‘God, yeah,’ Sean sympathised. ‘I know that feeling …’
What feeling? Roxanne wondered, using a bendy kitchen knife to hack at the charred confectionery. She didn’t recall that she had ever subjected Sean to an iron-left-on incident – although she supposed after tonight’s episode she could hardly occupy the moral high ground.
‘… And d’you know what happened?’ Tommy crowed. ‘We get all the way home and the iron’s stone-cold …’
‘It was off all the time? You’re kidding me!’
‘Nah, isn’t that typical?’
‘Did you miss your flight?’
Tommy snorted. ‘’Course we did! Cost us over three hundred quid for new tickets.’
Their laughter rumbled through Roxanne’s flat as the two men revelled in that hoary old topic: the idiocy of womankind. Oh, what fun they were having. Roxanne understood what was going on here, as shards of black stuff pinged off the tray, occasionally hitting her cheek and landing in her hair. Sean spent most of his life in the company of rarefied fashion types. Most of his conversations were about whether the model’s hair should be up or down, or if a necklace was required to finish the look. His professional life was all about capturing beauty, which was fine; there were far worse ways to make a living than photographing the world’s most breathtaking women wearing exquisite clothes. Yet, despite Sean’s creative talents, he was a pretty down-to-earth bloke, who had grown up with a ferocious single mother in an area of Dublin he always described as ‘lively’. Opportunities to flex some masculine muscle were few and far between.
‘So, what’s your line of business?’ Tommy was asking now.
‘I’m a photographer,’ Sean explained.
‘Oh, right. Weddings, portraits, that kind of thing?’
‘Well, I’m more kind of—’
‘Would you do one of our Jessica? She’s a right little character – just turned eighteen months. Me and my girlfriend, we’d love a proper picture of her to have framed for the living room.’
‘Er, that’s not quite my—’
‘You know – looking cute, sitting on one of those sheepskin rugs?’
Roxanne chuckled to herself as she sensed Sean struggling to remain on his new best mate’s good side. ‘Uh, yeah, I know the kind of pictures you mean, but I’m actually more of a—’
‘She’s just adorable,’ Tommy added fondly. ‘D’you have a card or anything, so I can contact you?’
‘Uh, not on me, no …’
‘Aw. Well, I’ve got your number.’
‘I called you on my girlfriend’s phone,’ Sean said quickly.
‘Right. So, will you text me yours, so we can arrange to do the pictures?’
‘Yeah, ’course I will …’
No, of course he won’t, Roxanne mused as she sanded off the last of the burnt crust with a Brillo pad. He happens to be a top fashion photographer whose latest campaign for a high-street chain is currently gracing enormous billboards all over Britain. Sean O’Carroll does not photograph babies on fluffy rugs.
Drilling and hammering curtailed their conversation, and once Roxanne had finished cleaning the tray, she found Sean lurking in her living room. ‘Why are you hiding in here?’ she teased him.
‘I’m not hiding,’ he murmured defensively. ‘I’m just letting him get on with the job.’
‘Right. It’s just that, a few moments ago, it sounded as if you were about to arrange a holiday together.’
Sean’s eyebrows shot up. ‘Don’t be ridiculous!’
She laughed, just as Tommy called out to say he’d finished.
‘So that’s it secure,’ he remarked as she inspected his work. Sean had failed to reappear from the living room.
‘Brilliant, thanks so much – and, yes, I’d like to go ahead with the replacement door, please. Could you send me an estimate?’
‘Yeah, no problem.’ He seemed disappointed at having to deal with her now.
‘Shall I pay you for this now, or will you invoice?’
‘Now would be great, if you don’t mind …’
‘Sure, no problem.’ She fetched her purse from her bedroom and doled out a bunch of tenners. Sean remained in hiding, perhaps hoping that the matter of baby photography would be forgotten as soon as Tommy left Roxanne’s flat.
After he’d gone, they curled up companionably on the sofa together. Sean was drinking wine, while Roxanne sipped chamomile tea – not because she enjoyed it especially but because it seemed like the right thing to do the night before a meeting with one’s new boss. She rested her head on Sean’s chest, once again picturing them together in her childhood village, with her showing him around, delighting him with its quaintness. After nine months together, it seemed important for him to understand where she was from, and get to know the place that helped to shape the person she was now. Plus, it would be fun to share a bottle of wine in the Red Lion, where she was occasionally allowed a Coke and a bag of crisps as a little girl. Sean would love its olde-worlde charm.
‘So, what d’you think about that weekend in Yorkshire with me?’ she ventured, turning to study his reaction.
‘What’s the date of the party again?’ Sean asked.
‘The ninth of June. Couple of weeks away.’
He nodded thoughtfully. ‘I told you, darling – I’ll have to check what’s on. You know how crazy-busy it’s been lately …’ Of course, Sean was never merely busy, like a normal person; he was always crazy-busy.
‘I’d just like to show Della some support, and I think it’d be fun,’ Roxanne added, hating the pleading tone that had snuck into her voice.
‘Sure, we can go away sometime. I’m just not quite sure about this time, okay?’ He smiled and kissed her.
‘Okay,’ she said flatly, realising her suggestion was being treated in the same way as Tommy’s request for a baby-on-fluffy-rug photo, in that it was clearly not something Sean wanted to do. She wondered then, as they settled in front of the TV to watch a late-night music show, whether their relationship would ever progress from how it was now. Of course, compared to Ned Tallow and the other reprobates, Sean was an absolute saint. Yet they still dated as if they were in that tentative early stage (‘So, how are you fixed this week?’), their time together dotted in amongst their numerous other social engagements. Roxanne’s evenings were often taken up with work-related events, and Sean was often shooting on location and didn’t return until late. Around half the week, he stayed alone at his own sparsely furnished warehouse apartment with its bare-brick walls and enormous red fridge. But what more did she want, or expect from him?
Although she hadn’t brought it up, she sensed that he wasn’t exactly itching to live with anyone. He had twice before, each time for a decade or so – first with a model (naturally!) called Lisa who had, by all accounts, left him broken-hearted when she had fallen in love with a fellow model on a shoot in the States. Then had come Chianna, a jewellery designer from whom he had simply ‘grown apart’; she now lived in Devon with a brood of wild-haired children and a famous drummer. Sean had never been married, had no children and didn’t seem saddened by the fact.
As for Roxanne, a few boyfriends had moved in with her for brief periods – although usually due to their own shaky financial circumstances rather than any real desire to cohabit with her. She had never had any yearnings