Surprise Me(57)

‘My legs look quite …’ I say at last.

I don’t want to say ‘huge, fat and white’. But that’s the truth.

‘I didn’t quite get the lighting right,’ says Tilda after another long pause. Her ebullience has dimmed and there’s a crinkle in her brow. ‘Not exactly right. Never mind. Let’s go on to the second pose.’

I put on a new outfit – red lace teddy – and get on to all fours, following Tilda’s directions.

‘Now, lean forward on your knees … legs apart … further apart …’

‘They won’t go any further apart,’ I gasp. ‘I’m not a bloody gymnast!’

‘OK, now raise your chin,’ instructs Tilda, ignoring me. ‘Put your weight all on one arm if you can … boost your boobs with the other arm … give me a sexy look …’

My knees are killing me. My arm is killing me. And now I have to produce a sexy look? I flutter my eyelashes and the camera flashes a few times. ‘Hmm,’ says Tilda, doubtfully squinting at her screen. ‘Could you lift your bum up for a better angle?’

With a huge effort, I try to arch my back and thrust my bum further into the air.

‘Hmm,’ says Tilda again. ‘No. Maybe I meant, lift up your head.’ She stares at her screen as though perplexed. ‘Can you get a bit more curve into your bum, somehow?’

‘Get more curve into my bum’? What does that even mean? My bum is my bum.

‘No.’ I sit back and rub my knees. ‘Ow. I need knee pads.’ I get to my feet and rub at my legs. ‘Can I have a look?’

‘No,’ says Tilda hurriedly as I approach. ‘No, better not see these ones. I mean, they’re lovely, absolutely gorgeous, but I might just delete them …’ She jabs quickly at her camera, then looks up with a bright smile. ‘That pose wasn’t quite working. But I’ve got another idea. We’ll use the doorway.’

The doorway is the worst of all. This time I insist on seeing the shots, and I look like a gorilla. A pale, hairless gorilla in a blonde wig, hanging from a door frame in a black bra and knickers. This time, all the light pools harshly on my stomach. You can’t see my face but you can see my stretch marks in glorious detail. If Dan saw this photo, we’d probably never have sex again.

‘I can absolutely Photoshop these,’ Tilda keeps saying as we scroll through, but I can tell she’s slightly losing confidence. ‘It’s harder than I thought,’ she says at last, heaving a sigh. ‘I mean, taking the photos is easy enough, it’s making them look good.’ She gazes at a particularly ghoulish image of me, winces and pours more Prosecco into our glasses.

We both take a few gulps, and Tilda idly experiments with my black satin corset, wrapping it around herself this way and that.

‘Maybe we need something simpler,’ she says at last. ‘We’ll use the failsafe pose.’

‘What’s the failsafe pose?’

‘It’s for all shapes and sizes,’ she says, more confidently. ‘I read about it on a website. You lie on the sofa, legs crossed and gaze up at the camera. I’ve got lighting instructions, too.’

Lying on the sofa sounds a lot better than kneeling on the floor, or hanging upside down off the back of a chair, which was her other idea.

‘OK,’ I nod. ‘What shall I wear?’

But Tilda is still preoccupied with my corset. ‘How does this thing work?’ she says suddenly. ‘I can’t work it out at all. Where’s the top? Where’s the boobs bit?’

‘It doesn’t have a boobs bit,’ I tell her. ‘It’s an underbust corset. You can wear a bra with it. Or not.’

‘Oh, I see. Well, perfect!’ Her imagination seems seized. ‘Wear this and a pair of knickers and nothing more. Lie on the sofa. Play with your pearls. It’ll look great. Dan will go wild.’

‘Right.’ I hesitate. ‘So … a topless shot, you mean.’

‘Exactly! It’ll be gorgeous!’

I’m not too sure. Posing in underwear is one thing. But topless? In front of Tilda?

‘Won’t that make you uncomfortable?’ I venture.

‘Of course not!’ she says airily. ‘I’ve seen your boobs before, haven’t I?’

‘Have you?’

‘Well, haven’t I?’ She wrinkles her brow. ‘Out shopping or something? Glimpsed them in the changing room?’

I’m fairly sure Tilda hasn’t glimpsed my boobs in the changing room. And I’m still not comfortable about this idea. I mean, I’m not prudish. I’m not. Really. It’s just …

‘Are you uncomfortable?’ Tilda peers at me as though the thought is just dawning on her.

‘Well …’ I shrug awkwardly.

‘Well, how about I show you mine? Fair’s fair.’ I gape, stunned, as she whips up her top and unclasps her front-fastening bra, exposing two quite large veiny breasts. ‘Ghastly, aren’t they?’ she adds dispassionately. ‘I breastfed Toby for two years, you know, like the idiot I was. No wonder he won’t leave home.’

I’m not sure what to reply. Or where to look. Do I say, ‘They’re lovely’? What do you say about your friend’s breasts? The truth is, they’re not lovely in a conventional sense, but they’re lovely because they look exactly like Tilda. Comforting and voluminous and Tilda-ish.