Max said nothing, just looked at her with an expression she couldn’t quite make out. Her lips tightened, but she would not let her emotions get the better of her, would not cry. This time, it would be her turn to walk away from him. So she turned, holding her head high, and walked after Bia. And this time, Max did not follow.
Part Four
December
It was cold enough in the underground vault that Geoffrey had hired for the evening that Josie had kept her jacket on—clearly, no one had thought to ramp up the heating in the run-up to their little exhibition. The place had a cool, edgy atmosphere with mixed lighting, aiming to show the photography off at its best, and tables positioned strategically so that people were encouraged to stand and look at the work, rather than sit and drink.
Josie kept her hands in her pockets, partly from the cold but mainly to control the urge to constantly twist them together as she watched people mill about, having put her glass of Merlot down already so that she didn’t keep sipping it out of nerves. The students—twenty-one, including Josie—had been encouraged to invite people to this end-of-course “Celebration,” as Geoffrey had called it, and those were the people who, she was sure, made up the majority of the crowd, but she knew there were also some people from the industry there. She couldn’t quite believe that it was her work being displayed up on the walls, that people were currently looking at it, cocking their heads curiously or nudging their friends to point something out. Across the room, she caught sight of Geoffrey, who only winked to where she was standing alone like a lemon before heading off to talk to someone else.
The theme was a celebration of Edinburgh. They’d been allowed to pick what they wanted that to encompass—people, buildings, landscapes. Josie had gone for landscapes—she’d known from the outset that it would be tough to do something fresh and original with that, but she was pleased with what she’d accomplished, and felt like she’d grown as a photographer for sure. It had, she would admit, been the most amazing two and a half months; it had been incredible to be allowed to indulge completely in what she loved doing.
She smiled as she saw Bia, who seemed fully delighted by the whole affair, chatting to John and Laura on the other side of the room underneath a fellow student’s portrait of two women outside a café. She felt a little warm and fuzzy inside, seeing her friends here for this, that they’d made the effort to come and not brushed it aside as something silly or insignificant, something she’d just needed to get out of her system before she returned to the real world—as much as it felt like that to her, at times. The fact that all her confirmed guests were here didn’t stop her from regularly glancing toward the door, however, her stomach pulsing uncomfortably every time she did so.
Having done a slow lap of the room, Helen, Memo, and her grandad came back round to her. Josie smiled as Memo gave her another hug, breathing in her grandmother’s smell of tobacco and cinnamon. Memo squeezed her shoulder with spindly fingers. “This is amazing, my love.”
Josie beamed. “I’m just so glad you all came.”
Helen scoffed a little. “Of course we did, darling. What did you expect?” She was totally in her element, sipping her warm white wine like it was the most expensive champagne. “And it’s turning out to be quite the event, isn’t it?”
Memo stroked Josie’s hair, while her grandad gave her an awkward, one-armed pat—he’d never been one for overt displays of affection, but Josie could tell he was pleased, and he’d asked her a stream of questions about the different photos when they’d first arrived, which told her everything.
“We’re just so proud of you,” Memo said. And they’d been so supportive when she’d told them she was going to do the course. Memo had offered to help pay for her accommodation, but Josie had refused—they were both retired and had better things to spend their money on, like bills. So she’d told them to come to the show at the end instead. For money, she’d taken a part-time job as a waitress in the evenings and on weekends, which had been reminiscent of her teenage years, and shared a flat with two other girls, who she’d barely seen because she was hardly ever there, and when she was there she was holed up in her room sleeping. She didn’t think she’d ever been this exhausted—or this happy.
Her grandad broke into a hacking cough and Josie frowned at him. “Are you OK?” When he just waved at her, she pressed on. “Is it a cold? Have you had your flu jab?”