Matthew's POV
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The bed is far more comfortable when I'm on my own, the cushions comfort me, the temperature is just right and I can lay in past ten am without escaping from the small talk of a random girl. Awaking with the knowledge that we will be travelling to Italy within a few days, and that I have a job interview fills me with hope and a sense of purpose.
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Pulling on a chenille jumper and some dark chinos before I ruffle up my hair and collect my folder of work from the coffee table downstairs in the living room. Ross is still fast asleep, he doesn't wake up usually until about midday so I leave him a note before I fly out of the door into the autumnal air with the leaves collecting on the pavements.
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The tube station isn't that far from the apartment and so I pull my leather jacket around me as I walk past the many shopfronts, all with artistic window displays. Quickly I assimilate into the crowd of commuters who are also travelling around London to important meetings, to offices and workplaces.
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Of course I make short work or the tube without Ross dawdling at every sign and generally getting in the way of passive aggressive commuters who are all in a rush. The now familiar tube carries me to my destination and within minutes I step off again and head back up another set of shining escalators up to the south bank. Although I miss my 4x4, I don't miss the chaos of driving and something tells me that driving around London is no walk in the park. The many road signs and the beeping of horns puts me off entirely especially when you have an entire underground system that is very quick and effective.
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The river Thames is alive even in the mornings, with boats cruising down it and people looking out from the promenades either side. Buskers are setting up their instruments, business people in suits striding casually through the paths heading to the tubes and mothers walking babies in prams. I smile to myself as I walk my own path, on my own mission to secure a job that will both interest me and pay me well.
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Although there is outdoor seating at Strada, an Italian restaurant picked out by Paul, we opt to be seated inside in a quiet corner of the modern establishment. It's a cold day and the bite of the wind couldn't be totally diminished by the outdoor heaters. My eyes rake over the Scandinavian minimalist decor of the place before I open up my menu. Browsing the dishes and subconsciously picking out what Taylor would opt for from this menu.
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"I'm actually spending some time in Italy next week" I inform Paul and he nods keenly once we've ordered, for myself the penne pomodoro and for Paul the seafood linguine. We sit with our espressos and await the food with a tray of olives and bruschetta, which although it tastes great I have a sneaky feeling that Taylor's Italian cuisine is going to be top notch next week.
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"I have friends who are relocating from California." I clarify as he smiles sipping his espresso before eyeing me in a measured way.
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"That is a great opportunity" he remarks, it's only now that I'm face to face with him that it appears to me his age may be slightly older than I had first anticipated. The small smile lines and crows feet that I hadn't seen before mark him as a slightly older guy than myself. Paul wears a Rolex, with his hair slicked back into an old money sort of style, quintessentially British in every aspect of his mannerisms and looks. Golden brown hair and kind eyes.
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"It's actually a very favourable thing, that you're able to work remotely doing this kind of work too. Locations are valuable" he remarks nodding to himself before pulling out a small leather bound diary.
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"So I realise Matthew" he begins, and I notice his authority through his older tone of voice. A warm smile on his face that reassures me.
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"I haven't explained a great deal about the prospect I'm offering or indeed who I am." Paul explains and I nod along, after all listening is a bankable skill.
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"I started out as a photographer fresh out of university, roaming around London trying to impress with my camera. However, the money was sporadic and so long story short, I got into photojournalism." He explains and my intrigue is peaked. The idea of communicating a story through pictures is a fascination of my own.
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"People, over time I've learnt either, have a skill to capture what is needed or they don't. Some people take photos and they frame it all right, the exposure is good, lighting is great and all of those other things. And then you get some people who take pictures and they manage to create a sense of meaning behind them. Feelings and messages" he adds as I sit back and sip my espresso engaged in our conversation.
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"I feel you are able to do that, and I think it's because you have an artists eye" he explains shrewdly.
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"So" he says almost business like just before the mains arrive.
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"Let us enjoy our food, and then discuss the prospects the company is willing to offer" he remarks eyeing up his seafood as the waiter sets down my pasta and I smile, saying yes to the additional Parmesan flakes scattered over my dish.
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One mouthful of my freshly made pasta and I am already dreaming of Italy. The fresh pasta and the sauce is a fantastic combination. I wonder in my mind about the prospect before me as I eat the dish, how travelling may impact upon my life. However without a doubt a big draw in to this opportunity is the ability to work on location, and I fantasise the sights I will see as part of it.
