Be Careful What You Wish For Read Free Page B

time I was wearing head-to-toe black and taking moody shots of graffiti-covered walls – but I figured it would only be temporary. Just long enough to get some experience, pay back my student loans and give myself time to build up a portfolio before I turned freelance. Six years later I’m still here.
    Six years! It’s unbelievable. Not that I haven’t applied for other jobs, but it’s all about networking and contacts and getting your big break. I’m still waiting for mine. I keep telling myself it’s going to happen. That one day I’m going to be the new Annie Leibovitz, that I’m going to have exhibitions in swanky galleries in Soho, that I’m going to make the front covers of magazines and newspapers . . .
    Er, hello, Earth calling Heather.
    ‘So what did you think of the wedding?’ Brian is asking.
    I look at him across the handbrake. Covered with confetti and puffing a cigarette, he’s flicking through the Evening Standard, which he’s strewn across the steering-wheel.
    ‘It was interesting,’ I begin cagily, a bit like you do when you first come out of the movies and you’re not sure if the other person liked the film. ‘What about you?’
    Flicking ash out of the window, Brian nods. ‘Hmmm . . . different . . .’ he answers noncommittally.
    ‘Though I wasn’t sure about the dress . . .’ I venture cautiously.
    ‘I think she forgot her castanets.’
    I giggle, which sets off his smoker’s laugh.
    ‘Now, come on, we’re being rotten.’ He tries to compose himself. ‘It wasn’t that bad.’
    ‘Yes, it was.’ I smile, which lets him off the hook: the floodgates open. It’s a sort of a tradition of ours – like when you’ve been to a party with your boyfriend and you spend the journey home in the car gossiping about everyone.
    ‘Did you see the bridesmaids? They were gorgeous.’
    ‘Especially the little blonde one who insisted on wearing her bunny-rabbit ears.’
    ‘But what about when the best man lost the rings? He looked gutted.’
    ‘And broke out in that nervous rash.’
    ‘And started scratching all over.’
    ‘I saw him with his hands down his pants.’
    ‘No, you did not.’
    ‘I swear to God. I’ve got it on film!’
    ‘Eugghh, that’ll make a nice photo.’
    Brian and I both crack up. The absurdity of our job provides us with the best in comic entertainment.
    ‘So, what time’s our job tomorrow?’ I wipe my streaming eyes. ‘I promise I won’t be late for this one. I’m going to get myself a new alarm clock.’
    ‘Don’t worry about it. Have a lie-in. Catch up on your beauty sleep.’
    I pull a face. ‘But it’s the weekend,’ I remind him. For people in the wedding business, weekends are always manic.
    ‘I know. And I’m giving you the day off.’
    ‘A day off?’ I repeat incredulously. ‘On a Saturday?’ As Brian’s words register, I’m hit with the kind of high you get when you realise you don’t have to go to work the next day. I can’t remember the last time I had a whole weekend to myself. How fantastic. I can sleep late. I can laze around in the back garden reading trash mags. I can even spend the entire weekend in bed watching videos and eating takeout pizza . . . By myself.
    Abruptly, my day off loses its appeal. Weekends are for couples. It’s like the city suddenly turns into Noah’s ark – people walking two by two round parks, sitting at tables for two in cafés, sharing buckets of popcorn at the movies. Usually my best friend Jess and I hang out together. Most of our old gang have long since paired off and as we’re single we figure it’s safety in numbers. But she’s an air stewardess and this weekend she’s on a back-to-back to Delhi.
    ‘Are you sure? Saturdays are always our busiest days,’ I start backtracking.
    ‘Were,’ corrects Brian. ‘Things have been slow for a while.’
    True. I’d noticed that things had eased off over the past few months but I hadn’t given it much thought. Now, I see that