Page 101 of Little Wing
And Dougie wanted to say yes, you were handsome then but you are far more beautiful now. ‘Your face is the map of your life – and the light just now is stunning.’
‘Barmy,’ said Frank. ‘But – all right. How do you want me?’
‘Just as you are.’
‘Right here?’
‘Right here.’
‘Having my picture taken – fancy that.’
Dougie took his camera and placed it on his lap. ‘I haven’t taken portraits for a long while.’
‘That’s a shame,’ said Frank. ‘I’d say they are very important.’ He thought about it. ‘If you have the know-how, I’d say it is your duty. They document our stories, they keep us living.’
Unseen, Nell observed Dougie at work. Or was it work? He seemed so in tune with his camera, with his subject, and he appeared confident and relaxed. As he photographed Frank, Dougie chatted away, every now and then touching him gently to alter an angle, to remove a bit of fluff from his pullover (today, peacock blue). Nell remembered all that he’d told her in Harris, about why he no longer photographed faces; now she was witnessing him vanquishing that. Against the satisfying rhythm of shutter clicks she approached quietly, carrying the tray with Frank’s starter, today pâté with crackers. She placed the tray on the table and as she straightened Dougie said her name.
‘Nell,’ he said and, in the moment that she turned to him, the edges of her features caught the light and her eyes were all his. His camera clicked. She looked at him and he looked at her and he released the shutter again. ‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘I should have asked. I should have checked if you’re OK with this.’ He gazed at his hands, at his camera, knowing what was in it, what he’d achieved. ‘Are you OK with this?’
Nell nodded.
‘Might you sit beside Frank?’
She sat beside Frank.
And Dougie waited, watching all the while. He observed their soundless interaction, the trust that was conveyed through a wink and a smile, the pat of a hand, the happiness and gratitude sown deep in Frank’s heavily furrowed face, Nell’s fondness for him glowing in the softness of her skin and the gentle glint to her eyes. He understood now why they meant so much to each other. As he watched and as he looked he could sense the depth of mutual affection. Could he infuse a single photograph with all of that? It wasn’t purely about releasing the shutter at precisely the right confluence of light, shade, expression, form and ephemera and then controlling the developing process of the print. Dougie’s skill had always been to go deeper and to enable his sitters to forget he was there. He was able, therefore, to catch the moment Nell and Frank thought they heard one of the blackbirds and turned at the same time to look. And the moment afterwards where they brought their faces close to each other to commiserate. And the moment when Frank looked like he was nodding off but Nell kept surreptitious watch. And the moment when Frank began to reach for his glass of water but Nell intercepted and handed it to him. And Nell tucking in Frank’s napkin. And the two of them laughing about something incomprehensibly funny about pâté. And Nell subtly checking that Frank was managing fine. And Nell looking straight to camera and her expression appearing to say to Dougie I’m so pleased you’re here.
And then Dougie was out of film. Frank’s dinner was out of the oven. The light was flattening. It was time to leave.
‘I’d better get back,’ said Dougie, looking from his car to hers. Nell’s was red, just like the hire car.
‘Thank you for coming.’
‘Are you kidding me? He’s amazing!’
‘Not just for Frank. Thank you for coming – for me.’
‘Och.’ Dougie scratched arcs with his foot in tarmac planings of the car park. ‘You’re welcome.’ He looked at Nell and shrugged. ‘But I should’ve phoned. I’m a bit of a twat, really.’
Nell knew what Debbie would tell her to do. ‘Well – I mean – if you want we could get a snack? Or something?’
All Dougie had eaten since late morning was the lemon drizzle cake at the Chaffinch.
‘It’s not the centre of the culinary universe, Colchester,’ said Nell. ‘But I know a couple of really nice places we could go.’
Dougie thought about this. How easy it would be.
‘I’d better go, really,’ he said to Nell. ‘I’ve got stuff to sort out.’
Nell nodded as if her suggestion had been idiotic. Dougie thought to himself, never a truer word spoken.
‘OK.’
‘So.’
Clumsily they hugged.
And Frank, who’d left his pudding untouched to dodder his way to his window in the hope of seeing lovebirds instead of blackbirds, sighed.
