What a Girl Wants - Lindsey Kelk

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of a career. We had this conversation a long time ago.’

      In truth, there had never really been much of a conversation. I had loved taking pictures when I was growing up – it was one of the few things I had shared with my dad before he left us to have another go at starting a family – and I’d begged my mum to buy me a camera of my own when I turned eighteen. But whenever she found me poring over photography books, or looking at my pictures, she would pop up with a snide comment or a stark reminder of how hard it was to make it in a creative field, that a proper job was much more secure and the right thing to do. I’d believed her, of course, and put my camera to one side to concentrate on my marketing degree, but the passion had always been there. Maybe it was buried deep under PowerPoint presentations and the desire for a company pension, but it was there.

      ‘And they’re paying you to take photos, are they?’ she asked.

      ‘Yes,’ I said, hoping for another number 85 bus.

      ‘With what, magic beans?’

      ‘Honestly, Mum, it’s a long story.’ At least she couldn’t accuse me of lying on that one. ‘And I really have to go now but I’ll call you later and tell you all about it, yeah?’

      As if it was going to be that easy.

      ‘I’ve got to say, I think you’re making a very big mistake. Charlie’s offering you a job on a plate and you want to fanny off to Italy and take photos. Italy!’

      She applied the same emphasis to ‘take photos’ as someone else’s mum might to ‘sacrifice virgins’.

      ‘But if you want to waste your time on silly adventures, you go ahead and do it,’ she said with a cluck, apparently done with the conversation. ‘Give my love to Charlie.’

      As if it was going to be that easy.

       CHAPTER FIVE

      ‘I’m glad you’ve been keeping busy,’ Paige said, completely ignoring the four half-naked men to her left, after I brought her up to speed on my current predicament. ‘You can’t help but get into trouble, can you?’

      ‘You know me,’ I replied, staring at the four half-naked men to Paige’s left. ‘I like to keep myself occupied.’

      ‘What was it like, getting arrested?’ she asked. ‘Did you have to wear an orange onesie? Orange would look terrible on you.’

      I nodded, not entirely sure what I was agreeing about while four of the most handsome men I had ever seen, all wearing black eye masks and very little else, hoisted one of the most beautiful women I had ever seen high above their heads. I gazed at the photographer’s big, beautiful Nikon camera with so much envy, I thought that it might fly up into the air and land in my hands. It didn’t.

      ‘You know, this is incredibly distracting,’ I said, turning fully in my chair to peer over the mezzanine onto the set below. We were in a very fancy studio on a very fancy street in a very fancy area and I was terrified of touching anything.‘How do you ever get any work done?’

      ‘This, my love, is work,’ Paige said, curving her scarlet lips into a very happy smile. ‘I’m the art director. I’m directing the art.’

      I nodded, resting my chin on the balcony and trying not to gawp. Paige worked for Gloss magazine, coming up with the ideas for photoshoots and executing the creative. We had met in Hawaii and, after a few teething problems, she had come to my rescue more than once and, as everyone knows, a friendship forged in the fires of adversity is as strong as one that has weathered the test of time. Or something. One of the models caught me staring and flexed his pecs while flashing me a grin. This was the best reason I had come up with to get into fashion photography so far.

      ‘What are they doing exactly?’

      ‘It’s a lingerie shoot for the October issue,’ she explained. ‘Halloween vibe – hence the masks. But given that most women will never look like that girl in just their knickers, I thought it might soften the blow to chuck in something easy on the eye.’

      ‘Or four somethings,’ I clarified. ‘Are they their actual abs? They’re not drawn on or anything?’

      ‘You know, sometimes the photographer casts the models,’ she said. ‘And that photographer could be you.’

      I gulped.

      ‘Look, only you know what you really want to do,’ Paige said, slapping me gently on the arm. ‘I really haven’t known you that long and I’ve only seen you as a photographer so I can only comment on that; and my comment is, you’ve got a raw talent not many people have. If it’s something you really want to pursue, now is the time. There won’t be many more opportunities like this. Make the most of it.’

      I tried to make myself look away from the orgy of muscles and hair gel below and concentrate, my heart thrumming at the words ‘raw talent’.

      ‘I know it looks obvious from the outside,’ I said, playing with the hem of my stripy T-shirt. ‘But I really do love advertising. Maybe it doesn’t sound as sexy and exciting as being a photographer, but it is to me. It’s not like I was looking for something to save me from the dark, depressing days of a real job. Starting my own agency was something I used to dream about and let’s be real, it’s a more sensible option than starting out as a photographer at twenty-eight; it’s definitely more secure.’

      Paige nodded slowly. ‘Starting out in the business isn’t easy,’ she admitted. ‘I’d hire you though.’

      ’Thanks,’ I said with a smile.

      ‘You’d be cheap,’ she added.

      ‘Thanks,’ I said without a smile.

      ‘So, only you can answer the question.’ Paige shrugged her shoulders, sending her long curtain of blonde hair cascading down her back. I made a mental note to ask her which conditioner she used before I left. And then to scalp her. ‘Is it going to be photography or advertising?’

      ‘That’s not really the question though, is it?’ Amy barrelled up the stairs behind me and blew into Paige with a hug so aggressive, anyone would have been forgiven for thinking she hadn’t seen her in ten years. It had been three days. And that was the first time they had ever met. Five seconds later, she dropped Paige in a heap and hurled herself across the sofa to treat me to the same hello.

      ‘You got my text then?’ I choked when she finally let me go. Amy nodded, her black hair glossy under the studio lights and her polka-dot shorts riding up dangerously high as she leapt up and threw herself towards the mezzanine railings.

      ‘Fuck me,’ She spun around to face us and pointed down at the shoot below. ‘I’ll take the blond. Or the brunette.’

      ‘Which one?’ Paige asked.

      ‘I don’t care,’ Amy replied. ‘This is amazing.’

      ‘Didn’t you have a job interview today?’ I asked. ‘How did it go?’

      ‘Shit,’ she said, pinching the tight skin above her exposed belly button. ‘It was for TopShop. They wanted me to work weekends. And they kept asking me whether or not I thought I was reliable and professional.’

      ‘Well, yeah, I think most Topshops are open on the weekend.’ I didn’t bother to ask if that was what she had worn to the interview because I already knew that it was. But what did I know? Maybe nothing said ‘please give me a job in fashion retail’ more than denim polka-dot shorts and a cropped pink T-shirt bearing the slogan ‘It’s not me, it’s you’. I think you’re reliable and professional.’

      It was a lie. I thought she was reliable when it came to turning up on my doorstep with a bag full of Galaxy and three bottles of wine, but I thought she was horribly unreliable and, if possible, even more unprofessional when it came to

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