Page 38 of One More Shot
Eliott glances at the photo and her expression changes. It’s a subtle difference. She’s still smiling, but it’s tinged with sadness.
‘That’s Grandad.’ She clears her throat. ‘He died a fewyears back.’ She takes a step closer to me, her arm brushing against mine. ‘But yeah, that was my first camera. I think I was eight? Maybe nine? He loved taking photos.’ She laughs quietly and gestures to the walls surrounding us. ‘You can probably tell.’
‘Is that how you got started?’ I ask. ‘Taking photos with him?’
‘Mm,’ she hums, eyes focused on the photo in front of us. ‘He taught me the basics and kind of just let me go from there. We had different styles, but he always liked seeing what caught my eye and how I interpreted it.’
‘How’d you land on weddings?’
She shrugs, like she’s barely given it any thought. ‘I like capturing the quiet moments. There’s all the wedding beats you have to hit as a photographer. First look. First dance. The moment they say “I do”. But I like getting the softer moments too. The little looks and glances. The soft touches. The smiles when they think no one’s looking.’
I think back on the photos Eliott sent through from Cash and Bailey’s engagement party. Looking back on it, they were filled with quiet moments. I wonder what the quiet moments in Eliott’s life look like. And if I’d be able to slot into them.
Eliott clears her throat again. ‘Come on. Nan’s patience will only last so long.’
I follow her into a bright and hectic kitchen. There arepots and pans occupying every spare inch of counter space, and a window overlooking the sink shows off a garden that’s clearly seen better days.
Eliott’s grandmother sits at the small, cluttered kitchen table and narrows her eyes as we walk into the space. ‘I was just starting to think you two had got lost.’
Eliott rolls her eyes, clearly used to her grandmother’s dramatics, and wrenches open the garden door. The lawn is long and overrun with weeds, there’s a slanted tree at the back that looks like it’s just one strong gust of wind away from doing some serious damage, and the patio…
I let out a low whistle as I follow Eliott out into the garden. Her grandmother stays seated at the table, and I don’t blame her. The first tile I step on immediately collapses under my weight and sends me stumbling forwards.
Eliott shoots me an apologetic wince. ‘You see the problem? Nan nearly breaks her ankle every time she comes out here.’
‘How did it get so bad?’ I ask, crouching down to inspect the crumbling tile beneath me.
Eliott sighs and squats down beside me. ‘It’s a long story.’
I catch her eye. ‘I’ve got time.’
She quirks a brow and, when I don’t relent, she sighs again. ‘My brother was supposed to sort this out for Nan months ago. But he never got round to it.’
I wait for a beat or two for her to continue. When shedoesn’t, I frown. ‘If that’s what you call a long story, I’m dying to know what you think a short story is.’
She laughs, but it’s not the right laugh – the one that makes me smile right back. This one sounds forced. ‘Right,’ she says simply before pushing herself back up. She gestures to the space around us and cocks her head to the side. ‘What do you think? Is it salvageable?’
‘I’ve definitely seen worse,’ I tell her. ‘Not much worse, but I can work with this.’
Eliott heaves a sigh of relief. ‘All right, why don’t you let me—’
Her grandmother pokes her out of the garden door and waves a piece of paper in front of her face. ‘Eliott, come and help me with this letter from the council. I don’t know what they’re asking me for.’
‘Nan, I’m just—’
Her grandmother disappears back inside the house without so much as a second glance. Eliott scowls at the empty space and then shakes her head, her expression clearing in an instant. ‘I’ll be right back.’
‘It’s fine,’ I say. ‘I can get started out here.’
She nods and then hurries after her grandmother, mumbling something that sounds suspiciously like ‘one thing at a time, Goddamn it’.
There’s not much I can actually do tonight, but I make headway by unrolling my tape measure, my fingers movingmechanically as I begin to measure the dimensions of the space. By the time Eliott returns, an apologetic half-smile on her face, I’ve already figured out how many tiles I’ll need to order to replace the broken ones.
‘What’s the damage, then?’ Eliott asks.
I hand her a piece of paper with a quote written on it. She stares at it for a long moment and then shakes her head and tries to shove the quote into my chest.
‘Don’t be stupid, Dane.’
