‘Thank you.’ She drains her glass, absorbing the compliment. ‘Your photographs are incredible.’
‘It’s all I know how to do,’ I say. I sometimes wonder what I’d be doing if I hadn’t found photography. It’s been the one unchangeable thing in my life over the last year or two, my sure-footing thanks to years of effort and practice, my camera a familiar comfort in my hands. I can only hope my kids discover a passion to lead their lives in interesting directions too.
‘I’ve got so used to you raising your camera, I don’t even flinch now,’ she says, drinking quickly from her glass to stop the fizz foaming over when she refills it. I raise my camera and capture it, including the eye-roll she gives me after. I watch her for a few moments, enjoying the unguarded way she laughs, the light in her eyes that seems to come from somewhere deep inside her bones.
‘You make a pretty photogenic bride,’ I say. ‘I think you’ll love the pictures.’
She smiles down into her glass. ‘Thank you. They’ll be a fitting way to bow out of the column.’
‘What will your boss say?’
‘About the idea of me leaving?’ She sighs. ‘I think she’ll want me to stay, but I also think she’ll know if it’s genuinely time for me to go. We’ve become pretty good friends over the years.’
‘Any ideas what you’ll do?’
Her mouth twists to the side as she considers my question. ‘I’m not sure yet. I’ve got enough saved up to not work for a few months, so –’
‘So you’ll finally write a novel.’ I finish her sentence for her. ‘And it’ll be a huge success.’
She looks at me and slowly treats me to that full-beam smile – the one that makes my fingers itch for my camera and my mouth ache to kiss her.
‘If you say it, it might come true.’
‘I should get your autograph now while I don’t have to stand in line,’ I say.
‘You’ll never be at the back of my queue.’ She holds my gaze, clear and bold, and I realize how much I’m going to miss her when she isn’t in my life any more.
‘You’ve been so good for me,’ I say. I hold her hand now and tears dot her lashes as she looks at me. ‘Don’t cry, it’s your birthday.’
‘All brides cry,’ she half laughs. ‘It’s an emotional day.’
‘Okay,’ I sigh. ‘Drastic measures.’ I get to my feet and hold my hand out to her. ‘Dance with me?’
She blinks up at me, surprised, and then slips her hand in mine. ‘I guess I should have a first dance.’
I pull the picnic rug to the side of the porch, clearing some space. ‘The floor’s ours.’
‘Okay, but hang on, let me find the right track.’
I don’t know what she’ll choose, and I feel something suspiciously like prom-night nerves as I wait for her to come join me in the middle of the porch. She glances over her shoulder at me, barefoot with flowers in her hair, and my God, she’s glorious. Then a familiar harmonica strain drifts on the air and she turns, laughing as she walks towards me.
‘Springsteen, huh?’ I say, failing to keep the smoke of emotion from my voice.
‘You mentioned it sometime,’ she says. ‘I added it to my list the last time I was up at the café. Feels like a little piece of you I can hold on to.’
‘Come here.’ I pull her close. ‘Let me hold on to you tonight.’
And so we dance on the porch to ‘Thunder Road’， and although it’s cold I don’t feel it because the girl in my arms warms me. She’s like holding fire.
‘I’ve seen him sing this live a fair few times,’ I tell her, my mouth against her hair. ‘The roar of the crowd at those first notes from his harmonica, thousands of people singing every line back at him.’ I know every word, every chord. This song is part of the fabric of my life, and now Cleo will be forever stitched in amongst its notes and melody too. Bruce sings of Mary dancing across the porch, and I lift Cleo’s arm over her head and spin her into a slow pirouette, her white dress swirling out around her thighs as she tips her head back and laughs. Oh, for my camera to catch the colours the Christmas lights throw across her face, the movement of her hair as she dances, the joy in her eyes when she laughs. I pull her close and bend her back over my arm, laughing with her. Springsteen, a beautiful girl in my arms, the low, gold moon suspended over the ocean. We dance and we kiss and we laugh like teenagers. We’re the only people in the entire fuckin’ world tonight.