bar. Well, not working exactly. She’s standing at a distance from the camera, at the other end of the bar, in profile. Her arms are folded over her chest, and she’s staring intently at something beyond the frame. The neon sign above the door serves to backlight everything but her face. The effect darkens her features almost to the point of silhouette and creates a hazy halo of light around her upper body. Her hair is long in the photo, pulled into a knot at the base of her head. Loose strands hang around her face.

“I don’t even remember you taking that.” She cannot stop staring, incredulous. She’s unable to comprehend that there is a picture of her hanging in a gallery, even though she is standing right in front of it.

“I sneaked it that night I was taking photos of Nina. It was a lucky shot. I only took the one, but I love it. You don’t mind, do you?” He sounds slightly nervous.

Claire doesn’t say anything for a minute. She just keeps staring at it. And she doesn’t mind. Not at all. Even she can see the subtle beauty and mood of the photo beyond the confronting fact that she’s in it. There’s an atmosphere that has nothing to do with her and everything to do with the moment Robbie captured. There is something both pensive and transitory in the way she is standing. She’s so far away from the camera, surrounded, but not touched by the bar, her mind clearly elsewhere. The way her chin is slightly dropped and her arms are folded makes it slightly defiant too. Anywhere but here, it says. She feels a welling of something caught between pride and gratitude, a reminder of her potential to be someone who should be looked at.

Claire shakes her head. “No, I don’t mind. It’s a great photo. You know that,” she tells him quietly, still staring.

“Good. Because, look.” He points at the small red sticker stuck next to the photo. “I sold it.”

“Really?” Claire shakes herself out of the shock of the photo and turns and to him. “That’s awesome. Congratulations.”

“Thanks.” He smiles dazedly, as if he’s amazed by the fact. In this moment, he’s more genuine and serious than she has ever seen him. She realises this is something he can’t be flip about. “I sold another one too.”

“That’s really great.” She feels a flash of envy because he has this thing that he knows he wants to do—is compelled to do. And it’s something he’s good at. Why can’t she figure out that thing for herself?

The others trickle in and, suddenly wrought shy by the thought of them staring at a picture of her, Claire ducks out to the other room.

And all of his photos are great, of course. As he told her, they’re all portraits, but they all manage to be somehow more than the people featured in them. Now, after seeing these, Claire gets it. Even knowing nothing about photography, she understands that Robbie is talented.

She wanders around the other rooms, less interested in all the other people’s work but biding her time before she goes back into the room with her photo. When she does, they’re all standing in the middle of the room with a bunch of other people, presumably Robbie’s friends.

As she rejoins them, Mia turns to her. “Do you like it?”

Claire shrugs, still feeling shy. “It’s kind of weird, you know?”

“I can imagine.” Mia looks at the picture and then back to her. “But it’s really, really beautiful.”

“You already knew, didn’t you?” Claire blushes as she remembers how Mia brushed off her questions earlier. “You could have warned me.”

“I saw the smaller prints when he was choosing which photos to use in this show.”

“To Robbie!” someone calls out. Slowly, everyone catches on and raises their glasses.

“To Robbie!” the room responds.

Claire drains the last of her warm champagne.

“And to actually selling art,” a voice adds. A few people laugh.

“There’s going to be a picture of you in some stranger’s house.” Nina comes over to stand next to her. “That’s so weird.”

Claire freezes for a moment to contemplate this new, incredibly freaky thought. “Thanks, Neen, I hadn’t actually thought of that.” She wrinkles her nose. “And now I have.” And it is weird. But before she can mull it over any further Robbie comes over.

“Hey, a few of us are going to go to dinner and celebrate—just dumplings or something cheap. Will you guys come?”

Nina nods. “Of course.”

Claire nods too, secretly pleased to somehow, suddenly be considered part of this weird little group. These people are nothing like the people she’s always considered friends. But she also knows that maybe, just maybe, this is a good thing.

They make their way down the streets in a tight throng, headed for a Chinese restaurant. Robbie falls into step with her. “Thanks for coming tonight.” He hooks his elbow through hers.

“Thanks for inviting me.” She stares idly at the motley little crowd walking in front of them. There’s a girl in a hat who pretends the curb is a tightrope, with her arms out. Nina slaps someone on the arm and laughs. Pete rests his hand on the back of Mia’s neck as they walk. The mood is loose and happy and infectious, and Claire feels a sudden pang of longing for the summer.

Robbie turns and gives her one of those looks she has grown accustomed to, as though he finds her highly amusing. “I guess it’d be kind of rude not to invite the talent.”

“Oh shut up.”

He laughs.