The First Last Kiss (39 page)

I smile, feeling butterflies at the prospect of being paid to take interesting photos every day that hundreds – or even thousands – of people might see online.

I’m now exploding with excitement. ‘Oh my God, Christie, that would be amazing! And I’ve already got lots of ideas that would transfer really well to something like this.’ I dash out of her office and over to my desk, where my camera is languishing in the drawer.

I burst back into Christie’s office and flick through the images digitally, showing her all the little moments I capture every single day. My focus is on people, it always has been, either alone or with friends, family, lovers, children. I love seeing the nuances of relationships framed in my camera, peeling back the façades and seeing the truth of the emotion through the viewfinder.

I walk out of the office into the dark evening, feeling a new thrill as my camera bangs against my chest, overawed by the possibilities of what I might be able to capture on my journey home. I rustle inside my handbag for my mobile and see that there is a missed call and two text messages from Ryan; one telling me he’ll be late again, the other telling me that the boiler is broken. Not even this dispels my good mood. I text him back quickly when I feel a tap on my shoulder.

‘Casey – hi!’ I say in surprise, barely recognizing her in her chic work get-up. She looks more beautiful than ever these days. Her black hair has grown past her shoulders, is free of highlights and bad extensions and has the glossy shine of a hair ad. Her skin is pure Greek Glow, no tanning products – Casey says she can’t afford them now she’s an intern and besides, she prefers her new natural look. The fake nails and cheap, attention-seeking clothes have gone too, and in their place she’s wearing a sleek, burgundy wrap dress and stacked court shoes with minimal gold jewellery. The only flaw in her appearance is the scar under her eye. But even that looks tragically beautiful, like a single teardrop falling from her lashes and a constant reminder to me of her vulnerability. I gawp at her for a moment before giving her a hug. ‘You look amazing, Case. How’s work?’

‘Good – so good, Molly!’ she says, her eyes shining brighter than I have seen them for months. She’s getting her life back on track. She has barely been home to Essex, let alone the club, since the attack happened. She said to us that it felt like the town had turned on her that night as much as those girls did, and that London is the only place she wants to be now. So we sat down one night, shortly after we got back from honeymoon and brainstormed ideas of what she could do. I made a list of all her strengths – you can solve everything with a list – and then we went online and she did a career personality test. There were several options that fitted her personality type – but the one that stood out the most was Public Relations.

I’d slammed my hand on our coffee table and made the scented candle flicker and the wine jump in my glass. ‘That’s PERFECT, Case, I have loads of contacts in the PR world; I know I can get you in somewhere!’

‘You think?’ Casey had said, her old smile coming back and lighting up her face. ‘For real? That would be awesome, Molly!’ And then she’d thrown her arms around both Ryan and I and squeezed us till we could barely breathe.

Weirdly, she hadn’t seemed quite as enthusiastic after I’d listed all the companies I wanted her to email and gave her the task of doing her CV. In the end I’d composed the email for her. And managed to fudge her CV so that her extensive skill-set that I’d listed hid her lack of experience.

A week later she’d been offered a two-month placement at a well-known fashion and lifestyle PR firm called Myriad Communications.

‘I’m seriously loving it, I mean I really honestly think that this could be a job that I could actually do, no not a job – a
career
. An actual career, Molly! And I think I could do it really well! I mean, if they actually give me a job that is, which they might not, but oh my God, could you imagine if they did? It would be totes amazing.’

‘Brilliant, Case, I’m so happy for you,’ I say linking her arm as we walk down Long Acre.

‘Well, it’s thanks to you, Moll,’ she says, ‘it was your idea and your contacts that got me the work experience at Myriad. Honestly, what would I do without you?’ she jokes. ‘First you let me stay at your flat, then you set me up with a new career.’ She’d smiled. ‘The only thing left to do on the list is find me a husband.’

‘I’ll lend you mine, if you like,’ I laugh.

Casey gasps dramatically, her chic dark nails covering her carefully glossed lips. ‘Why, what’s he
done
?’

‘Oh, nothing, just not bothered to call the plumber when our boiler broke this morning! Usual wifely moans.’ I smile to show her that I’m joking really. ‘If he’d just write a list like I keep telling him to, you know?’

