Page 10 of The King Contract
“Ha! So, you admit youknow him?”
“Yes. Well . . . no. We barely knew each other at school. I haven’t seen or heard from him since. He pulled me out of the waves, hence me being soaked through.”
The rage that flashes in Ellis’ eyes almost barrels me over. “Are you trying to join my mother in the afterlife?”
“It washisfault I fell in!” I cry.
A smirk of disbelief spreads across my cousin’s face. “You genuinely have no idea, do you?” She takes her phone back. “My dear, sweet, naïve little darling. This hunk of man meat, smiling at you like you’re the love of his life, is Noah Joseph King. Fellow St Xavier’s graduate. Surfer extraordinaire. Page six man-whore.”
I blink at her. Ellis is a big fan of celebrity news and an even bigger fan of sports. When I’m watching re-runs ofThe OfficeorFriendson my phone,she’s watching highlights of hockey, Formula One, rugby and, as it turns out, surfing.
“How did I not know this?”
Ellis lifts her glass to her lips. “I’ve mentioned it.”
“Bullshit.”
“I’m always updating you on the sports world.”
I wave a hand. “I tune out half the time because I don’t care, but I would’ve remembered something likethis.”
“Apparently not.” She takes a sip of her drink. “I did not expect this plot twist.”
“It’s not a plot twist. It’s not anything. I fell in and then pulled me out of the water. I said thanks and realised he’s still the same cocky guy I went to school with. The end.”
“And yet, whoever took these photos has made sure it’s not the end,” Ellis says, a smirk forming on her face. “These photos would suggest something is afoot.”
“I’ll give you a foot up your ass if you don’t drop this.” I rise from my stool. “I’m going to start cleaning up. You need to drink some water.”
Ellis rolls her eyes. “Party pooper.”
“We re-open tomorrow and need to be here early to tidy up before the cleaners come,” I remind her.
Ellis finishes the rest of her glass and stands up. “What’s the point of having cleaners if we pre-clean?”
“Wetidy,so they can clean.”
“You’re so bossy.”
Ellis drinks an entire pitcher of water while I clean up the main room, collecting half-empty platters of mini-quiches and spring rolls and rolling up tablecloths to be washed at home. Ellis passes out as soon as I help her into my car. Winston stretches out across the back seat and starts snoring before I even turn the engine on.
Everything starts to catch up with me as I pull out of the parking lot exhausted, and head towards our shared home. The day started with celebrating the life of one of my favourite people and ended with my face splashed across a gossip website along with the jerk who helped send my camera to the bottom of the sea.Dick.
Money’s tight enough as it is. There’s no way I can replace it any time soon. Not only is it an expensive vintage camera, but Donna gave it to me for my birthday a few years ago. She selected the amber-brown colour because it reminded her of meand had my name engraved on the bottom. That personalised touch isn’t replaceable.
I’ve got another camera I can use in the meantime. I don’t love it as much, but the quality of the photographs I’ve taken with it are still good. Lots of the photos on my anonymous Instagram photography page@soursnapswere taken with that camera and it might be a nice idea to mix up the photo types on my feed.
Photography has been my happy place since I was in high school and learnt to use a clunky, slow camera in an art class. Observing things through a lens helps me see things from different perspectives, capturing moments never to be repeated. I like that idea, of capturing a once-in-a-lifetime occasion. I’m so grateful to the early pioneers and inventors of cameras, as I have the luxury of seeing my parents and my aunt on some of their happiest days, despite them being gone.
Uploading my photos online is my way of sharing that with the rest of the world. It’s liberating sharing art when no one knows who you are. I have over twenty thousand followers on my Instagram account, and I love connecting with others through it, even if people don’t know my real name.
Sometimes I wonder if I should publicise my identity or attempt to sell my work, but I always decide against it. I’m happy to keep that little piece of escapism only for me. I don’t care if people don’t like my work, but I don’t crave the spotlight. Unlikesomepeople I’ve recently run into.
How the hell did I not know who Noah King had become?
“Whose idea was it to re-open the day after the party?” Ellis moans.
“Yours,” I reply, setting down the box of napkins in front of her. “You said you wouldn’t drink much because you didn’t want a hangover. You wanted to wake up fresh and welcome the locals back in, remember?”