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Eventually we finish our mains, and Paul orders another two coffees before smiling over at me. I notice that he opens the leather bound notebook and looks over a whole host of contacts all written out in neat handwriting.
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"Our contacts in both Italy and California are pretty substantial" he explains before sipping his coffee.
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"Do you envision yourself more there than here" he asks openly with curiosity.
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"Honestly, at the moment, I don't know where I see myself. I have family in California and I grew up there. London though has a certain charm." I admit and he smiles, admiring me.
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"The ability to move around is nice; to travel. When you don't have a family that's pretty easy" he smirks before unlocking his phone. I don't snoop, however it would be impossible not to look at all. His wallpaper is of a baby dressed in a pale blue romper and a toddler of around the age of five dressed in pink dungarees with the same golden brown hair as him.
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"Nice children you must be very proud" I say easily and he grins differently. There's something wholesome about it, he is no longer a journalist in that moment rather he is a dad. I wonder in my mind over and over again how I would feel being the dad, not the devoted uncle and not the godparent. But the daddy and before I can spiral down that chain of thought he hands me a whole host of numbers and contacts in a seperate bound book. Paul explains that the prospect is one of photo journalism, no words needed just timely thought provoking images to tell a story. Any contracts will be sent via email for my own consideration he explains as we stand up and he claps me on the shoulder asking me if I'd like a smoke. He pulls out a packet of Marlboro gold cigarettes and I take one gladly thanking him.
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"Matthew you were in the right place at the right time" he explains lighting up the cigarette before I pull my own lighter out and smirk. My leather jacket pulled on to protect me from the spattering wind and rain. I reflect on how I hadn't even wanted to go onto the London eye, how we had on a whim travelled to the south bank that day. How sometimes you do not plan the things that happen to you, the opportunities get thrown in your direction and you either seize them or miss out.
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"That's another good quality of a photo journalist; the guy that is in the right place at the right time always gets the shot first" he laughs as I breathe in the cigarette before exhaling.
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We share a smoke outside huddling by the outdoor heater, in the most manly way possible. Before we shake hands and he promises to send over the documentation this afternoon without delay.
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I stride through the southbank, a new man having achieved my mission. I'm a photo journalist I tell myself as I purchase a box of doughnuts from a stand and two coffees in styrofoam cups to take home for Ross. Even through the misty rain the Thames looks good to me as I walk alongside it back to the tube.
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***
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"Jay messaged me" Ross explains to me the second I get in the door and it's as though my entire body goes into high alert. Listening to him and waiting patiently for the next part of his conversation.
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"Taylor, she's totally fine" he says hastily watching me eye him with absolute horror.
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"She just, man I don't even know how to say it" Ross begins as I eye him with utter frustration and he puts his hands up as if to say give me a minute.
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"He basically said he came home and found her in the pool, under the water. And she is fine, but she was like not breathing under the water and letting herself you know" he explains in a convoluted manner, as I place my head in my hands and take a seat on the leather couch.
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"We have to travel there, can we get our tickets upgraded" I begin flicking through my phone and finding the email regarding our outbound trip to Italy.
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"What I'm saying is, he was lost. He didn't know what to make out of any of it out. Look Jay does not message me okay? He's shocked to the core. And whether you like it or not we have to be there for him" Ross admits.
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"Not entirely, I'm there for Taylor. He took her away and isolated her at a time when she needed to be totally around people. What does he possibly expect!?" I practically explode, grasping my phone and dialling up his number immediately. I take several deep breaths. On breath number five he answers.
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"She okay" I ask instantly as the call connects, trying desperately to remove the accusatory tone from my voice.
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"I'll move my plane tickets to tomorrow." I begin as he breathes in and out steadily.
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"I don't know what it is?" He begins almost shell shocked, lost. A tone to his voice that isn't his normal calm collected self.
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"Taylor is fine, I pulled her out of the water, thought she was..." he gasps as his voice breaks.
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"She's asleep" he adds as if he cannot speak properly.
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"What could it be Matthew?" He asks me as I take a slow deep breath, pushing back the tears which are a reaction to the shock I feel to the core.
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"I'm not sure, let me talk to her tomorrow. I'll sort..." I begin slowly, and now I'm reassuring him.
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"I couldn't call you Matthew, because I couldn't put aside my pride" he sobs and I gasp at the shock of hearing him cry.
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"It's okay, she will be fine. Let's just wait until tomorrow and then we can sort it" I explain softly.
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"I promise" I tell him as Jay Gilbert Scott cries down the phone to me.
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