‘Nope,’ Casey replies cheerfully. ‘
I’ve
never had a boyfriend last longer than a couple of months, remember?
I
can barely get them to have breakfast with me, let alone cook my dinner and look at my plumbing – no pun intended. To be honest, I think you should count yourself lucky, Moll. Most girls would do anything to have a husband like Ryan – including me.’

‘You’re right. Now, let me just try and find an emergency plumber so we don’t freeze in the flat tonight . . . ’

I quickly phone one, agree to the hideous call-out charge and hourly rate, and then send a quick text to Ryan:

Boiler all sorted x.

Team work. That’s what it’s all about.

I link Casey’s arm again companionably and we head for home.

The Kiss And Run

If I could choose where to kiss Ryan now I would make us run back, back to where he wanted to be instead of where I was forever reaching for. We would run back, not stopping for breath until we got there. To the place that always made him happy. The place we should have stayed. And when I kissed him I’d never have stopped. Maybe then none of this would have happened.

FF>> 21/01/07 9.25 a.m.>

‘Awww, Moll, do you really have to go?’ Ryan tugs at my sleeve and my heartstrings as he leans in the doorframe of our lounge, wearing nothing but a pair of Diesel jeans and clutching a glass of fresh goji berry juice (his latest health fad). He watches me check my Things I Need for the Airport List, empty my hand luggage to make sure I have them all, and then check my separate Work Trip List, rifling through my suitcases to ensure everything is there. I check my handbag for my passport for the seventy-seventh time and glance up to see his lips protruding in a petulant pout, his new spiky hair making him look leaner, more chiselled and tougher than usual. God, I wish we had time for a last little goodbye. Three weeks is a long time without him. Perhaps it is the strain of work over the past few months showing in his face, or maybe it’s because he’s hurtling towards his thirtieth birthday, but Ryan no longer has that softness around his cheeks and general air of everlasting youth. His eyes have dark trenches which makes him look more rugged. And even hotter than ever. Maybe I could call the airline and tell them to hold the plane on the runway while I indulge in some pre-flight entertainment.

They do say that men age better than women, but as I glance in our hallway mirror I’m not too disappointed with how I’ve shaped up either. I know I look pretty good in my ‘airport outfit’ of skinny indigo jeans, vintage black cowboy boots, a slim-fitting, white T-shirt, big Louis Vuitton scarf (a press perk) and these cool 1980s Ray-Ban Wayfarers I picked up in Camden. I’ve perfected my make-up: pink blush, clear lip gloss and minimal mascara. My hair has found its best style after I had it cut into a sharp bob with a fringe when we got back from honeymoon. I was done with being ‘long-haired bride’. I lift my handbag up on my shoulder and pull my camera over my neck so it rests on my scarf. It has pretty much permanently lived around my neck since I started the blog on the relaunched Vivamag.co.uk. I still can’t believe what a success it’s been. I’ve even been featured as a ‘blogger about town’ in one of the weekend supplements. It’s been completely bizarre, but wonderful. It has meant Ryan and I have got to do some amazing things together as well as apart, with press trips thrown at me by PRs who want me to take cool, interesting pictures and then credit their hotels or resorts. We’ve stayed in a luxury Bedouin tent in Marrakesh as part of my ‘Market Life’ series. The pictures I took of the amazingly colourful markets that we spent a happy weekend meandering around worked brilliantly juxtaposed alongside the London shots. Like the one I took of foodies selling at Borough Market and the characters selling blooms at the bustling, vibrant Columbia Road flower market. We’ve stayed in gorgeous boutique hotels in Venice, San Francisco and Prague because I had an idea to do a series of photos capturing couples kissing on famous bridges. One of my favourites was a blog called ‘High on Love’ which featured a series of rooftop scenes which gave me a chance to shoot London in all its glory, from lots of amazing viewpoints. Ryan and I got to take a private pod in the London Eye which was incredible. I set up the camera on my tripod and took a portrait of us, with our backs to the camera, looking down at the sparkling, moonlit London skyline. It was utterly magical.

I feel like the luckiest girl in the world now that Ryan and I are living the life I always wanted us to. Of course, we can’t do everything in tandem. And I’m about to jet off to New York for three weeks too, as the editor of
Viva
New York has invited me to do a series of blogs based over there, featuring as a photo spread in their April issue. Christie thought it would be great exposure for the blog and guarantee us even more unique visitors – which so far seems to translate into more readers for the magazine. Things couldn’t be going better. Obviously it’s not ideal having to leave Ryan for three weeks but he can’t be away from school for that length of time.

