Boy Parts(39)

‘Yeah, well.’ He shrugs. ‘It pays the bills for him, I s’pose.’

‘My work pays my bills,’ I say. ‘Not having a go, I’m just saying, like, I couldn’t do that. And, like, fine art photography can be very lucrative. So, you can make money and have some integrity at the same time.’

‘He hasn’t… sold out or anything it’s just… his job.’

It’s more than just a job, I think. But I realise I’m being hostile. He’s frowning at me, so I relax my face, smile, shrug. Hey, if he wants to take photos of M&S roast chickens, and he’s good with that, then whatever.

‘Do food photographers really microwave tampons to make the food look like it’s steaming? Like, does your brother do that?’ I ask. Eddie from Tesco colours at the mention of tampons.

‘Erm… If he has, he’s never mentioned it.’

‘Ask him for me.’

‘Okay.’

There’s a photo of the back half of a dead rat on his camera. Still in Hyde Park, I think, next to a clump of dandelions. Just its foot, its tail, with a clump of flies bunched at the edges of its flesh. It’s good. Well composed, and there’s the rat, the flies, the dandelions: all pests, all living and dying together. It’s also a bit A-level, but it’s like… edgy A-level, like you see that sketchbook and you think, aye I’d give this a B, that’d be fair.

‘This one isn’t bad,’ I say. I turn the camera to him. ‘It’s the first one where the exposure’s right.’

‘Ah. Amir took that one. He fixed the settings on it for me. He said I’d messed up the aperture, or something.’ He looks embarrassed, again. ‘It’s… stupid. I wanted it to be high contrast, so I… fiddled around with it, and I didn’t really know what I was doing. I’m a bit frightened to touch it now, to be honest.’

The rest of the photos are fine. A few more in the park, then a portrait of a man who looks like Eddie from Tesco, but a little older and quite a lot bigger. Bigger nose, bigger shoulders and, overall, not quite as good looking; he’s missing the cleft chin, the dimples, the freckles. Just a normal alright-looking bloke – he wouldn’t turn my head. Amir has a better haircut than his brother, though, it must be said.

‘Is this your brother?’ I ask. ‘Is he quite tall? He looks big.’

‘Yeah, he’s over six foot, actually.’ Eddie from Tesco clears his throat, shoulders hunching up to his ears. I watch his hands clench and unclench. He’s thinking giving me the camera was a mistake – that I prefer his brother now. I’ve seen Flo look like this before. She’ll introduce me to someone, then I’ll watch her get stiff and sad out of the corner of my eye, because now she’s the Ugly Friend.

‘Genetics are a funny thing, aren’t they?’ I say. ‘My mam’s only about five foot tall.’

‘Yeah… Our mum is tiny, too. I always used to say, when I was a kid, I used to say that Amir shouldn’t pick on me, because I’d be bigger than him one day and like… it just never happened,’ he says, forcing a laugh. ‘He still picks me up in front of people.’ He cringes. ‘I don’t know why I told you that.’

I smile. I go to tell him it’s okay, it’s cute, even.

Then he says: ‘Do you think you could pick me up?’ His voice cracks. ‘Not in a weird way, just…’ I make a face at him. ‘That was stupid. A stupid joke.’

I smile at him, and I think I do it wrong, because he shrinks like I’m glaring, or staring, and there is a long, heavy silence. I forget to keep smiling, because I’m watching him watch me. His eyes dart around, and he stammers, like he wants to speak but can’t. He mustn’t like being looked at, but he stares at me all the time. I like looking at him.

‘We’ll look at your pictures,’ I say. He balks.

‘Oh. No thank you.’

‘You should look at them. They’re good.’ I open my laptop and pull up his photos, cycling through them. He flinches, now avoiding both my eye and the laptop, eyes up to the ceiling.

‘I’m sure they’re great! I’m sure they’re really great. You took them, after all; they must be really good. They’re just embarrassing. It’s embarrassing to see photos of yourself. Photos like… that.’ He apologises. He tells me he’s shy. He’s not used to it. He hates looking at photos of himself. I don’t get it. I tell him I don’t get it, that he’s talking shite.

‘Come on, look.’ I put the MacBook on his lap.

He looks. When he looks away, I tap the screen with my nails. I tell him I’ve barely deleted any; I like them so much that I can’t choose favourites.

‘On your website, I noticed you’re in some of the photos. Your hands, and your shoes and stuff…’ He says. ‘Could we take some like that? Next time? I think I’d like that.’

‘You’re into that shit, are you?’

‘Oh. No. Just for the art. I think those are your most dynamic photographs.’

‘Right.’ I snort. ‘So, what was that comic all about?’

‘It’s actually part of a series? Um… The plot is a whole commentary on exploitative labour and sexual harassment, and the way that society devalues service workers, actually…’ When he sees that I’m smirking, he raises his voice a bit. ‘It’s not a sex thing. I can have some… explicit manga, it doesn’t have to be a sex thing. Like… I mean, your photos. You can’t want to… every single model you shoot, can you? You’ll just pick some because they’re best for the idea you have, or whatever, you know?’