The Little Teashop in Tokyo by Julie Caplin Page 0,45
it’s still early. There aren’t that many people about. It’ll get busier.’
‘I want to get the shot lined up; it’ll be dry later.’ Her pout amused him – not easy with that mouth – and he laughed again.
‘Here, give me your camera.’ He held out a hand. ‘Do a handstand, hook your legs over my shoulders and I’ll hold you and you can take some practice shots … see if the angles work.’
‘What?’ She stared at him. ‘I’m not doing that.’
‘Live a little,’ he teased. ‘You never know you might snag an award winner.’
‘You might drop me.’
He shrugged. ‘Where’s the pleasure in an easy shot? You’ve got to suffer for your art.’
She raised one of those delicate golden eyebrows.
‘Go on, I dare you.’
‘How are old you?’
‘Old enough to know better.’ He grinned at her; she was weakening.
‘No,’ she shook her head. ‘It’s far too crazy. Besides, I haven’t done a handstand since I was at school. I’d probably kick you in the face or knock you over.’
‘But I bet you do Pilates or yoga or something.’ With those long limbs and that slim athletic build, she had to do something.
‘Haven’t you noticed how clumsy I am?’
‘No. Are you? I hadn’t noticed it.’
She stared at him, genuine confusion on her face.
‘What?’
‘Nothing.’ She lifted her shoulders. ‘I feel clumsy. I was always the tallest at school. Always out of place. I tower over the women here.’
‘That doesn’t make you clumsy.’
‘I never know what to do with my legs.’ She shrugged again. ‘My … my mum says I’m ungainly. I always feel … out of place, clumsy.’
Now it was his turn to stare at her. ‘Well don’t.’ The words came out a little more forcefully than he meant them to and he added more softly, ‘You’re actually rather graceful.’ As soon as he said it, he realised that it was true and was also something he’d unconsciously noticed about her – that long-legged, smooth stride and the elegant way she used her arms when she was talking or gesticulating. Her hands often did the talking for her, punctuating her speech and extending her ideas.
She laughed at that. ‘As Haruka would say, you’re full of bull.’
A Japanese family came into view, a man and a woman with an elderly woman and a toddler who was bundled up in a red anorak, his dark hair shining in the sunshine. The small boy hadn’t spotted the torii gate yet and as the thought popped into Gabe’s head, from the sudden gasp below him he knew it had occurred to Fiona. Heedless of the wet grass, she threw herself forward onto the ground, turned onto her side and raised the camera in anticipation, preparing herself for the ground level shot.
He heard the whirr of the shutter at the very moment the little boy stopped and craned his head backwards, the tiny figure dwarfed by the structure towering over him. Gabe grinned.
Something made him raise his own camera as Fiona rolled over and sat up, beaming up at him. He took the shot, a split-second decision, homing on in her face which contained the most delightful combination of smugness and elation.
‘You got it.’
With a nod, she held out her camera. Instead, he grasped her wrist, tutted at the dark blue patches on her jeans where the dew had well and truly soaked in, and hauled her to her feet.
‘Look,’ she said, ignoring him, the fizz of excitement almost radiating from her as she cradled the camera in both hands to frame the viewfinder.
Although the digital image was tiny, the composition was spot on. The tiny boy, dwarfed by one of the timber posts of the torii gate, was spot lit by a slanting sunbeam. It was one of those shots of a lifetime and he felt … he felt happy. Really happy. Quite ecstatic on her behalf.
Tamping down the unfamiliar emotion, he tapped the viewfinder with his index finger. ‘I think you might have the makings of a great shot, here. Well done, you.’
Turning her head, scant inches from him, she gave him an unreservedly impish, excited grin as if she’d forgotten who he was and then … it happened – a funny flipping sensation in his chest, like a landed salmon flopping about. In the morning sunshine she glowed with happiness and it … it made him want to scoop her up, hug her, and spin her around. Which was not a Gabe Burnett thing to do.
‘You’re going to catch your death of cold,’ he said brusquely.