move in with him but it had felt like settling for second best. Since then, she hadn’t even been friends with a man – well, apart from her friends from Copenhagen but they didn’t really count as one had a girlfriend, one was gay, and one was old enough to be her father. Her life had always been singularly lacking in male influences. Perhaps that was why she’d fallen so hard for Gabe the first time. He was the first man who’d ever shown any interest in her. If her father hadn’t died, maybe things would have been different, or if her mother had remarried. Automatically, her hand slipped into her pocket to toy with the little netsuke.
Oh hell, her mother. Abandoning the tiny figure to the depths of her pocket, she began to dig in her bag for her phone. This morning had been such a rush, she hadn’t sent her usual morning WhatsApp. No doubt there’d be a dozen messages by now. Damn. The inside pocket of her rucksack, where she normally kept her phone was empty. Rifling through the bag, she checked the other pockets. What had she done with it? She could have sworn she’d zipped it in there this morning. It must be back at Haruka’s because she hadn’t taken it out or used it on the journey.
Despite worrying about it, she quickly realised there was nothing she could actually do, not while Gabe was sleeping. Once he was awake, she’d ask if she could borrow his phone to text her mum and explain that she’d left her phone behind.
***
Somehow she dozed off, and when she woke she blinked furiously. The sunlight streamed in through the windows and she turned away, about to dig into her bag for her sunglasses when Gabe suddenly picked up his camera and stepped out of his seat into the aisle.
‘There, like that. Don’t move.’
Before she could even think about moving she heard the tell-tale click, click, whirr of the shutter.
‘What are you doing?’ she asked, horrified and glancing around the carriage. Luckily it seemed to have emptied at the last station.
‘Taking pictures,’ he grinned, the very devil of mischief peeping out of his eyes.
Lifting her chin slightly, she rolled her eyes. ‘I can see that. But …’
‘Yes. Yes. Perfect.’ And once again she heard the electronic purr of the camera.
‘Gabe, stop it.’ She reached out towards the camera.
‘Why?’
‘You know I don’t like having my picture taken. I look hideous in—’
‘I thought we’d cleared all that up, my lovely Valkyrie.’
Spluttering would have been undignified, so Fiona just stared at him.
‘That’s better.’ He grinned, raising his camera again, talking while he snapped. ‘I’ve decided to ignore you. You won’t look hideous in my pictures,’ he said with an arrogant tilt of his head.
She winced. Maybe not to him who was more interested in lines and planes, angles and shadows. She wasn’t unrealistic enough to aspire to being a great beauty or anything, but seeing her own face always reminded her that she wasn’t anything special. Online she might have thousands of followers, and post interesting blogs, but the reality was that behind Hanning’s Half Hour was a very dull, ordinary person.
She realised Gabe was studying her through half-lidded eyes with the intensity that made her imagine he could see all the way through to her soul and the wretched lack of self-confidence writhing away in there. It was as much as she could do not to clench her stomach and tuck into herself like a turtle.
‘Turn your head again and lift your chin an inch.’
‘No, please don’t take photos of me.’
‘Do as you’re told,’ snapped Gabe.
‘Why?’ she turned back to him with a flash of anger.
‘Because this shot could be a masterpiece and we’ll never know, if you don’t.’
And because it had been ingrained in her that photography was capturing that one moment in time that might never happen again, she turned her head and lifted her chin as everything inside shrank with dismay.
‘Fiona,’ said Gabe gently and she turned her eyes towards him, touched by the understanding in his voice. For a moment she could have sworn his face softened before he lifted the camera and took a succession of quick shots.
‘Look away for me.’ With a disdainful, resigned sigh, she did as she was told. ‘There’s my Valkyrie.’
‘Will you stop calling me that,’ she spluttered, the unexpected term bringing a snort of denial. ‘No one’s ever called me that before.’
‘No one else can see it,’ said Gabe, lowering the