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When Martin finally hung up the phone with the care center, he immediately pulled up the weather to see how the day was looking. He hadn’t planned to go out and shoot photos today–instead planning to do chores around the apartment and errands around London. However, after yet another phone call with his mother, he needed the fresh air. It wasn’t long before he had grabbed his favorite Polaroid camera and some extra film and was on the tube, headed towards his favorite photography area–a lovely area downtown with cute shops, a few lively pubs, and beautiful flowers lining the buildings. His tube screeched to a stop and Martin left the station, beginning his walk and trying to forget the troubles the day had brought him.
He arrived at his favorite sit-and-click spot; a lovely table outside one of the pubs near some beautiful gardening that had clearly taken someone a lot of time to cultivate. There was something about shooting the perfect picture–the right color saturation, the best angle, sometimes even catching an action shot when a butterfly decided to visit–that started to melt away Martin’s worries.
He was perfectly content, looking through his lens, laying out the photos, and listening to the gentle music and chatter from inside the pub when he felt a gentle tap on his shoulder, accompanied by a soft “Excuse me?”
Martin whipped around, surprised by the interruption. The movement scares the butterfly Martin has been trying to capture, but suddenly Martin doesn’t care as he looks at the man before him. His long black hair falls down in waves, the setting sun making the greys shine in a way Martin could look at his entire life. The man, who is slightly swaying and smells of red wine, picks nervously at his clothes–a nice pair of trousers and a soft sweater vest over a button up. It was clear he had come from work to the pub, and had since undone the tie that lays around his neck and unbuttoned his top button.
“Oh, um, yes? How, uh. How can I help you?” Martin, who is still seated, stumbles over his words.
“We–my friends and I, uh.” The man points back into the pub at a table where two others are seated–another man in a wildly patterned button up and cuffed jeans who was currently exaggeratedly flirting with the girl across from him, who was wearing smart business clothes that seemed to fit her perfectly. “We saw your camera. We all got promotions at our jobs today and we hoped we could pay you to take our picture. If you, uh, aren’t busy, that is. Uh. Yeah.”
“Oh! I’m not a professional or anything, but yeah! All practice is good practice, they say.” Martin ducks his head and stands to gather the camera and film, quickly realizing he stands a full head taller than the man before him, who goes to collect his friends from inside the pub. Martin tries to ignore the pounding of his heart as he looks through the sight of the camera, finding the best lighting. Despite being evening, the golden sunset allows for a few different spots the trio should look good in.
The first man returns with the other two in tow–they’ve all clearly been drinking, but not exorbitantly so. Just enough to celebrate, Martin guesses. What’re the chances all three received a promotion? It reminds him of his barrage of interviews lately–restaurants, libraries, photography studios, care centers. No callbacks except for one: some paranormal academic institution needing… some sort of assistant–a job he was not qualified for but would be starting much sooner than expected. He shook the thoughts and stress out of his head and gestured for the three to get in front of the camera.
“Uh, could you scooch a little to the left, miss…”
“Sasha! Yes, anything to get away from Tim.” She giggles, gently shoving the one in the wildly printed shirt and jeans–Tim, Martin mentally notes.
“Would you two- '' the sweater vest man with wavy hair and beautifu–anyway. He sighs and attempts to corral the other two into frame. Martin smiles, readjusting the strap the camera hangs on.
“Come on, Jon, have a little fun for a change!” The girl, Sasha, calls out, leaning on Tim.
“Um, ok you three!” Martin notices the light beginning to dim and wants to do these three justice, getting his own practice in while he can. He raises the camera, checks the framing, and glances back over the lens. “Say ‘promotions!’”
“Promotions!” The three crone, ending in a fit of giggles–Martin takes the opportunity to catch the genuine smiles and presses the camera, setting the resulting photo on the table to develop.
They ask for “just one more”, each of them moving to what seemed like a pre-existing formation, with each holding up their drink and saluting the camera…clearly this had happened before. Martin smiles behind the camera at the friendship before him, once again clicking the button and grabbing the film the camera spits out.
“Oh, oh! Jon, come ‘ere!” Tim says, dragging Jon even closer. They whisper conspiratorially, before Tim throws an exaggerated wink at Martin–which he takes as a sign to get ready, holding the camera up in agreement. Before she can realize what’s happening, Jon and Tim each grab Sasha and clumsily lift her up on their shoulders–cheering “Head Archivist, Head Archivist” the whole time. Martin quickly sees joy overtake the surprise on Sasha’s face, taking the opportunity to snap another photo.
Martin lowers the camera, a genuine smile on his face despite the pain tightening in his chest. When was the last time he had been out like they were? Celebrating friends, making memories, getting just a little too drunk with people he trusted. Lost in his thoughts, he barely notices the trio huddle into a group. When he finally looks up, they grin mischievously at him.
“Well, uh-” Martin nervously starts, before suddenly being ambushed by Sasha, who was giggling the entire time. She slips the camera off his neck and, as Jon and Tim join in behind them, she flips the camera around to catch all four of them in the photo. He finds himself pressed against another, and feels his face blushing as he realizes Jon has slung his arm around him for the photo. He knows, however, that the Martin in that photo would have the most genuine smile he’s had in a while.
Jon turns to face Martin. (Was that a small blush starting on his checks? Martin couldn’t tell.) “Thank you, Mr… uh-”
“Oh! Uh, Martin. Martin Blackwood! And thank you, all of you. It’s been a while since I’ve had models for my shoots.” Martin laughs nervously, realizing just how close he and Jon are standing in the quickly setting sunset. Before he could do anything he regrets, Martin turns to hand each of the photos out–he hands Jon the first photo, Tim receives the posed photo with the drinks, and Sasha gets the “Head Archivist” photo where she is unsteadily balanced on the shoulders of the other two.
He stands with the last photo in his hand, smiling down at it. He had been right–he looked so happy. He looks up and is surprised to find Jon had already been looking at him. The other two had, arm and arm, slipped back into the pub for another round of drinks. Martin heard Tim say something about Sasha’s “fancy new paycheck”, earning him a playful swat on the arm.
“You should keep it.” Jon has a smile on his face. It’s gentle and soft, his face perfectly framed by his hair as he looks at Martin.
“Oh no, I-uh, I couldn’t” Martin holds the photo out to Jon, who tucks his hands into his pockets in return.
“Keep it. Really. You look-uh. You look nice.” Jon looks down at his shoes, kicking at some leaves on the ground. “Both in the photo and…Either way, thank you. Maybe we’ll see each other again, Martin Blackwood.” Jon meets Martin’s eyes for this last part, and Martin is once again left to wonder if the blush on Jon’s face is a trick of the light, the alcohol, or… well. Martin’s brain moves too slow, too late. By the time he’s processed what’s happened, Jon has stepped away to join his friends, and Martin is left with a photo of himself and three strangers, a setting sun, and the realization he hadn’t taken a single photo of the flowers he had come here for.
And yet, as Martin rides the tube back to his too-small, too-quiet flat, he is filled with a peace and happiness he doesn’t remember feeling for a very long time. When Martin takes time to lay out his new-to-him suit for his new job on Monday, he takes an extra moment to tuck the picture into the suit jacket.
Maybe, just maybe, it’ll make this new job just a bit easier.