‘I just don’t understand why you have to go for so long,’ he says, rubbing his hand over his chest.

I sigh and put my bag down and twine one arm around his waist, putting the other on his chest, just over his moles. He tucks his head into my neck and I kiss his hair. It tastes of the great outdoors, and pomade.

‘I promise it will fly by,’ I say softly now, as much to myself as to him.

‘Don’t leave me with her,’ he looks at me pleadingly. ‘She’ll do my head in.’

Casey is currently spread-eagled on the sofa, eating toast and watching a recorded episode of
Heroes
– a show both she and Ryan love – in our lounge, which has become her makeshift bedroom.

‘You’ll be so busy with mock exams that you’ll barely miss me.’

Ryan smiles and his eyes flicker over to the TV.

‘Hey, over here, Cooper!’ I say, and pull his chin back so his blue eyes meet mine. He looks tired. I kiss him long and hard on the lips, flicking my tongue in gently for good measure. He pulls away as we hear the beep of my account car outside.

‘I’ve got to go, Ry,’ I say, stepping closer because I don’t want to leave him. He kisses me again, but this time I pull away. ‘Be good!’ I say and I blow him a kiss, pick up my bags and run out of the door. ‘I’ll ring you from JFK!’ I call over my shoulder as I slam the door behind me, run across to the car with my camera beating against my chest like a second heartbeat.

‘Heathrow please!’ I say brightly and as the cabbie pulls out onto Kingsland Road. I immediately clamber around in my hand luggage, pulling out my book, my flight details, hairbrush, iPod, mobile, until I finally pull my passport out. It is only then that I remember to look out the back window at my flat and I see the distant shadow of Ryan’s face with one hand raised and I wave furiously. But I don’t know if he can see me any more.

I quickly text him. Only capital letters and hundreds of kisses will do.

I LOVE YOU SO MUCH xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Eight hours later, after airport queues and immigration kerfuffle, I step out of JFK and into the longest taxi queue I’ve ever seen. I pull out my phone and ring Ryan. There is no response from our landline or his mobile. I move my fingers quickly over my BlackBerry:

Arrived safely. Call me when you get this M x

Once my message has sent I quickly use my thumb to scroll back through my old messages, smiling as I see one from Casey. I glimpse at it before continuing my search for the SoHo apartment the US division of Brooks Publishing have rented for me:

Have fun!!!!!! And don’t worry about anything here!!!!! C xxxxxx

It occurs to me that a few months ago this message would have filled me with a sense of dread. The old Casey was a loose cannon; if I hadn’t heard from her in a few days, I’d always have to phone her, like I was her mum, checking up on her. And even if I did hear from her, every message saying ‘don’t worry’ made me do the exact opposite. But Casey is a new woman, strong, in control, mature, enjoying her newfound career with a renewed purpose and confidence that I have never seen in her before. My friend has come through something bad and come out stronger and better than ever and that makes me so happy.

I shuffle forward in the taxi queue and it occurs to me that 2006 might just have been the year that finally, everything came good for us all and 2007 will be even better. I resolve to thoroughly enjoy this experience in New York. Doing this blog has made me start looking at the world – and my world – in a new way, and I realize that I’m finally ready for the next adventure. Perhaps the biggest one of my life.

Ryan and I have done everything I ever dreamt of: we moved to London (tick), bought a flat (tick), got married (tick), we’ve travelled to amazing places (tick), I’ve lived with my best friend (tick), I’ve flown all over the world for work (tick), and have even started taking photographs for a living (tick). For once, teenage Molly is quiet as a mouse.

In fact, she has been quiet ever since Ryan and I got back together. Maybe it’s because Ryan is a different guy to the one I first went out with and I’m a different girl. Before we got married, we had a long talk about how to make the relationship work. Neither of us wanted to risk heartbreak for a second time so we had to be sure we were doing the right thing. I even wrote a list of questions for us both to answer, like a Mr-and-Mrs test. There were sections on marriage, children, travel, home and work – with questions to answer in each. Ryan knew me well enough to see why I wanted to do it. And it was no different to us going through my Life List all those years ago. It was just an updated version – one for both of us to be sure that our heads and hearts were in the same place – about everything.